Page 36 of Cruel Prep (Princes of Ravenlake Academy 1)

As I reach for the handle, my father clears his throat. It’s a short, sharp sound. A warning.

I turn around, and his blue eyes are fixed on me, eyebrows low. Everything about my father is always pristine. His hair is coiffed in the same way every morning, his suits and shirts are pressed and well-fitted. His appearance is his mask. The one he shows the world.

Right now, however, there is a crack in it. His expression is concerned, though I can tell he is trying to hide it. He wants to scream at me and demand I listen to him, but he can’t because, more than ever, heneedsme.

“Ruin her and run her the fuck out of this town,” he says. “That is the plan. Make sure you’re sticking to it. For both of our sakes’.”

I nod and reach for the doorknob, but that isn’t enough of an answer for him.

“I mean it, Finn. If this comes back to me, I have a way out for myself. But you won’t be as lucky.”

A chill moves down my spine, but I hide the shiver with a laugh. “Is that what I am now? Lucky. I had no idea.”

He snorts. “You’ve been lucky since the day you were pulled from the flames.”

I snap around. We don’t talk about the fire that killed my mom and sister. We don’t talk about that day at all.

As soon as the new house went up, it was a new start. At least, that’s what my dad said at the time.

Now I see that for what it always was: a load of shit.

He leans forward over his desk. “And don’t forget it.”

I shake off his words as fast as I can and roll my eyes. “Don’t be such a fucking drama queen. I’m taking care of it.”

17

Lily

The couch in the therapist’s office is nicer than my bed at the motel. I’m tempted to curl up in a ball and sleep.

Dr. Sharon wouldn’t say anything if I did. She has made it clear that our time together is for me to use as productively or unproductively as I would like. It’s kind of obnoxious how nice and gentle she is.

“I get paid no matter what we do in here,” she said once, winking.

I like her, but I hate therapy. Because therapy is hard. It requires me to wade through and rise above the sea of feelings I would much rather drown in.

“A lot has changed since I saw you last,” Sharon says today, looking over her notes. She took two weeks off for a tropical vacation with her husband. Her skin is a glowing bronze color. “You said last month you were going to be moving and starting a new school. How has that been for you?”

Mom promised me anything I said in therapy would be confidential. She would never ask to see transcripts from our conversations or do anything to break my trust, but I still hesitate to tell the complete truth.

Because the truth would crush my mom.

Moving to Ravenlake Prep, the same school where Nico Barber attended, would not have been my first choice.

In fact, it would have been my absolute last choice. Right after—oh, I dunno, getting hit by a car, or moving to Alaska to work on a fishing boat. Both of those would have been preferable.

I don’t want my mom to know that, though. She is excited about her new job and the benefits it will provide. After I graduate in a year, I’ll feel a lot better leaving town if I know she will be able to pay rent and provide for herself.

So, I just have to muddle through.

“Fine,” I say, careful not to smile too much. Dr. Sharon can tell when I’m lying to her. Usually I get uncharacteristically friendly, which she says is a big red flag.

“Just fine?”

I shrug. “Fine, good, whatever.”

“Are you making friends?”

---