2. Alex
Chapter 2
Alex
B aarrrinnnngggg! Barinnnggg! Baarrrinnnngggg!
My hand blindly reaches out and slams down on the source of the heinous noise coming from the table next to my bed. I groan in frustration when I see that it’s 8:45 am. The alarm woke me up, and I sit up quickly, knowing exactly who is responsible for this intrusion. Chancellor Maxwell, with her obsession for punctuality, must have set the alarm on the bedside clock before I even arrived. Her relentless need for promptness would be the death of me, I swear.
I shake off the drowsiness and wipe the drool from my lips before getting out of bed and heading to the bathroom attached to my room. I splash some water on my face, but even after patting it dry, the dark circles under my eyes are still prominent. Today, I’ll have to rely on concealer to hide them. Glancing at the clock once more, I realize I don’t have enough time for a shower if I want to make it to Maxwell’s office by nine. So I quickly change into a different outfit from one of my suitcases, grab my phone, and rush out the door. Concealer will just have to wait until later.
If I showed up even a single minute late, I had a hunch that Maxwell would give me an earful. She might even track me down herself to give me a lecture on punctuality.
It was Sunday, so there were only a few students hanging around as I made my way to the main building. They didn’t pay any attention to me. Most of them were probably nursing hangovers or sleeping in. I wished I could do the same. A meeting to go over more rules and regulations sounded about as enjoyable as trying to guess what was growing on the walls of my building’s hallway. Just the thought made me shudder.
I may consider myself a lover of botany, but the only way I’d ever dissect that fungus is if I were drunk. A chill runs down my back at the thought.
I rush over to the admin building, making quick strides. The walk from last night had been straightforward, and now in the daylight, it was even more direct. I didn’t pay much attention to the main Altair building yesterday; my bad mood had clouded my perception. But in the daylight, it’s hard not to notice its size and grandeur, surpassing even the Prescott Dormitory. It seems tiny in comparison to this one.
The gothic structure looms tall and grand, with black stone walls and pointed arches. The windows were long and narrow, with intricate clear glass designs that cast a rainbow of shadows on the ground. It loomed over everything else like a dark, brooding giant as the towered turrets reached, piercing the sky. The main Altair building stands far above the thick pine trees that surrounded the campus.
I make my way inside. As I step into the office, a new text from Clara appears on my phone with a ding. My finger presses the open button, and the bright light of the screen illuminates my surroundings. Suddenly, I collide into someone. The person is holding a stack of papers that get tossed into the air, creating a chaotic cascade of parchment that resembles a flock of startled birds taking flight. “Shit!” A female voice hisses at me. “I didn’t see you coming.”
“I’m pretty sure there should be a concussion protocol for this kind of thing.” I say with a frown, rubbing at my arm where the papers hit me.
The girls face flushes in what I assume to be embarrassment before she bends down, her curly, honey-blonde hair concealing her like a curtain as she frantically picks up the scattered papers from the ground.
“I can never catch a break,” she huffs, mumbling to herself as she attempts to re-stack the mess. “Two hours wasted organizing these.”
I raise an eyebrow inquisitively as I hand her another small stack. “Did you really spend two hours on this? On a Sunday?”
She keeps her eyes glued to the ground, not acknowledging my comment. “I don’t have time to redo all of these by myself.” She sighs.
My words seem to go unheard as her attention is elsewhere. Just as I’m about to speak again, the door to Chancellor Maxwell’s office suddenly swings open, cutting off any conversation.
Maxwell’s imposing figure steps out, her perfectly tailored suit crisply pressed, and hair pulled back tightly as her chin dips down between us. Her gaze is stern and piercing as her lips pull into a scowl.
Maxwell questions, “What is the reason for this?”
I begin to explain how we accidentally bumped into each other, but am interrupted.
“The rules specifically state that solicitation or outside resources are not allowed on Altair property. Care to clarify why you were both picking up papers off the floor for…” Maxwell’s pointed toe lands on a paper, crumpling it slightly as she glances at the handout. “The museum’s torchlit tour next month?”
“I thought it would be interesting for students participating in this year’s games to learn about different methods of resource gathering during the Paleolithic Era.”
I glance at the blonde girl, confused by her explanation.
“Games?” I echo, confusion evident in my voice. “What games?”
My question goes ignored; Maxwell’s eyes narrow on the other girl. “You know very well that any extracurricular activities must be approved by the board. Especially those related to the games, Miss—”
“I understand, I understand,” the girl grumbles. “I get it, Chancellor.”
