“He must have a big ol’ you know what,” I mumble as the movers finish bringing our boxes inside the large estate. There seemed to be so many more boxes when we packed up our small two-bedroom condo, but here in the grand foyer, the actual number before us looks so pitiful. I swallow as I look around, putting on a brave face. As my therapist would tell me: I can do hard things. And moving across the country to a gigantic house I’ve never seen, complete with a new stepfather and stepbrother? Yeah. That’s hard—though I’d never admit it out loud.

“What’s that, hon?” my mom asks, a clipboard in her left hand. She’s perfectly put together despite the hectic morning, her athleisure wear snug against her toned body, and her blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail. One of the movers not-so-discretely checks her ass out as he moves a dolly back outside, and I roll my eyes. She had me at eighteen—the age I am right now, which is crazy to think about—so I’m used to people openly hitting on her and thinking we’re sisters.

“Nothing,” I answer, smirking as I run my finger along the dark wood of the staircase. The house—if you can even call the grand estate a mere house—is way nicer than I expected. Go, Mom. Way to score that rich peen. “Where’s Andrew? I thought he’d be here to welcome us.”

My mom shakes her head as she checks things off her to-do list. “Nope. He’s in Saint Tropez until Sunday.”

“How rude of him not to invite us,” I joke, and she chuckles.

“It’s for business, Briar. I wouldn’t want to go anyway. I have so much to do around here.” She looks around, and her eyes have that excited gleam she always gets when she has a new project in front of her. To me, this is a house—to her, this is her newest endeavor. By Thanksgiving, this house will be scrubbed from top to bottom, artwork hung, rugs placed down, candles set up on every surface imaginable…

“Mmm.” 

I look around. It seems pretty put together to me, but I know she intends to make it ours. Right now, anyone could live here, and the furniture and decorations are generic and dated. The foyer, which is where we’re standing, opens up so that the formal living room is to our right, a formal dining room to our left, and straight ahead is the casual breakfast room, a library, an informal living room, an office, a kitchen, a wine cellar, and a conservatory that leads into the expansive garden out back, flanked by an Olympic-sized pool and tennis court.

And that’s just this floor. Up the wide staircase by the front door are eleven bedrooms. Downstairs, there’s a large basement lounge area with a wet bar, a game room, a theater to watch television, another office, and an ensuite guest room, as if the eleven upstairs don’t cut it. Who even needs that many bedrooms, anyway?

“Have you had a chance to look around?” Mom asks, pulling her credit card out of her wallet and handing it to one of the movers. They must be done. It didn’t take as long as I thought, given the amount of time we spent packing up, but I guess any number of personal items in a place like this would feel meager.

“Briefly.”

“Which room would you like? Andrew said to take any of them except the two at the end of the hallway.” 

I nod. “There are a few upstairs with a bathroom.” Little does she know, I’ve already claimed the biggest room.

She mumbles something unintelligible. “Sure, hon. He made me promise to tell you that mi casa es su casa.” She looks up from signing the receipt and gives me a soft smile. “He wants us to make ourselves at home, whatever that entails.”

I put my hands in the pockets of my ripped, black jeans. “That won’t be a problem,” I quip, looking around. “The second bedroom is his son’s?”

“Yes. But I get the feeling Hunter isn’t here very often.” She puts her card away and we both wave the movers off. Shutting the door, she turns to me and squeals. “Isn’t this amazing?”

Amazing? Sure. My mom eloping with an older, rich guy? Great. After what happened, she deserves to be with someone stable. And being able to attend one of the most renowned private schools in Massachusetts because he’s the headmaster is a convenient benefit. I think of what my life could be a year from now—living in Paris, attending university, eating croissants, outdoor cafés… if all goes according to plan, that is. I’m also glad to be as far away from California as possible. But I can’t help the nagging, anxious feeling of being in a new place, when Marin City was the only town I’ve ever known.

“It’s massive,” I declare, looking around.

She walks over and puts an arm around my shoulders. Giving me a quick squeeze, she steps away and reaches down for a box. Relaxation is not in Mom’s vocabulary. Doesn’t matter that we’ve been driving for three days—now that we’re here, there’s work to be done. She’s a bottomless pit of energy.

