LILY

It's the first day of the rest of my life.

A new chapter. That's what my mom keeps calling it. She says that like it's a good thing. Like I should be excited.

So then why do I feel this awful nausea in the pit of my stomach?

Maybe it's because part of me already knows the truth: this chapter is going to be just as horrible as the last one was.

I shake my head to clear those thoughts I approach the old church building. We're in South Texas, but this building looks like a medieval goth's wet dream.

Creepy black steeples stretch towards the sky like talons. A stained-glass window peers out like a single, predatory eye.

This place used to be the home of a cult, back in the 80s. After it got shut down, the wealthy families of Ravenlake, Texas, pooled their cash to fund the creation of an elite private school. Mostly so their offspring wouldn't have to mingle with dirty peasants like me over at Public.

And that's how Ravenlake Preparatory Academy was born.

As I push through the massive front doors, one thought keeps chiming in my head over and over again like a church bell.

I don't belong here.

It's obvious just from looking around how right I am about that. The princes and princesses of Ravenlake Prep are swirling on all sides. They're all decked out in Balenciaga sneakers, Prada dresses, All Saints leather jackets. They look like runway models.

Me? I'm wearing off-brand Converse and ink-stained blue jeans, with my long blond hair tied back in a frizzy braid.

But I keep my head down. Try not to stand out, to blend into the crowd. Last summer gave me enough public attention to last a lifetime. My goal here is to simply survive. The fewer people who know who I am, the better.

A woman from the front office with breast implants and hair extensions gives me the briefest, least helpful tour in human history. She points in the general direction of the classrooms, which are located in the two modern wings built onto the original church building. Then she nods towards the cafeteria with hardly more than a grunt and hands me a slip of paper with my locker combination written on it.

"Good luck," she says.

But as she walks away, I swear I hear her add in a dry mumble, "You're going to need it."

I'm left standing in the intersection of two major hallways, all alone. Without the faintest idea of where I'm supposed to go.

The other students wrinkle their noses as I pass. They keep their distance from me. But they're still close enough that I can still hear their whispered comments.

"I didn't know we were expected to mingle with kids from Public."

"Since when does Ravenlake offer pity scholarships?"

"She's only here because her momma is cleaning our toilets."

I try to ignore them. But it's hard when a lot of it is rooted in truth. I am from Public. I am here on scholarship, and my mother is now a member of the Ravenlake custodial staff.

We're not here by choice. We're here because of "The Incident" that happened last summer. But we're here nonetheless. And as Mom keeps saying, I just have to make the best of it.

I'm ten minutes late to homeroom because the architects designed to label the classrooms with a mix of Latin words and Roman numerals, which makes precisely zero sense to me. It's like they're trying to filter out the riff-raff every step of the way.

As soon as I open the door, I hear the rustle of thirty heads turning to look at me. My face flushes red.

I scan the room and see an empty seat in the middle of the group of students. I lower my head and move towards it, but before I can turn down the center aisle, the teacher seizes my arm.

"Lily DeVry?"

I swallow and turn to her, plastering a fake smile on my face. "That's me."

As though pulling her lines from every high school movie ever made, she clears her throat and announces me like the next cattle up at auction. "Class, we have a new student with us this year. I expect you to make her feel welcome."

The room remains silent and completely still, with the lone exception of a beautiful redhead in the front row who raises a single eyebrow in disbelief. Clearly, the teacher should expect disappointment. The only thing I am welcome to do at Ravenlake Prep is leave.

"That Lily DeVry?" a female voice asks, her whisper loud enough for the entire room to hear.

I'd been hoping to stay anonymous at least until lunchtime. Mission failed.

The teacher releases my arm. I hurry to a seat in the back row and slump down as far as I can.

I keep my head down throughout the rest of homeroom announcements. When the bell rings, I pack my bag and try to blend in with the herd as they shuffle from the room.

Just as I walk through the door, the girl in front of me with long, shiny black hair spins around, the ends of her hair whipping me in the nose. Her glossy frown is set as she glares at me, arms crossed over her chest.

"Why are you here?"

"To learn at this fine establishment," comes my rehearsed answer.

I practiced it in the mirror all last night. It sounds snarky, like I intended, but still could probably do with a little more venom if I really want people to leave me alone.

I don't want problems with anyone here, but I'm sure as shit not going to let a bunch of rich kids think they can push me around. Besides, I learned in a self-defense class in middle school that most aggressors will back off when they realize their target is willing to put up a fight.

