Cruel Prep (Princes of Ravenlake Academy #1) - Nicole Fox Page 0,2

feet like a king. It’s easy to see why—he really looks the part. Arrogant smile, slicked-back dark hair that bears a single gray streak racing from his right temple backwards, a thousand-dollar Armani suit that he wears like a second skin.

If I had to draw a cartoon rich person, I’d sketch this exact man. He is a stereotype if I’ve ever seen one. And yet, still intimidating.

But even if the rest of the town falls all over themselves to pay homage to Mr. Foster, you won’t catch me doing anything like that.

Not after the stuff he said about me in the newspapers this summer.

We’ve never spoken. Not officially. But Mr. Foster thinks he knows me very, very well. In his front page op-ed, he wrote: “Lily DeVry is nothing more than a reckless young girl with a wild imagination and a desperate need for attention. I don’t blame her, of course. She’s just a child. The issue is parenting.”

I can handle people saying negative things about me, but publicly and baselessly shaming my mother? Abso-fucking-lutely not.

I try to calm myself as Mr. Foster mounts the stage and turns to survey the assembled new students. Dr. Sharon, the therapist I started going to after The Incident, told me to picture my body filling up with cool water like a vase anytime my emotions started to get out of control.

So that’s what I do. Drop by drop, until I can unclench my fists and breathe again.

Up at the podium, William Foster is taking a weirdly long time to smile at each and every person here. I think it is meant to be a sign of warmth and kindness, but it comes off as kind of sinister, like if a shark smiled at you.

The freshmen squirm in their seats when his eyes land on them. I, however, force myself to sit still and meet his gaze straight on. If he recognizes me, he doesn’t show it. He gives me the same placid smile he gives everyone else, and then clears his throat when he is finished.

“Welcome to Ravenlake Prep.” His voice echoes off the stone walls and climbs to the ceiling, bouncing around the rafters. He has a voice for the pulpit. It carries. And though the whole town seems to worship at his feet, Mr. Foster boasts a particularly devoted following at Ravenlake Prep. Maybe the days of this building holding a cult aren’t entirely over.

“I make it a point to meet every new student who walks through the doors of this school. As a businessman, I like to know where my investments are going.”

He raises a brow, waiting for everyone to laugh at his teasing joke. The administration chuckles immediately. The freshmen take a bit longer to catch on. I don’t join in at all.

Suddenly, I start to feel a little claustrophobic. I don’t know if it’s the creepy stone architecture or Mr. Foster himself, but I need to get the hell out of this room.

I mumble something under my breath about “bathroom,” even though none of the freshmen seated around me give a shit. Then I take off, head ducked, straight for the doors Mr. Foster just came through.

I burst out into the empty hallway. I thought getting away from everyone would help, but my panic is only worsening.

I rest my head against the stone wall and try another patent-pending Dr. Sharon technique: naming as many colors as I can until the anxiety lessens. Red. Blue. Purple. Green. Orange. Black…

It’s not helping. A memory is coming back, a bad one.

It’s dark. Trees all around me. I’m sweating, running.

I think I’m lost. I don’t usually run in the dark, so I might’ve missed a turn somewhere, and now I’m not sure if I’m running back towards home or just getting deeper and deeper into the woods.

I can’t hear much over the sound of my own breathing and the crunch of the ground beneath my feet…

Until the sound of a girl’s pained whimper stops me cold.

“You’re not supposed to be out here.”

A voice snaps me out of my memory. I glance up—and freeze.

The boy casually leaning against the wall a few yards away from me looks like something out of a dream—or a nightmare. A single beam of ghostly light hits his face from a stained glass window overhead.

His jawbone is sharp and wide, his nose a harsh line down the center of his face, and his eyebrows slant over his deep-set eyes. Dark hair is buzzed close on the sides, but