Maxwell’s nod is rigid as she shifts her focus back to me. “Miss Prescott, I believe we have a meeting scheduled. Let’s not waste any more time, I don’t wish to be here all night.” She scowls disapprovingly before briskly walking back into her office.
All night? It was barely morning.
“You better hurry; Maxwell will have a meltdown if she falls behind schedule,” the girl says. “Did you notice the vein bulging in her forehead when she went back inside her office?”
“I swear I saw smoke coming out of her nose,” I respond, and it elicits a chuckle from her.
“Thanks,” the girl says as we both get up, and I add the last pile of papers to her stack.
A warm smile spreads across her face, revealing her pearly white teeth against the pink tint of her lips. “Sutton,” she introduces herself, balancing the papers in one arm and offering the other for a handshake.
“Alex,” I reply, returning the gesture.
“Nice to meet you, Alex,” Sutton says, her smile fading slightly as she glances toward Maxwell’s office. “You’d better get in there before she comes looking for you again.”
I can’t help but notice the door is left ajar, as if it’s ordering me to come inside. My eyes quickly land on the stack of papers, and my mind starts churning with an idea. “Where were you planning on delivering these?” I ask.
“I was hoping to get permission to put them in the students’ mailboxes,” she responds with a hint of uncertainty in her voice.
I shake my head to reject her suggestion. It would require some extra effort, but it was a loophole that would allow her to bypass the rules; as long as Sutton didn’t knock on any students’ doors, she technically wasn’t selling or promoting anything. It would be a delicate dance between being efficient and avoiding getting caught as she slid flyers from room to room, but it was possible.
Her head nods as I lay out my idea, a smile spreading across her face by the time I finish explaining why it could work.
Sutton’s eyes sparkle with excitement as she considers my suggestion. “That’s genius, Alex! I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.” She glances down at her watch and bites her lip. “I better get started if I want to hit all the dorms before this afternoon. Thanks again for the idea.”
With a final grin and wave, she hurries off down the hallway, papers clutched tightly to her chest. I watch her go, feeling a mix of satisfaction at helping her out and annoyance about my impending meeting with Maxwell. I swear I can feel her impatience through the wall.
I release a heavy sigh. Here goes nothing .
I enter the room and settle into the same chair I sat in yesterday, directly across from her desk. Restlessly, I fiddled with my fingers while she talks on the antique-looking phone.
Maxwell’s eyebrows are furrowed in frustration, her lips pursed as she spoke. Her hand tapped impatiently against the wooden desk, conveying her irritation and restlessness. I shared the same feelings about being awake on a Sunday before noon.
As I walked to her office earlier, I couldn’t help but hear the cheerful chirping of birds, reminding me that it was too early to be up on a weekend.
Mornings. So outdated and primitive.
As my phone beeped, I remembered that I had failed to read Clara’s earlier text. I hurriedly typed out a reply to her grievances about Elle, trying to tune out Maxwell’s frustrated remarks. My body was tense and sore from waking up earlier than I was used to, and all I wanted was the comfort of soft sheets and warm blankets.
“My apologies for interrupting our time. We’re facing some difficulties with filling the pool in our natatorium,” Maxwell explains, ending her phone call as I glance down at my own device. It’s been four minutes since I arrived.
Oh no, four whole minutes lost.
“No worries. Hey…”
Before I can react, a blur of movement snatches my phone from my hand. The sleek black device disappears from my sight, leaving only empty space where it was. Across the desk, Maxwell’s hand retreats with my phone tightly gripped in her fingers as she effortlessly settles back into her seat.
“I should have mentioned this yesterday, but personal cellphones are not allowed at Altair. They can only be used by students on weekends.”
I stare at her in disbelief.
“But it’s Sunday,” I protest.
“It is,” she confirms, tossing my phone into a drawer filled with others and locking it shut.
My face falls. Anger and sadness both rise within me, struggling to take control.
“You have no right to take that away,” I seethe, my face contorting in outrage.
My phone, my only connection with my sister, is now locked away in a desk drawer. Frustration and disappointment weigh heavily on me as I struggle to keep my emotions in check.
Her mouth flattens into a patronizing line. “If you need to make a call, you can request to use a phone at the school. The building for this purpose is right next to the mail office and open every Saturday and Sunday from nine in the morning until nine at night.” She tries to show sympathy, but her words only make me angrier.
“And what about the days in between?” I retort, pushing back.
She shoots me a stern look, and an awkward silence fills the air between us. “If you’d like, you could try putting pen to paper,” she suggests without sympathy. “Letters are how our students usually communicate with their loved ones and friends.”
