Cruel Prep (Princes of Ravenlake Academy #1) - Nicole Fox Page 0,3
left longer on top and lands over his forehead. Everything about his features is hard and cold … but beautiful.
Breathtakingly beautiful.
He wears dark-washed jeans, a gray T-shirt, and a black bomber jacket, and his timeless style makes his appearance feel even more unreal.
Surely, this boy can’t be real.
Our eyes meet. It feels like my entire body is buzzing with electricity. Like I’m experiencing a kind of power surge.
“What did you say?” I finally gasp. My voice sounds weirdly strained.
His dark eyebrow arches upwards. In amusement or disgust, I can’t tell. “Your social skills need work,” he says wryly.
I’m pretty sure he’s kidding, but not positive. Everything about this boy is mysterious. Baffling.
“I’m not here to socialize,” I retort. I wince when the words leave my mouth. It’s a lame answer, but it’s the best I can do under the circumstances, seeing as how my brain is basically short-circuiting.
He nods slowly. “You’re the new girl.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Something like that.”
“Exactly like that, I think.”
There’s a level of arrogance in his voice that would normally piss me off. Instead, it just intensifies the heat building in my core.
“Who asked you?” I snap.
He grins and backs up, hands raised. “Woah there. No need to bite.”
“No need to be an ass, either.”
He lets his hands fall by his side and slips them carelessly into his pockets. God, he really is obnoxiously gorgeous. Like, I’m mad that someone this good-looking exists in the world. He studies me for a moment longer.
I burn under his gaze, but I refuse to walk away. It feels like we’re sparring here, and the first one to leave loses.
Then, as if he’d gotten everything he came for, he nods once and walks away. His shoulder brushes mine as he passes.
He calls back over his shoulder, “See you around, new girl.”
3
Lily
I head outside to catch my breath. My skin is crawling after seeing Mr. Foster and then the gorgeous asshole one right after the other, so I could use a little fresh air.
There’s a set of concrete stairs set into a grassy slope. I sink to a seat there and pull out my notebook.
Sketching always calms my nerves. The margins of my notebooks have been filled with doodles for as long as I can remember. When I draw, I can just let go, be free.
Or at least, that’s usually the case.
But after a few minutes of letting my mind wander, I realize my scribbles have turned into an arched eyebrow.
His arched eyebrow.
I quickly turn the page and start fresh on a blank sheet, taking a deep breath to clear my head.
“Why’d you stop?”
I startle and look over to see a tall boy with platinum blond hair slouched on the steps above me in front of me. He has on a brown leather jacket with frayed patches on the chest and sleeves.
“Oh, thanks,” I mumble, smoothing my hand over my notebook. “It was just a doodle.”
He shrugs and looks towards the school like he really doesn’t care either way. Without looking, he pulls a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his jacket pocket and lights up. In the same motion, he offers the pack to me.
I don’t smoke. Correction: I’ve smoked before, but only because I found a pack of cigarettes in the street when I was thirteen and wanted to know what it would be like.
Still, the cigarettes feel like a test, and I don’t want to fail. So, I nod and accept one. The boy lights it for me, his eyes watching the flame as it tongues the tip. When it catches, he licks his lips and takes a long puff of his own cigarette, blowing the smoke in my face.
“You’re new,” he comments.
I roll my eyes. Not this again.
When I don’t answer, the boy blows out another puff of smoke and leans back against the metal stair railing. “Bold of you to pick a seat in Loser Land on your first day.”
I look around. The guy is right.
The rest of the student body has come out for lunch period, and—not to judge books by their covers—the handful of kids who’ve chosen seats over on this grassy slope don’t exactly measure up to the boy who scared me in the hallway. They’re a little grungier, a little angstier. Not nearly as arrogant and confident. Clearly a tier below.
“I wasn’t given much of a choice,” I admit.
The boy nods and exhales another cloud of smoke. “We’re a better pick than the Golden Boys, anyways,” he says.