“For the elite of the elite.” He rolls his eyes. “There are so many spoiled rich kids at this place, we had to build a hierarchy, otherwise no one would have anything to aspire to.”
“And you just happened to come out on top.”
“Of course.”
He puts an arm around my shoulder, steering me towards the main entrance.
Tiaki Academy is a massive sprawl of a school, almost large enough to count as its own township.
The east side is the high school for years nine to thirteen. The west is a vocational college, offering practical trades courses or a chance to earn standard credits equivalent to the first two years of a university degree.
Like everything else lakeside, it’s primarily financed by the millionaires and billionaires who chose this area to settle. Rather than starting a private or charter school with associated costs and restrictions, the wealthy residents funnelled their money into the existing public school, topping up the government funding to launch it into the highest decile ranking possible.
Maddox takes me to the office first, harassing the school secretary until she adds my name to all his classes. Then he walks me to the outdoors tuck shop, placing his order with the counter staff before guiding me to a table, already half occupied.
“This is Zane and Wilder,” he gestures to two boys, one with white-blond hair, the other dark brown. Far too pretty for their own good, wealth oozing from every pore.
He leans in close to whisper, “You met them the other night, but this is what they look like when their faces aren’t covered. And this is Dahlia.” He waves at a gorgeous blonde girl clutched on Wilder’s lap. “This is Evie.”
Neither of his friends say anything more than a grunt but Dahlia slides off Wilder’s lap to clutch my arm, guiding me to the bench seat opposite the boys. “It’s great to meet you, Evie. Are you new in town? I haven’t seen you around school before.”
I run my tongue around the inside of my mouth to crack the dry seal. “No but it’s been a few years since I last attended. I’ve been working.”
“Really?” Her eyes light up and she leans in close. “Whereabouts? You look like a model. Are you a model?”
Wilder snorts with amusement. “Really likely. She’s shorter than you.”
“She could be a hand or hair model,” Dahlia snaps back. “You’ll have to excuse my boyfriend. For some reason his genetics made him ninety-nine percent arsehole.”
“Oh, please. I’m at least twenty percent dick and you know it.” His eyes trawl from the top of my head down to where the table cuts off his view at the waist, moving back up to linger on my tits. “Maybe twenty-five with the right encouragement.”
“Don’t be disgusting.” Dahlia tosses her hair, the strands gleaming in the light. “You can see why I’m so pleased to have another girl at the table.” She snags the salad from in front of Wilder, spearing a lettuce leaf before pointing the bamboo fork at his face. “And don’t believe a word he says about size. There’s a good reason he failed level three maths.”
“Haven’t heard any complaints.”
“Because you’re rich, darling.” She pauses as her lips curve into an angelic smile. “And slightly hard of hearing.”
Zane sniggers and Wilder throws his school jersey at him. “No commentary from the loser who can’t even snag himself a lunch date.”
“I can snag them. I just have standards.”
Dahlia narrows her eyes in warning, then turns her attention back to me. “Have you known Maddox long?”
“Nobody knows me,” he answers, returning with a tray full of food. “And that’s the way I like it.”
“We met a few nights ago,” I tell her. “Not long at all.”
“Has he asked you to the Easter Ball yet?” Before I can answer, she continues, “Because I’m in desperate need of a new outfit but somebody refuses to take me shopping.”
Wilder mutters, “You can shop from home. That’s what the internet’s for.”
“The tickets aren’t even on sale, yet,” Maddox adds. “But I’m happy to lend you a credit card once we’ve got them sorted. You can make a day of it.”
Dahlia’s eyes widen with delight, then she winks at me. “Don’t know how you wrangled this one into line, but I plan totake full advantage. Do you want to start making a list so we don’t forget anything?”
“Maybe leave it for a while,” he says, giving my waist a squeeze. “She spent the morning getting her uniform sorted, so must be sick of shopping.”
“Like that’s a thing,” Dahlia retorts. But she seems happy enough with the plan, abandoning her conversation to resume eating her salad.