“Okay, time to unpack,” she chirps, handing it to me. “Take this up to your room, please.”

“Fine,” I sigh, feigning annoyance.

I take the box from her and haul it up the sprawling staircase to the room I’ve already claimed as my own. It’s the biggest one available, and it has its own bathroom, so those two things are a win-win for me. I push the door open and set it down. I have five boxes to my name, two of which are clothes. It felt really, really good to think about starting over here, so I didn’t bring much.

I go downstairs and bring the other four boxes up, and I’m unpacked in a matter of thirty minutes. Mom promised a shopping trip soon, so aside from clothes, I have everything I need here. Photo albums, books, a blanket from my grandmother, a couple of sentimental knick-knacks, and then practical things like toiletries and accessories. I ignore the lump in my throat when I think of our condo, my friends, the fog of the bay area… it was my home for eighteen years. As I look around, I pull my arms around myself.

I guess this is my home now.

As I sit on the edge of the bed, I admire the shabby chic décor. There’s a four-poster bed, chest of drawers, wardrobe, desk, and matching side tables. The window looks out onto the garden, and there’s even a small balcony with a small table and two chairs. I envision sitting out there with some coffee, listening to music, reading, or just enjoying the changing seasons. I’m looking forward to experiencing a true fall, winter, and spring. 

There’s a knock at my door, and a second later, my mom walks in.

“Oh, this one’s nice!” She walks over, sits on the edge of the bed, and puts an arm around my shoulders. “How are you doing, Briar?”

I let out a loud sigh. “Oh, you know.” I nuzzle my head on her shoulder. “I think I’m fine.”

She nods. “It’s a fresh start. For both of us.”

I close my eyes. “Thank god.”

I love my mom, and she means well. We’re super close, though I do often wonder if I was adopted. We’re two entirely different people. Since she had me so young, and my father was never in the picture, we grew up together, in a way. Figured life out together. At thirty-six, she’s still young and spry, and most of her friends are just now starting to have kids. She’s the strongest person I know because of it, and still somehow manages to look like a model every freaking day. Blonde, athletic, a former cheerleader, she’s perky and happy and is the first person to volunteer to help you out. It’s no wonder she’s a professional wedding planner.

I, on the other hand, have long, dark auburn hair, grey-blue eyes, and in the mornings before I’ve had my coffee, I resemble the girl from The Ring. I’m naturally pessimistic, sarcastic, and I’ve never done a sport in my life—I even failed out of physical education at my last school. I don’t know my dad, but I assume I get all these lovely, cumbersome traits from him. 

Despite our differences, I would be lost without my mom, and I know half the reason she moved us across the country right before my senior year was for my benefit. She saw me struggling with what happened, got me to see a wonderful psychologist, and when she met and married my new stepfather, the opportunity to move here presented itself. It seemed like a welcome change.

She stands. “I need to run a few errands, get the house in tip-top shape before Andrew returns on Sunday. Need anything while I’m out?”

“Maybe a cheeseburger?”

She snorts. “Two cheeseburgers it is.” Bending down, she kisses me on the head. “Be good. Don’t snoop around too much.”

And then she’s gone, leaving me to explore the house by myself.

While Mom is out, I do exactly what she asked me not to do, which is par for the course. Quietly stepping foot into the hallway, I explore the other rooms, most of which are just for guests. When I reach the last two rooms, I look around before opening the one I suspect is Hunter’s room.

I’ve never met Hunter, nor do I even know what he looks like. When mom and Andrew eloped in Vegas after dating for six months, I wasn’t surprised. I’d never seen her so giddy about a guy before, and it seemed he was smitten with her as well. Because of them being long distance, I’d only met Andrew a handful of times when he was visiting mom, and he’d mentioned Hunter in passing. I knew Hunter was my age, and that he was also a senior at Ravenwood Academy. But that was the extent of my knowledge.

We’d planned our inevitable move to Greythorn after they’d eloped, waiting until the end of summer to give her time to wrap up her existing wedding jobs in California. It made the most sense for us to move here since mom can plan weddings anywhere, and we were excited at the prospect of a fresh start. Andrew had offered to move him and Hunter to Marin City, but when we talked about it—and there were lots of discussions, because my mom wanted to be sure this was all okay with me—we’d both decided we’d needed a change of scenery.

