I went quiet.
“They’ll flirt with us,” she continued, her voice lowering. “Use us. Kiss us under fireworks and then pretend we don’t exist the next day. Their parents will call us trash and their girlfriends will call us sluts—while trying to arrange an influencer brand deal in the same breath.”
“Okay, harsh.”
“But true.” She shrugged. “Royal Oaks is fake smiles and bloodline matchmaking. The guys are bored and untouchable. The girls are vicious because they’ve been raised to compete for diamonds and prenups. Everyone wants something. Even friendship’s a currency.”
I exhaled slowly. “So… steer clear of the hot, dangerous ones. Got it.”
Shani grinned. “Exactly. Especially the ones whose names start withLand end in‘eo Holt.’”
I rolled my eyes. “Noted.”
She bumped her shoulder against mine. “Come anyway. Have fun. Drink something questionable. But keep your head.”
“I plan on keeping more than that,” I muttered.
The sky shifted to peach and violet, and a breeze lifted the scent of hay and saltwater through the air.
I wasn’t the girl I’d been in Ohio.
But I wasn’t bulletproof either.
I didn’t want anything ruining this blank slate but mywounds had crusted to scabs and this summer I grew fresh skin. Therapy didn’t hurt either and my psychologist keeps urging me to not let my past destroy my new found sense of self.
So I slipped on my sandals, rubbed vanilla scented lotion on my deep tanned skin and let my hair air dry into soft beachy caramel waves. I’d survived being digitally altered into a soft porn star online. Nothing could be worse than that…
Chapter Two
JADE
Bonfires in Royal Oaksare basically a social Hunger Games.
If you’re not in the right crop top, sipping from the right Solo cup, and pretending you don’t care how many followers you’ve lost this week, you might as well crawl back into your FYP and disappear.
I wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight. New girl code says: stay invisible, keep your head down, maybe make a sad little Pinterest board about reinventing yourself. But Shani dared me. And I don’t back down from dares—especially the ones that involve fire, drama, and cute boys I’ll never see again.
Or so I thought.
The flames cracked loud enough to drown out the bass thumping from someone’s Bluetooth speaker. Beer flowed like it was being sponsored, and phones were out like paparazzi, catching Snap streaks and thirst traps for tomorrow’s gossip dump.
And then… there was him.
Leo Holt.
Golden boy. Varsity royalty. TikTok thirst trap withthousands of followers and a jawline that could cut glass. The kind of guy who makes eye contact and suddenly you forget how to spell your own name.
I was standing near the edge of the fire, sipping flat seltzer and pretending not to care, when he walked up like he owned oxygen.
“You're not from here,” he said, not a question. More like an accusation.
I blinked. “Wow. That obvious?”
He smirked. “You don’t have a spray tan or laminated brows.”
Busted. “Maybe I like beingau natural.”
“Not around here you don’t.”
