Page 4 of Vicious Kings

Chapter 3

Charlotte

Turns out, eating isn’t a cheap idea. The downtown is filled with cute and trendy small shops that I can’t afford. Wren admires a display of handmade yarns in bright fall colors with flecks of indigo and black. She’s picking out all the ones she wants to buy when I remind her that she doesn’t know how to knit.

“I can learn,” she says, “I can try a lot of things while I’m here that I’ve never done before.” Wren looks me up and down from head to toe, assessing my appearance with a sweep of her eyes. “You changed your hair. It looks cute just past your shoulders like that.”

“I want to spend my time studying, not flat ironing,” I explain, sounding arrogant but feeling false. I shake my hair like my haircut is intentional. I foolishly thought I could become a new person and lose the past, but the old me lashes out under scrutiny.

Wren tosses her long wavy hair. “I didn’t have the grades foran Ivy-Ivy league. Besides, I’m here to mate.”

“You’re only here to check out the guys?” I gawk.

Wren nods. “I’m here to get my MRS degree, as corny as that sounds. My sister met her husband at college, and that’s where I plan to meet mine. A lot of boarding and prep school kids come here. I’ve been googling the names.”

So that’s what I used to sound like. Eventually, we go into the yarn shop, but Wren leaves empty-handed when the owner suggests she take a beginner’s class first. We walk past a burrito place, and I suggest we go in. Wren won’t budge until she checks the ratings on her phone. Once approved, we go in. I sit there picking at our shared burrito.How am I going to make it through four years?

“Ready to go back?” Wren dabs her lips with her napkin. She ate her half of the burrito with a knife and fork. “It’s almost time for our orientation meeting.”

As we walk, my phone chimes in my back pocket, and I check my notifications. An email message is sent to my private account, and I smile, knowing that it must be Astrid checking in. She’s on her way to NYU. It’s comforting to have someone watching over me.

But I frown at the message on the screen.“Good luck, $ugar Doll.”That’s odd. That’s my screen name on my OnlyFriends account.

No one I’m close to knows about my side gig, and my followers don’t have my personal email. I hold my phone tight and check the envelope info. It was sent through the OnlyFriends site to my private account.

That’s confusing, but I have enough to worry about right now. I have too many secrets. We walk quickly back to campus. And though I’m curious to see if it’s Asher, I pray it’s not him.

Chapter 4

Charlotte

“That’s collegiate.” Wren smiles at my sweatshirt.

She walks into my room without knocking and leaves the door open wide. Thank God I wasn’t lying naked on my bed with my fingers busy between my legs filming. I glance down the hall at Asher’s door, and it isn’t open though the name card is gone. My nerves are hyped up, and I can barely concentrate, but at the same time, I don’t want to know. I’m going to feel so foolish when it’s not him.

I tug at the bottom of my pale blue Ivymore sweatshirt until the ribbed hem can’t stretch anymore. Astrid gifted it to me when I got accepted. She was as happy as I was. Truthfully, I was relieved that a semester at Monarch hadn’t ruined my chances to get into a decent school. Last spring, I wrote a heartfelt letter to admissions, explaining my situation in gut-twisting detail. It was so sincere, it even made me cry. “My father is ill, and all the money we have is going toward his life-saving treatments.” Blah, blah, blah. Wah, wah, wah. It wasn’t entirely a lie when it was based on fragments of truth.

“Thanks, you look too cute.” My voice squeaks in falsetto excitement as I admire Wren’s outfit.

She’s wearing a short denim skirt with an oversized sweatshirt that dips off her right shoulder in a vintage style. She’s dressed the way a high school student thinks a college girl would have dressed in the eighties. I’d probably dress the same if status were my only concern.

I casually walk over to my desk, and my gaze scans my desktop before I shut my laptop. I have to make sure that there’s nothing on it that Wren shouldn’t see. It’s tempting to post more content after receiving the book list for my classes. But right now, the fear of being caught is greater than the fear of having no money. There’s a lock on my door, but I won’t feel safe posting unless I have a bolt across it.

A beautiful girl with flawless amber skin and deep brown eyes pokes her head. She’s dressed almost identically to Wren, except she has on ballet flats, not sneakers. “Hey, are you heading to the lounge?”

Wren nods and waves the girl in. “Prisha Patel, my fave roommate, this is Charlotte, my high school bestie. We went to boarding school together.”

Prisha immediately walks over and gives me an A-line hug. “It’s so nice to meet you.” Then she spins around and takes everything in. “The singles are smaller than my closet at home. I would have liked one, but I won the roommate lottery instead.”

They squeal at each other, and I’m so glad I have my privacy. I slip on my flip-flops as they head out the door. And when I leave, I pull on the doorknob, making sure my room is locked. I walk down the hallway behind Prisha and Wren, rolling along like the third wheel in our crowd. Believe me, I’m okay with it now because my brain is in a funk. What I see in the lounge will determine if the next four years will be sweet freedom or a hateful burden.

“Are you excited?” Wren clutches my upper arm until she squeezes it to the bone. I pull my arm out of her grip and stride into a brightly lit room with them. On each floor, the lounges divide the building into two halves. I guess once upon a time, boys were on one side while girls were on the other, but a shut door isn’t birth control. The fourth-floor lounge has a large picture window and the standard chunky couches covered in rough tweed material. Some creative person painted a mural of downtown College Hill in the same bold colors as the sturdy furniture.

The three of us sit down on the biggest couch, closest to the window. Wren flips her hair while Prisha crosses her long legs. And like a button being pushed, I tilt my chin as we size up the people on our floor.

A girl with pale red hair walks over and points at the couch. “Hi, would you mind if I sat here?” She has a distinct drawl, a charming smile, and she’s also wearing the same Ivymore sweatshirt as us but in pink.

I make room for her. “Howdy, stranger.”

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