Page 176 of Filthy Elites

Reagan:I hope so.

I finish the donut and get back to work. I’m halfway through the second one when a notification pops up in the corner of the screen. An assignment for Cal 103. I click on it, and pop into the website. Somehow, in the span of three days, Miller has gotten behind on his math. Curiosity, and the love of numbers (and a deep dislike for foreign language) draws me in. I scribble down the work, answering each question in succession, too lost in the science of it all to notice that the door swings open behind me.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

I freeze, pencil paused, then slowly turn around. Knox stands in the doorway, Whittmore Rowing T-shirt straining across his chest. His eyebrow is raised in question.

“D-d-doing homework,” I stammer.

His long legs make his walk across the room short and a moment later, he’s towering over me. My heart pounds. It happens any time any of them get too close. Can they sense it? Or am I really just another goat in the herd? Knox shifts the screen so he can see it better, then snorts. “He’s got you doing his calculus?”

I shrug and make a neat pile with the papers.

“Fucking bastard.”

“Is that wrong?” I ask, pushing the words over the lump in my throat.

“No, it’s freaking genius.” He shakes his head. “I knew he had something going on—some kind of scam. He had way too much interest in you.” He taps the computer. “This makes sense.”

I try not to shift, to show any anxiety, but it’s hard. Knox is imposing, oozing confidence and security. Everything I’m not—at least not in this body.

His big hand comes down on my head, and he rubs my shaved scalp. “The shuttle for campus leaves in ten minutes. You probably need to be on it.”

I nod, grabbing my backpack, not looking back. My heart beats wildly. Frantically. What if Knox had come in a few minutes earlier? When I was asleep in Miller’s bed? Or God forbid, changing.

Adrenaline pumps through my veins the entire way to campus, continuing after I drop into my chair in class.

I slink down, mimicking the way I’ve seen the other guys sit; legs sprawled, knees wide apart. A girl enters the room with her hair in two knots at the top of her head and her thick bangs are cut blunt across her forehead. Dark lipstick paints her mouth as she talks to another classmate. It takes me a second to realize it’s Janelle. She looks cute, in her own gothy-emo way, but it’s more than just the effort she put into her style today. It’swhoshe’s talking to.

Rat.

A sick feeling swirls in my stomach. There’s something about him I don’t like, something different than the other guys. Miller is dark and wicked, but all he wants is sex and control. Royer a chameleon, and Knox is just all about the fun, but Rat? He’s too into his role as warden.

The uneasiness continues when he tucks a piece of her hair over her ear and bends, whispering something.

Gag.

When she climbs up the stairs, he goes in the opposite direction, sitting with a few other Zeta Sig’s across the room. We’re not to associate with the brothers during the day, not unless we’re summoned. I’m surprised when she stops at my row and sits one desk over.

“What’s that all about?” I ask.

“All what?”

“I thought you said all frat boys were losers.”

She pauses. “He’s in a frat?”

I laugh. “Big time.”

She mulls this over for a second and opens her laptop. “Every rule has the exception.”

I laugh. “You really thinkthatguy is the exception?”

“Hot is hot.” Her eyes flick across the room to where he’s sitting. “He’shot.” She cuts her gaze back at me. “What do you care, anyway?”

She’s right. Theo shouldn’t care that Rat’s a douche with a streak of hardcore asshole. Janelle is closed-minded and apparently a hypocrite. If she wants to go after a dick like Rat, then who am I to stop her? She’ll learn the lesson on her own that her instincts were right all along; frat boys are the worst.

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