I like Andrew. I don’t know him very well since they’ve been long distance most of their relationship, but he’s stable and boring, so that’s good, I guess. Mom adores him for reasons I can’t understand, but they seem like they’re truly in love—the real deal—despite their fifteen-year age gap and glaring lifestyle differences.

Hunter’s door creaks when I open it, and the bedroom inside surprises me. Black satin sheets, full bookcases made from black, ornate wood, a leather chair, a wooden desk, and a white shag rug on the floor. There isn’t any art on the walls—just tons of small postcards pinned to the wall above his large bed. Rio, Madrid, Copenhagen, Lima, Melbourne…

I raise my eyebrows. I wasn’t expecting a cool space like this, and I certainly wasn’t expecting to like it as much as I do. I had no reason to dislike Hunter, but I couldn’t help but form assumptions about him—like that he was a soulless, rich boy. I’d Googled Greythorn, MA, as well as Ravenwood Academy, so I had an inkling of the kinds of people who lived here. I’d already resigned myself to the fact that we’d have nothing in common. I mean, we obviously grew up so differently.

But… I would totally live in this room, and I’m officially intrigued. 

I step into his bedroom and walk to the ensuite bathroom. Cologne and an electric toothbrush sit on the counter, and a luxurious black robe hangs over the towel rack haphazardly. I open the medicine cabinet, and several orange prescription bottles stare back at me. I pull one off the shelf and look at the label. Lexapro. Just as I’m about to check out the others, the front door slams from downstairs. 

I rush out of Hunter’s room and pretend like I’m just walking down the hallway casually. I cross my arms and glance downstairs from the railing, which overlooks the foyer perfectly. I’m just about to call out to my mom when four guys quickly jog back to the front door. They’re all wearing black, hooded sweatshirts, and the one at the back has a bottle of alcohol in his arms. Though they seem distracted, I pull back a bit so that none of them see me. My pulse speeds up at the notion of being alone in an unfamiliar house with four strange men, and I wipe my clammy hands on my shirt.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” one of them says, his voice low. Another one laughs. Before I can digest their words, they’re gone, and the sound of the door slamming again reverberates through me.

Maybe Hunter Ravenwood is not the unremarkable prep I thought he’d be as the headmaster’s son.

I glance over to Andrew’s room at the end of the hall. I walk over and quickly pop my head in, taking in the large master suite. My mom’s boxes are sitting on the tufted bench at the end of the bed frame, and her suitcase is already half unpacked on the bed. When I walk into the bathroom, I see she’s already placed her toothbrush next to Andrew’s, and her favorite vase is on one of the shelves above the toilet. Smirking, I shake my head as I make my way back to my room.

I decide to go on a walk and stretch my legs after the long car ride, maybe check out the neighborhood… though something tells me it’s just copies of this McMansion for miles on end. To say we’re out of our element here is an understatement. I feel like I’m on a movie set. Everything is so clean, and the houses are all so stately. Even the cars are shiny and new. I didn’t necessarily grow up poor—Mom’s business brings in a decent amount of money—but Marin City is rustic, middle-class, and while it can be beautiful, it’s also quite basic. I grab my Air Pods and phone, skipping down the stairs and grabbing one of the spare keys the housekeeper left for us. I lock the door behind me and head out, pulling up directions to the town center.

The sun is still high for being late afternoon, so I walk on the shady side of the street since my skin is vampire pale. I pass enormous houses with aging trees, and every few minutes, someone jogs by with a high-end stroller. At the end of the street, I follow the directions and turn right.

Of course, I researched our new hometown, so I know a little about Greythorn. It’s a suburb of Boston so small that most people just pass through it on their way to nearby Salem. It sits between two large forests, so the town is surrounded by trees, making it feel way more nature-y than it is. It’s also ripe with cemeteries and historic homes, which fascinates and intrigues me. Going from an overpopulated, California public school to a New England prep academy is going to be interesting. I know Mom is excited. She has high hopes for me since she never got to go to college, and she loves the idea of visiting me in Paris.

