Chapter Four

Alexander Carter

I despised Mondays. Not for the usual reasons most people did, but because they meant another week of maintaining the perfect façade at St. Augustine's Preparatory. Another week of pretending I cared about the endless social politics that seemed to consume everyone's lives.

But this Monday was different. As I pulled into the school parking lot in my Aston Martin – Father's latest attempt at parental involvement – my eyes immediately caught sight of a familiar floral dress. Julie Vaz was hurrying up the steps, her arms full of books, those ridiculous glasses sliding down her nose.

I shouldn't have noticed. I shouldn't have cared. Yet I found myself watching as she nearly dropped her stack of novels, probably more of those romantic fantasies she was always reading. The memory of Friday night's disaster flashed through my mind, and I felt that same inexplicable twist in my stomach.

"Alex!" Madison Chen's voice cut through my thoughts. She was leaning against my car before I'd even fully stepped out, twirling her hair in that way that usually meant she wanted something. "About prom..."

"Not interested," I cut her off, my British accent clipped and cold. Just like Father taught me. The perfect defense mechanism.

I headed toward first period AP Literature, one of the few classes where I actually had to work to maintain my grades. Of course, the universe had a sense of humor – Julie Vaz sat next to me, had done so all year. I'd never paid it much attention before, but now...

"Today we'll be starting our final project," Mrs. Harrison announced. "Pairs will be randomly assigned..."

I barely listened to the names being called out, until: "Alexander Carter and Julie Vaz."

When i finally turnedto her side, those hazel eyes were blazing behind her glasses.

She leaned a bit to my side,

"I suppose your ego will have to make room for actual academic work," she said quietly, so only I could hear.

I leaned in,close enough to catch the scent of her floral perfume. "Don't worry, bookworm. I wouldn't want to tarnish your perfect GPA."

I caught the slight tremor in her hands as she opened her notebook. It was satisfying, knowing I could affect her composure as much as she'd affected mine at the party.

But as I sat there, I couldn't shake the feeling that this project was going to be far more dangerous than any social interaction I'd carefully managed before. Because Julie Vaz didn't play by the rules of our carefully constructed social hierarchy. She didn't seem impressed by my name, my accent, or my carefully maintained distance.

And that made her absolutely terrifying.