Page 21 of Cruel Academy (Princes of Ravenlake Academy 2)

I blink and lean back, a hand on my chest. “Sorry. What?”

When the final bell rang for the day, I practically sprinted out of class and to my locker, desperate to hurl myself in my car and drive away.

I’d go anywhere. I don’t care where. Home, the mall, Antarctica—they’re all tempting options.

I just want loud music and enough distance between me and this hellish school that I can’t see the spires looming over everything.

I want to forget this place exists for a few hours …

Until I have to come back and do it all over again tomorrow.

“I said, ‘We have a problem.’” The girl flips a smooth lock of golden blonde hair over her shoulder and licks her lower lip. She’s absurdly pretty. If someone told me she was a Barbie doll come to life, I wouldn’t doubt it for a second.

I slam my locker shut and wince when a few pieces of my messy hair get stuck in the hinge. My hair is constantly getting stuck in car doors and zippers, so I’m used to it, but my face still warms with embarrassment.

I tug my head and feel the strands rip from my scalp. “What problem would that be?”

Her sculpted brows pinch. “You don’t belong here.”

God, has this girl been talking to Caleb? If not, they have a lot in common. Like, the exact same kind of stick jammed up their ass.

I note that she is exactly the kind of girl I can imagine Caleb dating, and then ignore the strange stab of jealousy in my chest.

The idea doesn’t upset me because I like Caleb. But because I wish, just for a second, I could belong in a place like this.

Or, at the very least, blend into the background.

I wish everyone could forget that I wasn’t born into this world and could just … accept me.

Even at Public, I didn’t fit in. John made sure of that. He didn’t want me to have friends or allies.

He just wanted me to belong to him and only him.

Mission accomplished.

“Take it up with the front desk,” I sigh. “If there’s been a problem with my transfer paperwork, let me know.”

I move to step around the girl, but she follows my movements.

That is when I notice two other girls standing at the end of the row of lockers, shadowing their friend.

“I’m not ready to be cast in a remake ofMean Girls, so I’m going to need you to give me some space.”

I wave a hand for her to back up, but she quickly swats my hand out of the air with a stinging slap.

“You don’t order me around, bitch.”

Unlike this morning in the parking lot where all eyes were averted, I can feel people gawking at us.

Where are the teachers in this place?

At my old school, there were security guards and school resource officers stationed in every hallway, ready to jump into action at the first sign of trouble.

Apparently, they think rich teenagers aren’t as bloodthirsty as poor ones.

Idiots.

“Remind me who you are?” I ask sarcastically.

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