Her eyebrow arches. "Do they not have schools on your side of town?"

"This is my side of town." As of two weeks ago, my mom and I live less than a mile from Ravenlake Prep. I can see the school's spires from our motel window.

"You may live here, but it will never be your town," she sneers. She's close enough that I can smell her floral body spray. It is thick and artificial, and I want to ask why she doesn't use her extensive allowance to buy a more bearable scent, but I bite my tongue. Pick one fight at a time, you know? "Not after what you did."

What I did? God, these people really are out of their minds.

The moment the story of The Incident broke over the summer, people began twisting the details. I so badly wish I could set the record straight. But it's impossible. Not just because no one believes a word I say anymore.

But also because I don't even remember exactly what happened. Thanks a lot, concussion. The scant details I told the cops who interviewed me after everything went down were enough to cause way more chaos than I ever wanted.

Best to move on and do my best to forget even that.

I pull my mouth into a smile and give the girl a sarcastic thumbs-up. "Thanks for the warm welcome."

She snaps something at me that sounds an awful lot like the c-word. I push past her and make my way into the stream of students, but I block it out.

I block all of it out. It's a skill I've had to perfect after The Incident. By the end of this school year, I expect to be a professional.

If I survive that long.

2

LILY

"Welcome, new students!" the woman in the red pantsuit says, pressing a hand to her full bosom. "I'm Principal Cooprider. It's a pleasure to greet you all on your first day here at Ravenlake Prep."

I take a look around at my fellow new students. I'm the only senior here at this stupid new student luncheon. Everyone else seated at the long tables is a pimply-faced freshman, and even they are glancing at me with scorn and condescension written all over their faces.

Great. I'm even below the fresh meat on the social totem pole.

I don't pay much attention to the proceedings. A string of prominent Ravenlake Prep staff is introduced. Athletic director, theater coordinator, blah blah blah. I don't plan on participating in any of this stuff. My only goal is to make it through this year and then get the hell out of this town and never, ever come back.

It looks like things are about to wrap up, praise the Lord, when the auditorium doors behind us burst open and a tall man strides through like he owns the place.

When he gets close enough for me to see his face, I realize that's because he does own the place.

Not officially. But Mr. William Foster is responsible in one way or another for just about every dollar that's gone to the Ravenlake Prep budget. In fact, he's responsible for just about every dollar that's gone to the budget of the whole damn town.

Most of the people in Ravenlake, Texas worship at his feet like a king. It's easy to see why-he really looks the part. Arrogant smile, slicked-back dark hair that bears a single gray streak racing from his right temple backwards, a thousand-dollar Armani suit that he wears like a second skin.

If I had to draw a cartoon rich person, I'd sketch this exact man. He is a stereotype if I've ever seen one. And yet, still intimidating.

But even if the rest of the town falls all over themselves to pay homage to Mr. Foster, you won't catch me doing anything like that.

Not after the stuff he said about me in the newspapers this summer.

We've never spoken. Not officially. But Mr. Foster thinks he knows me very, very well. In his front page op-ed, he wrote: "Lily DeVry is nothing more than a reckless young girl with a wild imagination and a desperate need for attention. I don't blame her, of course. She's just a child. The issue is parenting."

I can handle people saying negative things about me, but publicly and baselessly shaming my mother? Abso-fucking-lutely not.

I try to calm myself as Mr. Foster mounts the stage and turns to survey the assembled new students. Dr. Sharon, the therapist I started going to after The Incident, told me to picture my body filling up with cool water like a vase anytime my emotions started to get out of control.

So that's what I do. Drop by drop, until I can unclench my fists and breathe again.

Up at the podium, William Foster is taking a weirdly long time to smile at each and every person here. I think it is meant to be a sign of warmth and kindness, but it comes off as kind of sinister, like if a shark smiled at you.

The freshmen squirm in their seats when his eyes land on them. I, however, force myself to sit still and meet his gaze straight on. If he recognizes me, he doesn't show it. He gives me the same placid smile he gives everyone else, and then clears his throat when he is finished.

"Welcome to Ravenlake Prep." His voice echoes off the stone walls and climbs to the ceiling, bouncing around the rafters. He has a voice for the pulpit. It carries. And though the whole town seems to worship at his feet, Mr. Foster boasts a particularly devoted following at Ravenlake Prep. Maybe the days of this building holding a cult aren't entirely over.

"I make it a point to meet every new student who walks through the doors of this school. As a businessman, I like to know where my investments are going."

