Prologue
THIRTEEN YEARS AGO
SAWYER
Westbourne Academy, on the outskirts of Boston, Massachusetts, looks like it was plucked from the set of a Harry Potter movie.
With water-stained beige stone walls, arched stained glass windows, and actual freaking towers, the building feels more like a castle than an expensive boarding school for New England’s wealthiest families.
But then, I wouldn’t be surprised if it is actually a castle that they’ve turned into a high school.
“You really didn’t need to come in with me,” I mutter to Mom as we pass another student giving us curious looks in the hallway. Enrolling mid-semester as a poor kid on an athletic scholarship is mortifying enough on its own. The last thing I want is Mom drawing more attention to me.
Besides, I only have one suitcase. I could’ve found my room without her help.
“But I want to see where you’ll be living!” Mom doesn’t even try to keep her voice down.
“Shh!”
“What? This place is beautiful! When will I ever get a chance to see the inside?” She stares at the soaring arches lining the hallway that leads to the boys’ residence. She couldn’t look more like a tourist if she tried. All she needs now is to pull out her phone and start taking pictures.
Oh, crap. I spoke too soon.
“Sawyer, wait, turn around!” Mom pushes me in front of her and takes a few steps back before lifting her phone and pointing it at me.
“Oh my god, Mom! Stop!” I hiss at her, turning away, and curling in on myself.
She just smiles smugly at me and ruffles my hair like I’m some child. Ugh. She knows exactly what she’s doing and she’s not afraid to embarrass the hell out of me in front of my new classmates.
“Come on!” She strides ahead of me. “I think it’s this way!”
I duck my head and hurry after her. The sooner we find my room, the sooner I can get rid of her and figure out how to make friends with these rich kids.
The boy’s residence is through a set of heavy double doors that open up into a long wide hallway. Off to one side is a set of stairs that lead up to the second floor but my room should be somewhere down here. Bronze numbers screwed into each door sit above plaques with elaborately engraved names.
Thomas McClelland.
Emory Williamson.
Josiah Perkings.
Francis Redman.
Jeez. Rich people have weird names. Why do they all sound so old?
“Here we are.” Mom stops in front of room 130. It’s at the very end of the hall. The plaque on the door reads Preston Boyer. Guess they haven’t got around to putting my name up there yet. Or maybe the scholarship students don’t get plaques.
Mom tries the door handle and jiggles it back and forth.
“Shouldn’t you knock first?” I ask.
She shrugs. “It’s your room. Are you going to knock every time you go in?”
“I don’t know,” I mutter, then hand her the key. My student card is supposed to open most doors at the school—anything with a scanner. But here in the residence, they still use keys that slot into locks on the door handle.
Mom takes it and unlocks the door. She pushes the door open an inch and shoots me a pointed look before knocking. “Hello? Anyone home?”
Silence.
“See?” She scoffs. “Nothing to worry about!”
I roll my eyes. Why does she have to be such a mom?
Inside, the dorm room doesn’t look nearly as Harry Potter-ish as the rest of the school.
It’s got the wrought iron windows and hardwood floors, but all the furniture is modern.
There are two beds and two desks, but the guy already living here—Preston Boyer—has taken over the entire room.
There are clothes strewn over every available surface and paper and textbooks sit in stacks on the floor.
The computer setup is impressive. Three screens are mounted in a curve on the wall and I recognize the expensive gaming keyboard and mouse on the desk.
The gaming chair sitting in the middle of the room is expensive too.
“Wow.” Mom plants her hands on her hips as she surveys the mess.
I can already imagine the speech she’s reciting in her head. If this was my room at home, I would get a nice long lecture. I hope whoever Preston Boyer is doesn’t show up while she’s still here. She’s not above parenting other people’s children.
“I guess this side is mine?” I inch toward the side where there’s slightly less stuff, wondering how the hell I’m going to move it all. I didn’t bring that much with me, but I’ll still need some space. You know, a mattress to sleep on and all that.
“Who the hell are you?”
Mom and I spin around at the new voice.
