A Love Song for Liars (Rivals #1) - Piper Lawson Page 0,2

until I was plucked from that existence and told I was meant for another one.

Outside, I slide my sunglasses on as I head for the parking lot.

The campus is sprawling and beautiful. I soak in the spring day, the expanse of green grass, the mature trees. It’s hot for Dallas, and all I want is to get home and jump in the pool.

I reach the modern steel fountain that marks the middle of the quad, the halfway point between the school and the parking lot, when a familiar form blocks my way.

I swear I’ve hit my daily quota of assholes.

“There are consequences for taking things that don't belong to you.”

Carly stands between me and the parking lot, flanked by minions.

“Roles don't belong to people.”

“I was talking about Kellan,” she retorts.

“People definitely don't belong to people.”

My focus falls to Lana’s dirty manicure, the black smudges up her arm that weren’t there during rehearsal.

Oakwood Prep is like society—the rules supposedly apply equally to everyone. They don’t. Not even close.

Even amongst the rich, there are circles of power, of influence.

Carly’s dad is the head of the school’s board, which means she can do what she wants. To whomever she wants.

“If Kellan’s your pathetic attempt not to die a virgin, good luck with that,” she goes on, leaning in as she senses the kill. “No guy at Oakwood will touch you.”

I close the distance between us and meet her predatory gaze head-on. “Promise I can get that in writing?”

“Carly.”

A low, smooth voice at my back has the baby hairs on my neck lifting. The minions’ attention snaps to behind me.

Uniforms are an attempt to make everyone look the same. In this case, they come up short. All three guys coming down the stairs toward us are good looking, but one stands out. You’d feel this guy’s magnetism in a blackout.

He’s tall, with ropy arms his navy jacket can’t hide, and broad enough he could carry the entire school’s baggage without breaking a sweat. He has an angled jaw and cheekbones, brown eyes a little too serious to be kind, and dark, wild hair.

If Kellan is this school’s preppy king, Tyler Adams is its rebel prince. He has the easy grace earned by being a senior, gorgeous, and a musician.

When he speaks, everyone listens.

When he plays the guitar, everyone worships.

“Tyler,” Carly breathes. “Wanna give me a ride home?”

I don’t wait around for the answer but use the distraction to dodge all of them and head to my car.

I want to get the hell out of this toxic place before I burn it down.

I shift into my silver Audi, turning the key in the ignition.

It doesn’t start.

My forehead falls to the steering wheel as I remember the minions’ black-streaked arms. They probably rummaged under the hood for the shiniest parts to stab at with their manicure sets.

“The Little Mermaid. A girl who has everything but it’s still not enough.”

My attention snaps toward the guy leaning in the passenger window, and I immediately regret leaving it down.

If Tyler Adams and my co-star Kellan share top billing on the “senior boys every junior girl would give their BMW to bang” list, it’s for different reasons.

Kellan’s full of charm, the golden boy who comes from money and radiates ease and promises of good times.

Tyler’s gorgeous. Talented. Mysterious. He comes from nothing and doesn’t blink before taking everything.

But no matter how fascinating he is, it’s a lie.

“Being the daughter of a king doesn’t mean her life is perfect,” I answer at last. “If you think so, you’re dumber than you look.”

He rubs a hand through his dark hair, the chunk of blue at the front that sets him apart. “But you told me I had a great future. You put on a scarf and held my hand and ogled my fate line.”

“It was a charity carnival. I was fourteen.”

“I paid five bucks for that spiritual advice. Don’t tell me I wasted it.”

I hit the start button once more. It makes a grinding noise until I slap a hand against the dash.

Please, don’t let me be stranded at school.

When I blink my eyes open, Tyler’s nodding through the windshield, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, the jacket already gone.

I don’t want Tyler Adams under my hood. But if I have to call my dad, it’ll invite questions as to why my almost-new car won’t start.

So, I pop the hood before rounding to the trunk for my toolkit, dropping it at his feet after I find it. Tyler yanks off