He raises a brow, waiting for everyone to laugh at his teasing joke. The administration chuckles immediately. The freshmen take a bit longer to catch on. I don't join in at all.

Suddenly, I start to feel a little claustrophobic. I don't know if it's the creepy stone architecture or Mr. Foster himself, but I need to get the hell out of this room.

I mumble something under my breath about "bathroom," even though none of the freshmen seated around me give a shit. Then I take off, head ducked, straight for the doors Mr. Foster just came through.

I burst out into the empty hallway. I thought getting away from everyone would help, but my panic is only worsening.

I rest my head against the stone wall and try another patent-pending Dr. Sharon technique: naming as many colors as I can until the anxiety lessens. Red. Blue. Purple. Green. Orange. Black...

It's not helping. A memory is coming back, a bad one.

It's dark. Trees all around me. I'm sweating, running.

I think I'm lost. I don't usually run in the dark, so I might've missed a turn somewhere, and now I'm not sure if I'm running back towards home or just getting deeper and deeper into the woods.

I can't hear much over the sound of my own breathing and the crunch of the ground beneath my feet...

Until the sound of a girl's pained whimper stops me cold.

"You're not supposed to be out here."

A voice snaps me out of my memory. I glance up-and freeze.

The boy casually leaning against the wall a few yards away from me looks like something out of a dream-or a nightmare. A single beam of ghostly light hits his face from a stained glass window overhead.

His jawbone is sharp and wide, his nose a harsh line down the center of his face, and his eyebrows slant over his deep-set eyes. Dark hair is buzzed close on the sides, but left longer on top and lands over his forehead. Everything about his features is hard and cold ... but beautiful.

Breathtakingly beautiful.

He wears dark-washed jeans, a gray T-shirt, and a black bomber jacket, and his timeless style makes his appearance feel even more unreal.

Surely, this boy can't be real.

Our eyes meet. It feels like my entire body is buzzing with electricity. Like I'm experiencing a kind of power surge.

"What did you say?" I finally gasp. My voice sounds weirdly strained.

His dark eyebrow arches upwards. In amusement or disgust, I can't tell. "Your social skills need work," he says wryly.

I'm pretty sure he's kidding, but not positive. Everything about this boy is mysterious. Baffling.

"I'm not here to socialize," I retort. I wince when the words leave my mouth. It's a lame answer, but it's the best I can do under the circumstances, seeing as how my brain is basically short-circuiting.

He nods slowly. "You're the new girl."

I wrinkle my nose. "Something like that."

"Exactly like that, I think."

There's a level of arrogance in his voice that would normally piss me off. Instead, it just intensifies the heat building in my core.

"Who asked you?" I snap.

He grins and backs up, hands raised. "Woah there. No need to bite."

"No need to be an ass, either."

He lets his hands fall by his side and slips them carelessly into his pockets. God, he really is obnoxiously gorgeous. Like, I'm mad that someone this good-looking exists in the world. He studies me for a moment longer.

I burn under his gaze, but I refuse to walk away. It feels like we're sparring here, and the first one to leave loses.

Then, as if he'd gotten everything he came for, he nods once and walks away. His shoulder brushes mine as he passes.

He calls back over his shoulder, "See you around, new girl."

3

LILY

I head outside to catch my breath. My skin is crawling after seeing Mr. Foster and then the gorgeous asshole one right after the other, so I could use a little fresh air.

There's a set of concrete stairs set into a grassy slope. I sink to a seat there and pull out my notebook.

Sketching always calms my nerves. The margins of my notebooks have been filled with doodles for as long as I can remember. When I draw, I can just let go, be free.

Or at least, that's usually the case.

But after a few minutes of letting my mind wander, I realize my scribbles have turned into an arched eyebrow.

His arched eyebrow.

I quickly turn the page and start fresh on a blank sheet, taking a deep breath to clear my head.

"Why'd you stop?"

I startle and look over to see a tall boy with platinum blond hair slouched on the steps above me in front of me. He has on a brown leather jacket with frayed patches on the chest and sleeves.

"Oh, thanks," I mumble, smoothing my hand over my notebook. "It was just a doodle."

He shrugs and looks towards the school like he really doesn't care either way. Without looking, he pulls a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his jacket pocket and lights up. In the same motion, he offers the pack to me.

I don't smoke. Correction: I've smoked before, but only because I found a pack of cigarettes in the street when I was thirteen and wanted to know what it would be like.