In the doorway is another boy, shorter than me and scrawny. The school uniform he’s wearing is wrinkled, one pant leg is caught in a sock, and the tie is loose and off-center. He’s got a mop of black hair and thick black-framed glasses, but what really catches my attention are his eyes.
They’re blue. Like the ocean. Like the sky. And they’re zeroed in on me with such intensity that my lungs stop working. My brain stops working. The only response I’ve got is whoa and cool.
Beside me, Mom clears her throat and steps forward. She puts on her mom voice when she speaks. “This is Sawyer and I’m his mom, Ms. Paige. He’s moving into this room today. And you are?”
The mom voice works because the boy shrinks back and clutches the textbook he’s holding closer to his chest. “Preston Boyer,” he says, eyeing Mom warily.
“So nice to meet you, Preston.” Then she hooks her thumb over to my side of the room. “Would all this be yours?”
Preston’s eyes dart from Mom to the bed, piled high with clothes, to me. There’s a little furrow in his brow like he’s trying to think of a response and drawing a blank. Like maybe all this stuff isn’t actually his.
Then he blurts out, “You’re not my roommate.”
Mom’s in front of me, so I can’t see her face, but I know exactly what it looks like. Her eyebrows are halfway up her forehead and her lips are pursed into her “What did you just say?” expression.
Oh shit. Preston’s in trouble.
“As a matter of fact, he is. Sawyer’s enrolling as a student at Westbourne and he’s been assigned to this double room. So your choices are to become friends and get along or find another room to sleep in. Either way, you need to move your things. Now.”
With each word coming out of Mom’s mouth, Preston shrinks into himself even further. I kind of feel bad for him, even if he’s being a jerk. Getting on Mom’s bad side is never a good idea.
“Hey, Pres. What’s taking so long?” A pretty blond girl wearing a cheerleading uniform materializes behind Preston. It takes a second for her to notice me and Mom in the room. “Oh! Hi! You must be Sawyer.”
She squeezes past Preston and approaches Mom with a big smile plastered on her face. The girl is brave. “I’m Madison. Preston’s girlfriend.” She extends a hand for Mom to shake, then does the same with me.
“Mads!” Preston hisses like Madison is consorting with the enemy. “What are you doing?”
Madison glances back at him. “I’m welcoming them. Come on, Pres, don’t be a jerk. You knew you were getting a roommate.”
“No, I didn’t!” Preston shuffles into the room, staying behind Madison like she can protect him from Mom. Madison looks like she can hold her own, but no one can stand in Mom’s way if she’s determined.
“Yes, you did.” She rolls her eyes and turns to the mess on Preston’s desk. “The Residence Office sent you a letter, remember?”
She shuffles through his things, tossing them around as Preston’s expression grows pained. He’s probably one of those people who has some weird ass filing system that only makes sense to them.
“Here it is!” Triumphantly, Madison holds a crumpled piece of paper high in the air.
It’s the same thick cream-colored stuff that my acceptance letter was printed on.
“Sawyer Paige. Moving in September twentieth. Please clear away any personal items that have been stored on the other side of the room.”
As one, we all stare at the personal items that have definitely not been cleared away.
Silence stretches for long moments before Madison breaks it. “No worries! I can help! It shouldn’t take too long.” She marches over with a big grin and grabs a stack of books off the desk.
“No! Wait!” Preston drops the textbook he’s holding and reaches for the ones in Madison’s hands. “You can’t just move stuff around! I have a system!”
Ha. Called it. This guy is strange. Living with him is going to be a drag, but at least I don’t have to worry about being the token loner.
“Fine, here, I’ll hand you the stuff and you put it wherever you want, okay?” Madison takes him by the shoulders and spins him around so he’s facing his side of the room again. “Just keep it all over there.”
Did she say she was his girlfriend? How the hell did a confident, pretty cheerleader end up with this disaster of a guy? I exchange a look with Mom, who has to be thinking exactly the same thing.
Then she sighs and pats me on the shoulder. “Looks like you’re all going to get along just fine.”
It’s going to be a long year.