I round the corner and enter the main square, which has a large, tree-laden park in the heart of Greythorn with a thicket of trees in the middle. Shops and storefronts all face the park, and in the very center of it all is a large gazebo and lake. I walk along the perimeter, passing people out shopping and enjoying the weather before the darkness descends. There’s a bite to the air now, and I suspect in an hour, it won’t be warm anymore. I turn left and cross the main street, entering the expansive park. It’s darker in here with the trees, and I hesitate at first. But then I remember Mom bragging about the practically non-existent crime rate in Greythorn, and I shake my head. I’m just being ridiculous…

I follow the dirt path deeper into the park, and even a few feet in, I can see the other side of town a couple thousand feet away. I’m safe here. But… 

I look around, my spider-senses perking up. Someone laughs—a deep, cruel laugh.

I pull my Air Pods out and stop walking, listening. I should be running. I can’t see anyone near me, but the eerie feeling of being closed in, being watched, makes me catch my breath. I’m safe, I tell myself. I’m safe. It’s something Sonya, my therapist and I, have been working on.

Evaluate my surroundings. A public park.

Listen to my gut. It’s dark, but I’m okay.

Apply common sense. Just walk to the other side. Don’t dawdle.

I squint deeper into the thick forest surrounding me, and just as I’m about to continue walking ahead, a voice sends chills spider walking down my spine.

“Hey little lamb, come out and play.”

The voice is male, reverberating through my core. I spin around, and my heart jumps out of my chest when I see four figures standing near the mausoleum in the middle of the park a couple hundred feet away. It’s dark enough that I can’t make out their faces—the sun behind them and the hoods shield that from me, and I clench my fists. Something tells me one of those figures is Hunter Ravenwood.

I ignore them and keep walking, my feet moving me quicker than before, and soon I’m on the other side. I look behind me, but no one is there, and I shake off the goosebumps at the sight of the four of them—lurking, watching me from the dark.

I finish my walk and get back to the McMansion just as my mom pulls into the driveway with cheeseburgers, fries, and shakes. I help her inside, chuckling as I spy decorative throw pillows and other miscellaneous items to make the home a bit more personalized. I’m sure Mom will bring it up to speed soon since the decor really could use a makeover.

We’re both starving, having not eaten since we stopped for lunch earlier today, so we plop down on the nearest couch and devour our food. I manage to spill ketchup all over my grey sweatshirt, and I’m in the middle of dabbing it with a napkin when the front door opens across the foyer. I look up just as dark eyes find mine.

Hunter.

Some sort of quick recognition passes over his face. His eyes travel down my body briefly before he cocks his head, like an animal studying their prey. He’s carrying the black sweatshirt from before, revealing a tight, white T-shirt that clings to his abdomen. He’s tall and muscular in a subtle way—honed, but not outrageous. Dark, messy, wavy hair, and a face with a shadow of stubble and dimples. And his lips? They’re full, tilted up on the sides, and cherry red.

I swallow. He doesn’t break eye contact with me, smirking as he closes the door with one of his boots. The dimples in his cheeks are so much more pronounced when he smiles. He takes a few steps into the house, the muscles in his abdomen contracting with every step.

Lord. That is one fine specimen.

My mom jumps up and walks over to him. “Hunter! So good to see you.” She gives him a quick hug.

“Hello, Aubrey,” he says, his voice low and smooth. His eyes flick to mine over her shoulder, something akin to amusement flickering in his dark irises. “This must be your daughter.” His words are dripping with something disingenuous, and my hackles rise instantly.

They pull apart, and my mom gestures to me. “Yes, this is Briar. Did your dad tell you that you’ll both be seniors at Ravenwood Academy?”

His pupils darken as he watches me with cruel amusement, and I stop chewing. What the hell is his deal?

“Yes, he did.” The tone of his voice is pompous, and his intonation is that of someone with a well-rounded education. A rich boy. How much does he know about me?

“Maybe you could show her around the school next week? Introduce her to your friends? Your dad says you’re a straight-A student. Briar was in all AP classes back in California.”

Please, Mom. Just stop talking.