I clench my fists, barely containing my anger. Letters? In this day and age? The absurdity of it all makes me want to laugh and scream at the same time. But I know better than to push Maxwell any further. Her steely gaze tells me this is a battle I won’t win.
“Fine,” I mutter, slumping back in my chair. “Can we just get on with whatever this meeting is about?”
Maxwell nods, seemingly satisfied with my reluctant compliance. She pulls out a thick folder from her desk drawer and opens it, revealing a stack of papers covered in neat handwriting.
She swipes at the desk, as if to remove any invisible debris. “There’s an assembly in the main auditorium tonight for all students at the university. You are expected to attend, just like everyone else.”
My jaw tightens. “And what happens if I refuse to go?”
Maxwell’s eyes narrow, her gaze piercing through me. “Refusal to attend mandatory events is not an option, Miss Prescott. It would result in immediate disciplinary action.”
I lean back, crossing my arms. “And what exactly does that entail?”
“Let’s just say it’s in your best interest to comply,” Maxwell replies, her voice laced with thinly veiled threat. “Altair takes its rules very seriously. Breaching them could jeopardize your standing here.”
“I hadn’t realized by agreeing to come here I’d be getting a warden,” I mutter not bothering to bite my tongue or hide my displeasure. “What time is this assembly?”
“Eight o’clock sharp, but doors open thirty minutes early. Don’t be late.” Maxwell glances at her watch. “Now, let’s discuss your class schedule.”
As she drones on about course requirements and academic expectations, my mind wanders. I can’t help but feel trapped, like a bird in a gilded cage. The irony of hearing those cheerful chirps earlier isn’t lost on me now. I nod mechanically as Maxwell outlines my classes, barely registering the subjects she mentions.
“Miss Prescott, are you listening?” Maxwell’s sharp tone snaps me back to attention.
“Yes, of course,” I lie, straightening in my chair. “Please continue.”
She eyes me suspiciously but resumes her explanation of the curriculum. Once she’s finished with that, she lets me know I’ll have the rest of today to settle in before my classes officially start in the morning.
“I suggest taking the day to use the provided map and your class schedule to familiarize yourself with the campus,” Maxwell encourages. “It should go without saying, but time is a precious commodity and being punctual shows respect for not only your professors, but also your peers.”
I force my eyes not to drift to the back of my skull as I nod in acknowledgment.
“Is there anything else?” I ask eager to escape this office and Maxwell’s oppressive presence.
“Just one more thing,” she says, reaching into her desk drawer once again. She pulls out a small, rectangular box. “Your hair. No unnatural colors, as we discussed yesterday.”
A bitter, metallic taste fills my mouth, like I’ve just bitten into a lemon rind. It’s one green streak. I’m not ready to part with my small act of rebellion against my old life.
“You can’t be serious,” I say, eyeing the box of hair dye with disdain. “It’s just a streak.”
Maxwell’s expression remains impassive. “Rules are rules, I’m afraid. Natural hair colors only. You agreed to this when you accepted your place here.”
I bite my lip, fighting the urge to argue. The green streak had been my act of defiance, a reminder of who I was after everything had changed. Now, it seems even that small comfort will be stripped away.
“Whatever,” I mutter, snatching the box from her desk. “Is that all?”
Maxwell nods, a hint of satisfaction in her eyes. “That’s all. Remember, eight o’clock sharp for the assembly. And be sure to dye your hair before then.”
I storm out of her office, clutching the box of hair dye like it’s a bomb about to detonate. The hallway feels dreadfully narrow, the walls closing in on me. I need air. I need space. I need to be anywhere but here.
Finding the nearest exit, I burst outside into the morning air. The campus sprawls before me, all manicured lawns and stunningly crafted buildings. It’s beautiful, in a sterile, suffocating sort of way.
The sun blinds me. The sky a cloudless, crystal blue, unfeeling to my somber mood. It was as if the sun was mocking the melancholy that lingered within me, its rays searing and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the heavy weight of disappointment and outrage that hung in my chest.
I raise my hand to shield my eyes from the brightness.
“Well, well, well. Look who’s finally decided to grace us with their pitiful presence. Maxwell must’ve finally tired of us to recruit this sad lump. Finally, our punishment has made her presence known.”
My hand falls to my side as I immediately pinpoint the source of the derogatory words.
Today was definitely not my day.
“Nice glasses. Are you trying to hide an entire city under those things?” I retort at the stranger sitting on top of the staircase’s pedestal, kicking his feet.
