Page 43 of Cruel Elite (Princes of Ravenlake Academy 3)

I hold up my burger. “I’m not smoking yet. Can I still make fun of your room?”

“Only if you want to lose your weed privileges.”

I consider it, bobbing my head back and forth as I weigh the pros and cons, but I could really use a nice high right now.

This week has been shit.

It’s the first week of my last semester of our senior year.

In other words, school is supposed to be a joke.

But Mr. Thomas has already assigned several study guides and a pop quiz.

Plus, I’m shit at math, and we are moving into pre-Calc.

I’ve been so busy keeping up in class and attending the bizarre family dinners with mom that I haven’t had much time to think about Penny since the first day.

In fact, I hadn’t even seen her until I caught a glimpse of her in the driveway. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s trying to lay low at school, which I’ll give her credit, is a good idea.

Unfortunately, I have other plans for her.

“What are your plans?”

My head snaps up. “What?”

Fuck, did I say that out loud?

“For college?” Caleb asks, pounding his thumb on the controller to take out an enemy sniper in the game he and J.C. are playing.

“I’ve applied a few places, but I’m hoping for Columbia,” J.C. says.

“Brown for me,” Caleb says. “I want Ivy League, but, like, chill Ivy League. I’m not trying to become a fuckin’ rocket surgeon.”

“As if that is a possibility, anyway.”

The two of them wrestle for a minute, trying to knock controllers from each other’s hands.

After the squabble is over, Caleb repeats his question. “What about you, Noah?”

“I haven’t applied anywhere yet.”

Immediately, the din of bullets and shouting stops. I look up and see that Caleb has paused the game. Both of my friends are staring at me, mouths slightly open.

“What?” I shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”

Yes, it is.

I know that, and they know that.

It has always been assumed that the Golden Boys would go to undergrad somewhere good, somewhere prestigious. Our families demand nothing less.

Or, at least,theirfamilies demand nothing less.

My family, in case they haven’t noticed, has imploded.

My mom can barely ask me how my day is, let alone query where I’m headed for college.

“Bro, the deadlines are coming up,” J.C. says. “Everywhere. Like, even community college has a deadline. You have to get your apps in.”

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