Chapter Five
FIVE
Theo nods to Maddox. Then he smiles at me, and my anger evaporates because all I can do is stare.
I’ve always thought a “thousand-watt smile” was hyperbole. Theo Dubois’s smile blinds and spellbinds at the same time. For five seconds, nothing exists beyond that smile and the fact it’s for me, and all I can think is Holy shit, that’s a real-life superpower.
“Liliana, I presume,” he says, and again, I thought “forgetting your own name” was also hyperbole, but it takes a moment for my brain to connect the word to me.
“Uh, right,” I manage. “I’m new.”
“Oh, I know. We have been prepared for your arrival. Welcome to Westdale, Liliana.”
“Th-thank you.”
“Maddox,” Theo says, and I half expect to find my tour guide has escaped, but he’s still leaning against that wall like it needs the support. “Mind if I take over?”
“Is that a question?” Maddox waves before Theo can answer. “Never mind. Whatever.”
Maddox yanks open the back door, and two seconds later, he’s gone.
Theo shakes his head. “Would you believe we were best friends growing up?” He makes a face. “Anyway, the tour. How far did you get?”
“He showed me the back door.”
A sharp laugh. “Telling you to get out while you still can? Yep, that’s Maddox. Okay, so where do you want to begin? An actual tour? Or a rundown of what to expect at Westdale? Because I don’t know where you went before, but nothing prepares you for this place.”
I breathe slow and steady as my heart races, telling me to just slip away. I don’t want this boy’s attention. Well, yes, I do, which means I really don’t, if that makes sense.
There were always boys like this at my schools, and I gave them wide berth, because if they looked my way, they wanted something.
Help with their homework when we’d been young, and then, when we got older, well, they figured shy girls like me would give them whatever they wanted.
Only Theo Dubois, with his 4.0 GPA, doesn’t need homework help.
And the vibes I’m getting are the opposite of predatory.
Because I’m not five steps down the social ladder, as I was with those boys in school. I might be new, but I’m an heiress, and that is the strangest feeling. A guy like this looking at me as if I’m a fellow human being, worthy of his time.
And he’s waiting for an answer. Deep breath. Play this cool. As if he’s just an average guy offering to show the new girl around.
“What to expect, please,” I say. “And, possibly, survival tips.”
That blazing grin again. “Good choice.”
He starts down the hall and shows me classrooms as he asks what I already know about Westdale and runs through the daily schedule.
“And here we have the not-creepy-at-all spiderweb art,” he says, waving at the wall with a flourish.
I think he’s making a joke about a real spiderweb, but this place is so clean even my mom wouldn’t find room for improvement.
The web is actual art. It’s a giant spiderweb made of silver, inlaid into the polished wood of the wall.
It’s gorgeous, though I’m not sure I should admit that.
In the middle, in place of a spider, there’s a woman in a toga weaving.
When I step back, I notice that the webbing forms words.
Industry. Art. Science.
“A reminder to us all that we work together to weave a better world,” Theo intones like a documentary narrator. Then he leans over and whispers, “Westdale likes its web iconography. Personally, I find it a little creepy.”
I smile. “Not a fan of spiders?”
His gaze slants my way. “I should say that I just think it’s odd, but yes, it might have something to do with my third birthday party, when I wanted a dinosaur theme, and my mom asked my dad to bring in some of the Jurassic Park animatronics, but he couldn’t get them so he settled for an onset tarantula wrangler, and we discovered I am severely arachnophobic. ”
I bite back a laugh.
He feigns a scowl at me and wags his finger.
“Do not mock the childhood trauma. Anyway, they like webs here, to make the point of us all being interconnected. We’re working together for the betterment of—if not the world—each other.
” He resumes walking. “Speaking of which, have they told you about the Optima race?”
“Sort of?”
“And are you running?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You should be.” He gives me a sidelong glance as we walk. “A 4.0 GPA at a public school. Accepted at every college she applied to, including Ivy League schools, without Westdale on her application. Enough awards and volunteer accolades to need an extra page on her application.”
My steps slow. “That’s…”
“Privileged information? Yeah, sorry. I didn’t look it up—the Optimas passed it along so I would understand my potential competition.”
“Uh, okay.”
He pauses at a doorway. “Here’s the dining hall. Lunch is at one, dinner at seven. They’ll deliver to your room if you’re busy with homework, but I’d suggest you don’t take that option. It looks bad.”
“Antisocial?”
