Page 1 of Misconducts & Temptation

Chapter 1

Elodie

Ihurried through the bustling Crestwood Academy campus, weaving through clusters of students who seemed to have all the time in the world. My heart pounded in my chest, and I clutched my books tightly to my chest. I hadn't finished washing the towels in the athletics department, which meant I was late to my summer class.

Again.

"Your tights have a run in them, sweetie," a girl called out, her voice dripping with condescension.

I glanced over and saw Polly smirking at me, flanked by a couple of her friends.

Polly—one of Stephanie's friends.

Of course.

Because dealing with Stephanie and Annabelle at home wasn't enough; Crestwood had its own reminders of my stepfamily's disdain.

"Thanks for letting me know," I mumbled, not stopping to engage further. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. The last thing I needed was more attention drawn to myself.

I thought taking two summer classes would keep me away from Stephanie and Annabelle, but apparently not even my well-laid plans could escape Polly's petty comments.

My steps quickened as I navigated the campus. The scholarship that set me apart from my classmates also seemed to isolate me. Crestwood Academy was a world of privilege and excess, where designer clothes and luxury cars were the norm. And here I was, trying to make it through each day without drawing too much attention.

I finally reached the classroom door, slightly out of breath. I paused for a moment to collect myself before slipping inside as quietly as possible. Professor Andrews glanced up from his lecture but didn’t comment on my tardiness.

Sliding into an empty seat at the back, I pulled out my notebook and began scribbling down notes, hoping to catch up on what I'd missed. As Professor Andrews droned on about ancient civilizations, my mind wandered back to my job as a locker room attendant for the school’s sports teams.

Balancing academic work with my job was exhausting, but necessary. The extra income helped cover expenses that my scholarship didn't, and it kept me away from home a little longer each day—a small mercy.

Granted, I had to give my check to my stepmother, but still.

I tuned back into the lecture just in time to jot down an important date from history, resolving to focus on what really mattered: graduating early and getting out of this place once and for all.

The bus ride home was a blur of exhaustion and muted colors. By the time I stepped off and walked the last few blocks, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. Our house stood at the end of a cul-de-sac, its peeling paint and sagging porch a stark contrast to the well-kept homes around it.

I took a deep breath before pushing open the front door, bracing myself for what awaited inside.

"Elodie, is that you?" My stepmother's voice cut through the air before I'd even fully entered. She sat in the living room, surrounded by piles of laundry that I’d undoubtedly be expected to fold later.

"Yes, I'm home," I replied quietly, closing the door behind me.

"About time," she snapped. "You know there's dinner to be made and chores to finish. I don't know what you do all day, but it's certainly not enough."

"I was at class," I said, trying to keep my tone neutral. "Then I had to finish work."

"Excuses." She waved her hand dismissively. "You think just because you're at that fancy school on a scholarship that you can slack off here? Think again."

Before I could respond, Stephanie and Annabelle came down the stairs, their footsteps echoing through the hollow house.

"Oh look, it's Elodie the overachiever," Stephanie said with a sneer. "How was your day of pretending to be better than us?"

Annabelle snickered beside her. "And what are you wearing? That uniform looks like it's been through a war."

"It's all I have," I muttered, my fingers clutching my worn-out skirt.

"Well, it's embarrassing," Annabelle continued. "You're embarrassing."

They always found something to pick apart. Today it was my uniform; tomorrow it would be something else. I glanced around the living room—dusty shelves filled with mismatched trinkets, threadbare carpet worn thin in places from years of foot traffic. The house felt like a physical manifestation of my life: neglected and falling apart.

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