There were three guys in front of me. The first was an obnoxious guy with blond hair and sunglasses that made him look like a bug trying to hide from the sun. Then there was a guy with dark black hair, lounging carelessly on the thick top rail. And finally, there was the third guy, standing with an irritated expression as if he would rather trim grass with a pair of tweezers than be near me. Despite his annoyed expression, his features were undeniably attractive - strong jawline, sharp cheekbones, and piercing eyes. His brown hair was styled in a messy yet intentional way, adding to his attractive appearance.
I felt a sudden tingle of familiarity at the sight of the last one, but I was unable to dwell on it for long. The guy with glasses had already jumped down from his position and was right in front of me in the blink of an eye.
“We got a live one, fellas,” the blond guy sneered. “You might want to watch that mouth of yours around us.”
I stood my ground, refusing to be intimidated. “Would it be helpful for you if I repeat it slower this time?” I ask innocently, blinking my lashes.
The man in the middle, resembling a cat basking in the sun, turned his head toward me at my comment. Oh good, it seems I was drawing a crowd.
“Careful there,” the lounging man drawled, his voice a low, amused rumble. “You’re playing with fire, and you might just get burned.”
I scrunched my nose in distaste. “I’ve already been through hell. You three are barely a spark in comparison.”
The third guy uncrossed his arms, his eyes watching me intently. Who is he? That nagging sense of familiarity intensifies, but I push it aside. I have bigger problems to deal with.
The blond man’s smirk falters for a moment, replaced by a flicker of curiosity. “Hell, you say? Do tell. We’re always up for a good story of suffering.”
I clench my jaw, regretting my loose tongue. These weren’t the kind of people I wanted knowing my business.
Sunglasses took a step closer, invading more of my personal space. I refused to cower, meeting his gaze defiantly.
“Back down, Sylvester,” the displeased guy with brown hair suddenly spoke, his voice low and commanding. “Prescott will learn her place soon enough.”
The blond man—Sylvester—turns to glare at him. “Come on, Bishop. I was just having a little fun.”
I felt my breath catch in my throat as the realization hit me. Bishop. The name echoes in my mind, bringing with it a flood of memories from the night before. The cigarette burn on my clothes, the cryptic warning as he reached for my hair, the intense gaze that had followed me through the darkness.
“You,” I breathe, my eyes locked on his face, hot and angry. “Should I send you the bill from my doctor for your secondhand smoke?”
Bishop’s expression remained impassive, but something flickered in his eyes. Recognition, perhaps? Or was it a warning?
Sylvester looked between us, his smirk widening. “Oh ho, what’s this? You two met each other already? Bishop, you sly dog. Holding out on us, were you?”
“Shut it, Sly,” Bishop growled, not taking his eyes off me. “This is not the time.”
The lounging man sat up, suddenly interested. “Now this is getting interesting. Care to share with the class?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but Bishop cut me off. “We’ve had the unfortunate pleasure,” he said, holding my gaze, unwavering. “Isn’t that right, Prescott?”
The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine. I gripped the box of hair dye tighter, using it as an anchor to reality. “I wouldn’t call it pleasure,” I spat.
His expression darkens. “You should consider yourself lucky to even be allowed on campus, after the trouble your father caused during his time at Altair.”
I felt my blood run cold at the mention of my father. What had he done? And how did these assholes all know about it, and I didn’t?
“My father has nothing to do with this,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “And neither do I. So why don’t you three just move along and leave me alone?”
Sylvester laughs, a harsh sound. “Ah, babe. You really have no idea what you’ve stepped into, do you?”
My eyes scan the surrounding area, looking for hints as to what my dad may have done. I find none. I do, unfortunately find a set of angry and determined men eyeing me, their expressions making it clear they don’t appreciate me being here.
I continue to search between them, hoping to find any clues that may shed light on my dad’s actions. But there is nothing. Instead, I’m met with a group of hostile, yet undeniably attractive guys glaring at me, their faces showing their clear disapproval of my presence here at Altair.
I stood tall, refusing to let them see how unsettled I am. “Look, I don’t know what you think you know about my father, but I’m here on my own merit.” Kind of… Sort of… It was none of their business.
The lounging man finally stood, stretching languidly. “You may have earned your spot bloodline wise, but socially?” He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “That’s a whole different game.”
Hadn’t that girl, Sutton, mentioned something about games earlier? Was this related to that?
Bishop’s eyes never left my face. His stare fixed on me, unblinking. “You should have stayed away, Prescott. Altair isn’t a place your family is welcome anymore.”
“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”
Sylvester sidled up next to me, his breath hot on my face. “It means you’re out of your depth, babes. Daddy’s sins have a long reach, and it would appear you’ve been sent to pay for them.”
