American.
The new girl, who must be right out of high school, is definitely an American—if the accent is any indication. And while we do have some American students at REU, they’re very few and far between. They always try to get to The King’s U first. It’s also why almost all of us British students don’t even attempt to apply to the other university.
“Are you perhaps lost?” I say with a warm tone, then point behind her. “The King’s U is that way.”
“Oh, I know. They don’t have a ballet school there, so I applied here and luckily got accepted between semesters. I’m going to try and do the college thing aside from ballet, but we’ll see how that goes.” She smiles brightly. “I’m Annika Volkov, by the way. You can call me Anni or Anne. Just not Nika.”
“I’m Ava Nash. A cellist. I study classical music at the School of Arts and Music.”
“Cecily Knight. Psychology major.”
The newcomer, Annika, stares at me expectedly, and I realize she’s waiting for me to also introduce myself.
I’m so out of it lately, it’s a little embarrassing. Maybe I should lock myself in my room for the week to come.
“Glyndon King. I’m a studio art student in the same school as Ava.”
“Nice to meet you all. I’m sure we’ll get along.”
“Judging by your fashion sense, I’m sure we will.” Ava glues herself to Annika’s side. “Let us show you around your new school first.”
Cecily slides her black-framed glasses over her nose and shakes her head in a ‘here we go again’ gesture. Ava has always been the most social out of us, and she’s probably met her match in Annika since they’re chattering happily about fashion and the latest trends.
We let Ava guide Annika through the giant halls as Cecily and I fall a step behind.
I feel a flash of movement in my peripheral vision and I freeze. Slowly, I turn back, only to find some students are buzzing around.
But the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and sweat trickles down my back.
Cecily nudges me. “Want to bet on how long it’ll take for her to call the new girl her bestie?”
I startle and hold in a yelp. “What? Ah… Ava? Yeah, probably soon.”
Cecily stops in her tracks, watching me intently. “What’s up, Glyn? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Nothing… I just spaced out.”
She touches my arm and I know not to take that for granted. Cecily is the type who has her emotions in a vault, so the fact that she’s offering me any type of consolation is a big deal in and of its own.
“I know the pain must still be raw, but it’ll get better with time, Glyn. I promise.”
I stare dumbfounded for a beat, and then I realize she’s talking about Dev. That should’ve been my first thought, too, but right now? When I felt a shadow following me?
That definitely wasn’t on my mind.
“Thanks, Ces.” I rub her arm back, grateful to have her.
She’s a year older than Ava and me and the most serious out of all of us, but she’s also the most motherly. Probably why she chose to study psychology in the first place.
If I tell her about the other night, she’ll listen and won’t judge me.
But that means I’ll have to tell her why I was there in the first place, and that’s just not going to happen.
Not in this lifetime.
A small smile lifts her lips. “Let’s go save the poor soul from Ava.”
“How about you save me from my misery instead?” The cool tone takes us by surprise, and soon enough, the owner of said voice barges into the space between me and Cecily and wraps an arm around our shoulders.
Remington Astor, or just Remi—who’s about three years older than me—grins down on us with his all-encompassing charm. His brown eyes twinkle with mischief and pure trouble. He’s built like a Greek god and has an aristocratic nose that’s courtesy of ‘his lordship’ stature, as he likes to remind us. Small tidbit about Remi, he always talks about himself in third person and says things like, ‘my lordship did this’ and ‘my lordship did that.’
Someone else follows close behind him. My cousin, Creighton. Well, technically, Creigh is my second cousin since my dad and his are cousins. However, my brothers and I always called his dad Uncle Aiden.
He’s a year older than me and so extremely quiet that you barely hear his voice, but that shouldn’t be mistaken for shyness. This little shit simply doesn’t give a fuck about anyone.
Or anything.
His silence is merely a manifestation of his boredom. And somehow, that gets him all the attention on campus without him even trying. It’s been like that ever since our secondary school days.
That, and the fact that he does a lot of fighting.
And while his sharp features and piercing blue eyes have something to do with his popularity, it’s his ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude that makes girls melt for him faster than cheese on pizza.
The more he ignores them, the more crushingly popular he becomes. Something that Remi doesn’t appreciate since Creigh’s stealing away his golden-boy status.
They’re both business majors—Creigh is second year, while Remi is fourth year. Needless to say, girls in the business school fall over themselves to get a sliver of their attention.
I’ve grown up with these guys all my life. Our parents have been friends since they were in school, and we’ve kept the legacy going.
When you’re children of parents who hold the personality of gods, you learn to stick together. To somehow keep up with the pressure of having such parents.
It’s part of the reason why we’re naturally close. In a way, Remi and Creigh are no different than Lan and Bran.
Okay, maybe just Bran. Lan is in a league of his own.
Cecily rolls her eyes at Remi’s dramatic tone. “And what misery might that be?”
“The fact that none of you girls asked me for a ride back to campus. I even had all your favorite songs saved for the road trip.”
“That’s because we could drive just fine,” Cecily says. “Besides, you left me on Read the last text I sent you.”
“Moi?” He releases me, retrieves his phone, and stops in his tracks. “No way in fuck… Creigh, you little shit. What did you do now? Did you crack my code?”
My cousin, who’s on the other side of me, shrugs but says nothing.
I crane my head and find Remi’s phone filled with pornographic pictures.
“Pig,” I say under my breath.
Cecily goes red, and if Ava were here, she’d call her a prude, because she is, in a way. Cecily just doesn’t do well with any talk that’s sexual in nature.
“You’re disgusting,” she tells Remi.
“No, Creigh is.” Remi grabs my cousin by the collar of his polo shirt. “He’s the one who hacked into my phone and put all of that in.”
Creigh’s expression remains poker-faced. “Proof?”
“I’ll beat the fuck out of your arse, you cheeky bastard.”