Still, the cigarettes feel like a test, and I don't want to fail. So, I nod and accept one. The boy lights it for me, his eyes watching the flame as it tongues the tip. When it catches, he licks his lips and takes a long puff of his own cigarette, blowing the smoke in my face.

"You're new," he comments.

I roll my eyes. Not this again.

When I don't answer, the boy blows out another puff of smoke and leans back against the metal stair railing. "Bold of you to pick a seat in Loser Land on your first day."

I look around. The guy is right.

The rest of the student body has come out for lunch period, and-not to judge books by their covers-the handful of kids who've chosen seats over on this grassy slope don't exactly measure up to the boy who scared me in the hallway. They're a little grungier, a little angstier. Not nearly as arrogant and confident. Clearly a tier below.

"I wasn't given much of a choice," I admit.

The boy nods and exhales another cloud of smoke. "We're a better pick than the Golden Boys, anyways," he says.

I frown. "The Golden Boys?"

"Oh, that's cute. Real naïve. You won't last long like that, though."

"Are you going to keep being an asshole, or are you going to explain what the hell you're talking about?"

Instead of explaining, he jabs his cigarette across the lawn. I follow it to see a group of guys lounging around a picnic table in the sunlight.

One is tall, pushing six-three, but skinny, whereas the one next to him is broad and muscly. The tall one has short-cropped hair, a long nose, and is dressed in name brand from head-to-toe-athletic pants, shoes, and shirt. He looks like a walking advertisement.

The stockier boy is much more fashion-forward with a pair of jeans rolled at the ankles, leather boots, and a white T-shirt half tucked into his waistband. His skin is deeply tanned and I can tell he whitens his teeth even from a distance. They practically glow in the sunlight.

The group erupts in more laughter just as the two boys in front part, letting a third boy through. As soon as he steps into view, I gasp.

It's the boy from before.

In the sunlight, he looks even more unreal. His dark hair has a blue sheen, and I can make out the full shape of his lips. His face looks just as chiseled as it did in the shadows, though, and I realize that is just his face. It wasn't a trick of the light. This boy really looks like he is made from marble.

"Those," my new friend drawls, "are the Golden Boys. Finn and his fuck buddies."

I make the connection immediately. I don't know how I missed it before.

Finn. As in, Finn Foster. Son of William Foster.

Fuck.

"Like you're any better, Dallas?" comes a new voice, acidic and cutting.

I shade the sun out of my eyes and look up to see a girl standing in front of us, one hip jutted out to the side. She has on skintight jeans and a dangerously low-cut T-shirt. Her hair is bright red and falls around her shoulders in movie-star curls, and her frowning mouth is painted the same color red.

"Fuck off, Cora," Dallas snarls right back at her.

"Why don't you eat a dick?" she spits at him.

He sighs, stubs out his cigarette, and stands up. "Time to make my exit. Nice to meet you, new girl. Be careful of those assholes. Be careful of this bitch, too." He nods at Cora. "Everyone in this school is a fucking snake."

Then he saunters away, the patch of a horned devil on the back of his jacket gleaming in the Texas sun.

The girl who just came up, Cora, leans against the stairway railing and smiles at me. "Thought you might need some rescuing," she says pleasantly.

I blink. It's the first kind voice I've heard all day. "Oh," I say softly. "Thanks."

She sinks to a seat next to me. "Besides, I wanted to meet the new girl. Nothing interesting ever happens here. I've been going to school with the same kids since kindergarten. When someone new shows up, we notice."

"Right," I answer. I'm a little on the defensive after meeting Finn and the kid in the leather jacket in quick succession, but the girl seems bubbly and warm. I sigh and make a mental note to loosen up. No need to make more enemies than the ones I already have.

"I see you've met Dallas." She jerks her head in the direction of the boy with the devil on his jacket.

"He seemed a little..." I pause before finishing, "I dunno, on edge."

Cora rolls her eyes. "He thinks he's holier-than-thou because he's in a biker gang. But don't let the tough guy façade fool you. He's just an errand boy for those Hell Prince shitheads."

My mouth falls open. "He is really a biker?"

Cora's red mouth pulls into a grimace. "With the obnoxiously loud crotch rocket to prove it."

"This school is a lot to process," I comment.

Cora laughs at that. "Girl, you don't even know the half of it." Then she catches me staring into the distance. "I see you've discovered the Golden Boys, too."

I blush and avert my gaze. "Dallas was saying something about them."