I stepped away from Sylvester, my skin crawling at his accusations. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t care. I’m not here to play whatever twisted games you all seem to be involved in.”
Bishop’s eyes darkened. “Ignorance won’t earn you any favors here. What your family did was unforgivable.”
“Then enlighten me,” I challenged, my voice firm. “What exactly did he do that’s got you all so worked up?”
The three students exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, Bishop spoke. “Your father broke the most sacred rule of Altair. He betrayed his own kind.”
Sylvester chuckled darkly at my obvious confusion. “She really doesn’t know anything, does she? This is great. What do you say, Camden? Bishop? Should we enlighten her?”
Camden, the one who had been lounging earlier, stepped forward. His eyes gleamed with a predatory light. “I think we should. After all, it’s only fair she knows what she’s walked into. Makes it more fun…for us, anyway.”
My breath hitches, but I refused to show weakness, keeping my tone breezy. “I’m not interested in your cryptic bullshit. If you have something to say, just say it.”
“Your father,” Bishop spat, “sold our families out. He abandoned our parents, forced them to forfeit the Altair games. He tarnished our legacy.”
The Altair games? Legacy? What the hell were they talking about? My dad never mentioned anything like this. As far as I knew, he was just a regular businessman who’d attended this university years ago.
“You’re lying,” I snapped back. “He would never—”
“But he did,” Sylvester interrupted, his voice dripping with malice. “And now you’re here, blissfully unaware of the damage he’s done. It’s almost poetic, really.”
Camden circled around me. “The question is, what are we going to do about it? After all, you’re here now. A Prescott, back at Altair after all these years.”
I felt trapped, surrounded by these men who seemed to know more about my family’s history than I did. My mind raced, trying to make sense of their cryptic words. Games, betrayal, legacy—none of it fit with the image I had of my father.
“I don’t believe you,” I said, my voice steady, despite the tension bubbling inside me.
A cruel laugh escaped Bishop, one that made my spine stiffen with unease. “Your naivety is almost endearing,” he said, leaning back, but I felt no relief. Every harsh word only seemed to make him more compelling, and I despised how something deep in my gut fluttered while I was this near to him. Just like last night, his body language exuded confidence and charisma, commanding attention even in the dark.
What fresh hell had I stumbled into?
“Your father may have sheltered you from the truth, but that doesn’t change what happened,” he said, voice as cruel and brutal as before. “The Altair games are sacred, a tradition you are no longer welcomed to. We don’t want you, so don’t bother trying to join our team,” he sneers.
“I have no interest in being involved with you or your silly games.”
Bishop’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You mock what you don’t understand. The Altair games are far more than some childish pastime. They’re a test of skill, cunning, and loyalty. Your father failed on all counts.”
I felt goosebumps break out across my arms at his words, but other than that, I refused to show fear. “Look, I don’t know what kind of cult you’re running here, but I want no part of it. Whatever my dad supposedly did, it has nothing to do with me.”
Sylvester let out a low whistle. “You really think it’s that simple? That you can just waltz onto this campus and pretend the past doesn’t exist?”
Camden stepped closer, baring his teeth. “Your very presence here is an insult to everything we stand for. To the sacrifices our families have made.”
Whatever. I’m sure this would be a whole lot more intimidating if I actually knew who their families were in relation to my own.
“Are we done here?” I ask shaking the box of dye in my hand. “I’ve got some rules to follow, apparently.”
Bishop’s eyes flicked to the box. “Ah yes, Maxwell’s rules of conformity. Tell me, Prescott, how does it feel to have even your small acts of freedom stripped away?”
I clench my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. The green streak in my hair suddenly feels like a lifeline I’m about to lose.
Their eyes glint with triumph, and it fills me with disgust. They take my lack of response as a victory and the three of them strut away, leaving me alone on the steps of Altair’s main building. The weight of their words settle over me like a heavy fog. What had my dad done to inspire such hatred? And why had he never told me about this place, about these people who seemed to know so much about our family?
Until yesterday, I was completely unaware of the existence of Altair. And now, somehow, I find myself in a conflict with three guys who seem to know my family better than I do? What did I ever do to deserve this?
My walk back to my dorm is swift and filled with my desire to leave, but I can’t. I had made the decision to attend this new university, and I wasn't going to back down so easily.
With shaking hands, I unlock the door to my room and slip inside. The box of dye feels like a grenade with the pin pulled, ready to explode in my grip. I toss it onto my desk and collapse onto the bed, my mind reeling.
This place is beyond weird.