Page 1 of With This Mask

chapter one

The weight of my world is in these books, heavy in my arms as I weave through the sea of students. New semester, new battles. Senior year at Westcroft University can’t expire fast enough, and today is only the first day.

I spot Josh first, his lean frame draped over the back of a bench like he owns it. Isabella's laughter rings out, a melody in the chaos. I push harder against the current of bodies, anxious to see them after a summer without my best friends.

"Hey!" My voice slices through the hum of conversation as I reach them. My stack of books thumps onto the bench between us.

"Damn, Salem, you planning to build a fortress?" Josh grins, flicking a glance at my literary load.

"More like conquer one," I shoot back as I eye the beautiful facade of our school. “I cannot believe we all made it to senior year.”

Isabella pulls me into a hug that smells like summer and optimism. "I missed you, babe! How was your summer?"

"Missed you too." I squeeze her back, the comfort of her presence a balm to the first-day-back jitters in my belly. “It was fine. Mom was happy to have me home for a little while. And the wedding was nice. Danny is a sweet guy.”

"If you need guidance on navigating stepdad’s, I’m your expert,” Josh offers with a slightly annoyed tone. “But the real question is, did you hit the books hard, or did you actually do something fun for a change?"

"Fun's a relative term." I roll my eyes. "Studied, worked, plotted world domination. The usual."

"Figures." Josh chuckles, but he’s hardly paying attention. He watches as Angel Mahome walks by, his tongue practically hanging out of his mouth.

"Give it up, Josh,” Isabella rolls her eyes. “Angel would sooner tip you for parking her car than go out with you.”

“Why do you have to be like that?” he barks at her, annoyed.

“Someone has to reality check your dreamer’s ass,” she says as she stands, winking at him. “Come on, Salem, we've got a year to crush." Isabella links her arm with mine, pulling us into motion.

"Looks like they've finished the library upgrade," I note, craning my neck to admire the ivy-draped facade. It's straight out of a brochure, with its tall, arched windows and promise of quiet corners filled with knowledge.

"Probably added another wing just for the rich kid’s parents’ egos," Josh quips as he rushes to catch up with us, his gaze following mine.

Westcroft is notorious. It isn’t large, not like most universities. Located upstate, it’s tucked against the backdrop of mountains and trees, and the only reason this town exists is because of the school. Only the elite attend Westcroft University. Sons and daughters of presidents. CEO heirs. Billionaire’s kids who had to buy their way into a school that impresses the masses after graduation. The cost of tuition is insane. But it’s one of the top five schools in the country for business.

I’ve dreamed about coming to Westcroft since I was in elementary school and it was the setting for some movie. Growing up so damn poor, it was all I could think about. Getting an education that would grant me an income that would make it so I wouldn’t have to total the groceries going into my cart, just to be sure there was enough money. The day I got my acceptance letter was the best damn day of my life.

The day my scholarship came through was the second.

I breathe in deep, the scent of freshly mown grass mingling with the retreating warmth of summer air. There's a tang of excitement too, electric and alive. This campus is a battlefield of brains, and I'm armed to the teeth. I won't just survive here; I'll thrive. I have to. Because the alternative is staying stuck in the same cycle of poverty that has been my family legacy for generations now.

"Here comes the royal parade," Josh mutters under his breath.

I look up and my stomach sinks. This may be college. We may all be in our early twenties now. But it doesn’t make it all that different from high school sometimes. There is still one class of students, and then the other.

They walk through the campus like they own it, because they do. Each one’s families has donated money in huge sums. Some of the buildings are named after them. And every one of them is dressed in outfits that cost more than my entire wardrobe.

Fuck, I hate that they’re so damn beautiful too. Money can buy you just about anything, apparently, even good looks. "Behold, the natural habitat of the trust fund baby."

Isabella’s chuckle is a soft chime beside me. “Don’t let them get to you, Salem.”

"Too late for that," I say, narrowing my eyes as the pack of polished perfection saunters by. They're a blur of designer labels and smug smiles, orbiting their own sun of self-importance. Most of them didn’t even have to earn their position at this incredible school. Their parents just had to write a check, and congrats! You’re accepted!

"Look at them," I whisper, more to myself than to Josh or Izzy. "Strutting around like they own the place."

"Because they basically do," Josh says, his voice low and edged like a blade. He stands a little taller, shoulders squared against the invisible lines that divide us from them.

"Let them strut," Isabella says, squeezing my hand. "At least we're here on our own merit."

"Damn straight." My jaw sets firm, resolve steeling my spine.

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