“Yes, but also like you need the extra study time. Westdale is all about appearances.” He waves around the room, with its linen tablecloths and gleaming silver. “Food’s good. Any dietary restrictions, they’ll accommodate.”
He returns to the hallway. “Back to the Optima race, I understand that you might not realize how useful it can be. You didn’t grow up with it being waved overhead like the brass ring. But you really should consider running.”
“My…uh…lawyer says I shouldn’t bother. That I don’t need it. Being, uh…”
He grins. “A billionaire heiress?”
My cheeks heat. “Apparently.”
“Optima is about more than making money.” He glances down at me. “So, this is awkward, but do you know who my dad is?”
“Bernard Dubois. And Trinity Nilsen’s your mom.”
“Ah.” His smile seems forced. “Seen me in the gossip pages then?”
When I don’t answer, he tilts his head, studying my expression. “Ever seen me before at all?”
“My lawyer told me who your parents are, but I don’t follow celebrity gossip. Sorry.”
His real smile blazes back. “Damn, do not apologize. I love it when people don’t know who I am.
A chance to make a bad impression all on my own.
So, I referenced my dad because he’s an Optima.
That got him his first gig directing on a big-budget film.
If that film had flopped, the Optimas would have gotten him a second chance and a third until he found his footing.
The Optimas are the ultimate support network.
As the Chamberlain heiress, you won’t need to find employment, obviously, but you will need support—if only as a place where others really understand what it’s like to be in your position. ”
He reaches for the door beside us. “Speaking of networking, this is where you’ll want to spend most of your evenings.”
“Not just for networking, but to look as if I don’t need evenings to study.”
“You got it.”
He pushes open the door, and a girl’s voice says, “Excuse me? This room is booked.”
He ignores that and walks into a lounge that looks like an old-fashioned men’s club, complete with leather chairs and a massive fireplace.
The girl who spoke sits in a club chair, while two other girls sit opposite. It’s an arrangement every teenager recognizes instantly.
The queen bee in her hive.
This bee is gorgeous, dressed in the kind of outfit even I recognize as high fashion. I have to dig in my heels to keep from creeping backward and hiding behind the doorpost as I second-guess my cute-goth fashion choices.
She has dark brown skin, a cascade of black curls, topaz eyes behind glasses, and a perfect bow mouth, all set in a heart-shaped face that I’m certain has never seen a zit.
“Allegra Khan,” Theo says.
She rises, and even that movement is perfect, as if she’s a thirty-year-old supermodel in a teenager’s body.
“You must be Liliana Chamberlain,” she says, and I can’t read her tone. Not warm. Not cool. No hint of inflection.
She doesn’t reach out a hand, and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do, so I just nod and mumble a greeting.
“I’m showing her around,” Theo says. “I was saying this is the lounge, where we hang out in the evening.”
“It is,” Allegra says. “It’s also where the societies have their meetings. The schedule is outside the door.”
It’s an obvious rebuke to Theo, who only says, “I haven’t explained the societies yet. These are the Liliths. Allegra, of course. And Polly Reeves.” He nods to a girl with blond pigtails, dancing blue eyes, and perfect white teeth. She grins and waves.
“And Isolde Brandt.” Isolde is small—about my size—with red curls, pale skin, and a sprinkling of freckles. She smiles shyly.
“Now we will leave the queens in peace,” Theo says as he steers me out.
“So that was the Liliths,” he says after we’ve retreated and shut the door. “On Wednesdays they wear pink.”
“We heard that,” Polly calls with a laugh.
He grins and keeps walking. “There are four societies. Unless you’re Maddox Moreno, you’ll want to be in one. The Liliths are the top of the ladder. I’d join, but I have this pesky Y chromosome.”
“Girls only.”
“Yep. The story goes that when the school first opened, the guys formed societies, leaving the few female students to form their own. The Liliths were treated like some cute little sewing circle…until the forties, when five Optimas in a row were Liliths. The girls had been biding their time, working out their strategy, and once they took control, they never relinquished it. Forty percent of the Optimas come from the Liliths.”
“Is that the point of the societies? Getting one of their group chosen as the Optima?”
“Everything is about getting one of your own chosen. Think of our graduating class as a pyramid. The Optima will be at the top. Below them come their society mates. Next come the Optima’s other friends and allies.
If you can’t be Optima, you want to be in the Optima’s society, and failing that, you want to be their friend. ”
“And the Liliths provide the most Optimas.”
“Yep. Your mom was a Lilith. In fact, she was the Dux.”
“Ducks?”