MADDISON
Never in a millionyears did I think I’d be sitting in a cab, driving up the paved road that leads to the castle-esque building I’ve seen from a distance but never up close. And up close, it’s breathtaking, with towers, ivory columns, and a gated entrance. Just behind that is an expansive stairway that stretches up to the entrance of the school, and peaking up toward the sky is the widest set of doors I’ve ever seen.
And don’t even get me started on the landscape, with grass and trees so flourishing they look artificial. Benches line the quad, along with statues and fountains, and the parking lot looks straight out of some fancy car show—every vehicle probably costs six figures. I’m quite literally the only person rolling up in a taxi, and the only reason I could afford that was because I was able to work an extra shift yesterday, and my boss gave me an advance. I would’ve preferred the bus, but it’s a three-mile walk from the nearest bus stop to here, and while I’m up for that kind of walk any other day, I didn’t want to haul all of my luggage. Moving forward, though, I’ll have to because I’m still working weekends at my old job. But honestly, I can just run to the bus stop, which will help me keep in shape for tryouts.
After signing the contract to attend here, I did more research and discovered they have walk-ons for the cross country and the track team as long as I can make time, which I should be able to. I just need to get into excellent shape, more than I already am.
“Are you sure you’re at the right place?” the cab driver asks as he parks the cab in front of the curb at the gated entrance. He’s a younger guy with a scruffy beard and tattoos on his knuckles, and he smells of old cheese for some reason.
“Yep,” I reply evasively, wondering how bad this will be if even the cab driver thinks I don’t belong here.
What the hell are the people who go here going to think?
I mean, I’m trying not to judge, but I have this feeling I’m going to draw attention, and not in a positive way. Not that I give a crap. If I can survive northside, my mom and my dad, then I sure as heck can survive going to a school with a bunch of rich kids. I have to if I want to get to a better place in my life.
I slide the strap of my backpack onto my shoulder then dig my card out of my pocket to pay the driver. Once the transaction is complete, I collect my other two bags, shove open the door, and move to get out.
“Good luck,” the driver says snidely as I lower my feet to the pavement.
I resist an eye roll and climb out without responding. The moment I bump the door shut, he drives away, and I’m left standing at the gated entrance, staring up at the stairway on the other side.
I’m fairly early, so not too many people are around, but I immediately get confirmation on my original speculation that I’ll draw attention.
I have a pair of sunglasses on, my hair is down in waves and swept to the side, and my gray top reaches mid-stomach. My wide-leg jeans are in style and everything, but they’re also frayed at the bottom, and my platform sneakers are faded. I don’t thinkI look bad or anything, but the people around me are dressed in nice, expensive clothes, and it’s evident that I don’t fit in here.
But, like I said before, I’m not backing out of this deal. So, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin, I step onto the sidewalk and head toward the iron gate. Between the three bags I’m hauling around, I struggle to get up the stairs.
“You look like you could use some help.” The upbeat voice carries a hint of amusement in it.
When I glance up to see who spoke to me, I immediately grimace.
Finn—aka, the blond guy I saw in jail—is standing a step above me, looking like some sort of Greek god with the sunlight casting across his back and creating a halo of light around him.
Great. The last thing I need is for some guy who saw me in jail to be here, talking to me. Not that I’m that surprised. Even when he was in jail, wealth flowed off this guy.
“I’m good,” I assure him, resisting another eye roll when he grins at me.
I start up the stairs again, trying to look more relaxed than I feel.
The dude turns and follows me. “You don’t look like you’re good. In fact, you look like your legs are going to buckle.” He reaches for one of my bags. “Here, just let me help.”
“Hard pass, dude,” I say as I sidestep him. Then I narrow my eyes. “And don’t just grab my shit without me giving you permission.”
Usually, when I throw attitude at someone like this, they get annoyed. Nope, Finn’s smile broadens as he flashes me his pearly whites.
“All right, fair enough,” he says while stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pants.
Before he can open his mouth again, I start walking up the stairs, and much to my dismay, he follows. I try to ignore him, but he’s intent on running his mouth.
“You know,” he says as we near the top of the stairs, “after our first meeting, I honestly thought we’d never see each other again. I guess wishes do come true.”
I throw him a gaping look. “Are you for real right now?”
“What?” He bats his eyelashes innocently at me. “I’m just telling the truth. The night after we met, I made a wish on a shooting star that I’d get to see the beautiful jail girl at least one more time.”
“Oh my God, please, do not call me that,” I hiss under my breath.
Too many people are already staring at me. The last thing I need is for word to get out that I was in jail a handful of days ago.
