5. echo #2
“Everyone says they’re here for school,” Priya said, talking faster now.
“Some even mean it. But they’re also here with pieces attached.
Family companies, hospital boards, property groups, contracts, charities that are basically tax shelters with nicer brochures.
My family has two resorts, a boutique hotel chain, and a restaurant group my uncle uses to punish anyone who tells him his menus are too long.
Devon has legal-policy firms on one side and consulting on the other, which is rich-person code for making regulations blink first. Maren’s grandmother owns land the city keeps trying to pretend isn’t important, and her parents manage the trusts attached to it. ”
Maren’s fingers tightened around her spoon, but she didn’t correct Priya. Devon only took a drink of water, gaze on me over the rim of his glass.
I looked at their plates because looking at them felt too close to giving something away.
Salmon, saffron rice, edible flowers, lime water, truffle fries cooling between us.
“I own a motorcycle, a hostile personality, and several emotional problems I refuse to turn into a brand. I don’t have a company, a trust, or a vineyard pretending it’s agriculture. I’m here for school.”
Priya opened her mouth, then shut it again, which was the first time I’d seen restraint from her and didn’t care for it.
Maren’s gaze moved over me slowly, from the jacket they’d forced me into to the shoes I hated to my hands around the coffee cup.
Devon’s expression changed too, softening in a way I didn’t trust. Pity looked ugly on everyone.
“Okay,” Maren said.
“Not okay like you believe me,” I said.
“Okay like I’m adjusting.”
Priya dragged the fries back toward the center of the table, giving me access again.
“Protection here isn’t about people being rude to Camille in the bathroom.
It’s retaliation. Someone embarrasses her, and a development permit stalls.
Someone threatens her, and an internship disappears.
A donor pulls out. A scholarship gets reviewed for a clerical issue nobody noticed yesterday.
An audit opens. A family friend stops answering calls. Nobody has to touch you to hurt you.”
That was the first explanation that didn’t sound like rich people mistaking discomfort for violence.
I looked around the cafeteria again. It didn’t change for me just because I understood a little more.
Students still ate from white plates. Someone laughed near the windows.
At the next table, the girl who had said Nichlas’ name was staring hard at her salad while her friend whispered with her mouth barely moving.
The room was all silk and silverware and careful hands, and under every sleeve was a wrist someone else could grab.
Father Three would’ve liked the structure. Father Two would’ve hated how obvious the weak spots were if anyone bothered to look. Father One would’ve made me eat before letting me think too hard. Father Four would’ve told me to pull the first thread and see who tried to stop the fabric from tearing.
I missed home for half a second. Then I stabbed the tart with my fork and made that someone else’s problem.
“So Camille is expensive to touch,” I said.
Priya nodded. “Very.”
“And Nichlas?”
Priya pushed her salad away and leaned in, her forehead scrunched up as she glared at me.
“That’s why Nichlas is weird. He doesn’t have Camille’s family.
He doesn’t have obvious money, not the kind that makes people step sideways in a cafeteria.
He isn’t charming enough for people to protect him because they like him, and he isn’t scary enough for people to protect him because they’re afraid of him.
He’s not even useful in an obvious way. He’s just there, and everyone knows not to touch him. ”
Behind me, the girl at the next table lowered her voice again. This time I caught pieces. Nicky. Upstairs. Someone told him. Looked scared. Priya’s nails tapped once against her glass, silently reminding me not to say anything.
I brought the coffee to my mouth and drank even though it had gone lukewarm and bitter.
Nichlas had run from me and landed here, safe in the most pathetic way possible.
He was a name people swallowed because someone else had put a hand over him.
That should’ve been satisfying. It wasn’t.
It made the scar down my side itch beneath my shirt, a hot line of memory I refused to touch in front of them.
“You know him, don’t you?” Priya asked. “That’s what all the questions are for. Who is he? Why’s he important? Why would the Kings—”
I cut her off. “He looks like someone I used to know.”
Priya didn’t push with a question this time.
She studied me for a second and then pointed at my tart with her fork, giving the whole table somewhere else to look.
“If you’re going to lie that badly, you should at least finish dessert first. Then maybe at some point, you can tell us what’s going on. ”
I chewed on my bottom lip, my gaze still running across the cafeteria several times before landing on Nichlas scurrying down the back hall.
I didn’t even see which door he came out of but it was all well enough.
“Look, I like the three of you,” I started, trying to find the right words.
“I’m not a fan of the uniform or the shoes or whatever bullshit hierarchy is here.
That being said, I’m not spilling my life story to you three. ”
Maren frowned. “Echo, we already told you about us. We’re not asking for your life story.”
“Aren’t you? I don’t fit in and so you need to know why I’m here.
” I pushed to my feet and stole one last fry.
“Also, the only thing I know about you all is that you’re rich.
And that you three stick together for “protection”.
” I used air quotes to emphasize. “I love that for you but that doesn’t warrant my entire backstory.
Besides, I’m here for school. That’s what everyone keeps telling me this place is for, right? ”
I threw them a wink and focused on getting back to my dorm so I could shed the heels, update my notebook, and figure out a way to kill Nichlas without getting caught.
The little bastard being protected changed the math.
Witnesses were one problem. Retaliation was another.
More bloodshed sounded fun, but it was also messy.