Saint

“Yeah, Angelview’s all right.” He sighs, leaning his head back against his headrest. “Probably more impressive for you. Like a vacation or whatever from your own life. I just got back from the Mykonos, though, so school’s sounding pretty shitty right about now.”

I fight not to roll my eyes again. “Yeah, sounds really rough.”

Unbidden, he launches into an in-depth play-by-play of his entire summer vacation. He even goes so far as to tell me how many girls he slept with, and I want to throw myself out of the moving SUV and take my chances with the pavement. Laurel doesn’t help matters any. She stops ignoring me just long enough to start complaining about her dad’s new wife.

“I’m going to call ICE on that bitch again and get her ass deported,” she grumbles at one point, making my mouth fall open in shock. For a second, I’m sure she’s joking, but then she shoots me a dark glare and says through clenched teeth, “Get that stupid look off your face because you obviously haven’t met the bitch.”

Nope, but I’ve met Laurel and I can’t help but feel terrible for her poor stepmom.

Finally, we reach campus. It was really a short drive from Los Angeles to Santa Teresa, thirty minutes tops, but it felt like hours trapped in a car with two insufferable assholes. I practically leap from the Cadillac when the door opens, eager to get away from them.

“Hey, so Headmaster Aldridge wanted us to give you a tour—” Gabe begins explaining, but I interrupt him with a hurried shake of my head.

Screw.

That.

Shit.

“I’m good,” I insist. “I’m really tired, and I’m sure you both have better things to do than cart my ass around.”

“Hooray, she’s smarter than she looks,” Laurel mutters.

She misses my sneer because she instantly goes back to pouting at the text message chain on her phone screen.

“Cool, well, that’s your dorm.” Gabe absentmindedly points to the huge, red brick building right behind me, his mind clearly gravitating toward other things now that I’ve given him a pass on his obligations to me. He hands me a small yellow envelope, and I feel the imprint of a key when I take it. “And this is your welcome packet—key, room number, all that good stuff.”

“Thanks.” As soon as the driver hands me my duffle, I turn without a word.

I only make it a few steps before Laurel calls after me, her voice laced with glee and venom. “Teague Hall is the shittiest dorm on campus. Just so you know.”

“Yeah, thanks for the heads up,” I say, adding under my breath, “Hateful bitch.” I don’t look back and make my way toward the building as fast as I can without it looking like I’m ru

“Sorry about that, I—” But then I look up, and the world seems to come to a total standstill. I find myself gazing into the grayish-blue eyes of the most stu

I watch him go, a strange sense of disappointment washing through me.

This place must be full of shiny turds.

Scowling, I grab my duffle and continue into the building, shoving the beautiful guy with his blue glare from my mind. I take the elevator to the third floor and wander down the corridor toward my room. Three big boxes of what must be uniforms and books are stacked outside my door, and someone has posted a sign over my peephole that reads, Welcome to Angelview Academy, Mallory Ellis, Class of 2020.

Nervous because Laurel promised I would be walking into a shithole, I twist my key in the lock, open the door and step inside. My heart instantly launches into my throat.

To people like Laurel and Gabe, I’m sure this room with its plain gray walls and standard furniture—a twin-size bed, desk and chair, dresser, and nightstand—isn’t much. But the thing is, it’s not just a room but a suite. To my left, there’s a kitchenette with a small stainless-steel refrigerator, microwave, and a single-serve coffee maker on the granite counter. When I glance to my right, I spot the entrance to my bathroom. I wander inside and flip on the light switch, my lips popping open in a silent “Ahhh.”

It’s tiny, yes, but everything I need is here—a sink, commode, and shower stall. Hell, they’ve even stocked the shelves above the commode with towels, wash cloths, and toilet paper.

Meeting my bug-eyed expression in the mirror over the sink, I shake my head. “Craziness,” I whisper through the biggest smile I’ve ever worn.

I mean, it really is crazy.

I’ve never had my own bathroom before.

Half my life, I haven’t even had my own room and was forced to sleep on couches or in sports memorabilia rooms that belonged to whoever Je

Leaving the bathroom, I return to the hall and start moving the boxes inside. I’m on the last box when something streaks across my foot.

Something small.

And furry.

I leap up onto the desk and scream with all my might.