“Is that so?” Hunter asks, smirking. “I’d be delighted to show her around, give her a taste of true Ravenwood Academy spirit.” I scowl at him as he moves to the stairs, but I don’t answer. I won’t give him the time of day. “Please, make yourselves at home.” He turns to leave, winking at me before jogging up the stairs two at a time.

“Such a nice boy,” my mom says as she sits back down, finishing her meal.

For some reason, I doubt that, because my gut is telling me otherwise.

I look up from my phone. You’ve got to fucking be kidding me. Sighing, I climb out of the Subaru and look up at the ivy-covered, brick edifice. Students in blue and green uniforms identical to mine file through the iron gate, clumped together in groups I can only assume are as ruthless as they were at my last high school. Luckily, I haven’t seen Hunter since Thursday, when we moved in—apart from a very vivid sexual dream that left me all sorts of confused about my new stepbrother, but I digress.

I close my door and grab my backpack from the back seat, throwing it on as I lock my car with the fob. As I walk past luxury vehicles and fellow students with gold watches, designer bags, and diamonds, I keep my head up and eyes on the prize.

One year. I can handle this place for one year, and then I’m off to college. Hopefully in Paris.

I walk through the gate, ignoring the looks from other students, the curious gazes. My eyes take in the massive structure. This place is big enough to be a university. Four brick buildings surround the green quad, ancient maple trees scattered every few feet. My backpack thumps against my back as I walk to the administrative office. I glare at a group of girls as they snicker at me, but I hold my head high.

Picking up the requisite school laptop and a printed copy of my schedule, I head to the largest building—which I presume to be the library. I’ve never gone to a school that just gives its students computers, but then again, I’ve never gone to a school like Ravenwood Academy before. I have a few minutes to kill, and I might as well learn my schedule and see if I can orient myself.

I push the heavy, wooden doors open, and when they close behind me, I soak up the quiet and emptiness of the library. Inhaling contentedly, I stalk toward the back where several couches lie sprawling between two large bookcases. Just as I’m about to sit down, someone taps me on the shoulder. I twirl around. 

“Hey, new human,” a girl says, smiling up at me. She has short, black hair and golden skin. Like me, she’s in uniform—white shirt, green plaid skirt, navy sweater with the white emblem on the top left collar. It’s a crest with an ‘R’ in the middle, and wings on either side. According to Google, the symbol dates to Andrew’s grandfather, who started Ravenwood Academy in the early 1900s.

I set my backpack on one of the couches. “Hi,” I answer, somewhat surprised that she’s being so friendly. “I’m Briar.”

She shakes my hand. “Scarlett. And this is Jack.” She gestures to the guy behind her who is typing maniacally on his computer. “We’re the nice ones,” she whispers.

“How do you know I’m new?” I ask.

She laughs and points to my shirt. “Uniform rule number one: tuck in your shirt.”

I set my computer down. “Shit,” I chuckle, quickly tucking my shirt in. That explains the laughs. “My mom and I just moved here from California.”

Her eyes flick up and down my body. “Okurr, I can sense that vibe now that you mention it.”

Laughing, I shake my head. “I hope it’s not that obvious.”

She smirks. “No, it’s not. Don’t worry. You got that Cleopatra vibe going with your dark hair, but you also seem chill as fuck.” Her eyes peruse my face once more. “They’re going to eat you up,” she mutters, looking me up and down. “I assume you’re straight, which is too bad for me.”

“Scar, are you seriously hitting on the newbie?” The guy behind Scarlett shuts his computer and stands. Walking over, he holds out a hand. He’s tall and handsome, with red hair and thick, black glasses. “Hi, I’m Jack.” He turns to Scarlett. “You’re relentless.”

I chuckle. “I’m Briar.” As we shake hands, he wiggles his eyebrows. “She’s not wrong. You come in here with your Xena the Warrior Princess vibes…” He eyes my combat boots. “Those are most definitely not adhering to the dress code, and I love you for it.”

I look down. “What’s wrong with the boots?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get reprimanded by Mr. Ravenwood. He’s the headmaster.”

I swallow. “I know who he is.”

Before I can elaborate, Jack pulls out his phone. “Scar and I usually meet at the coffee shop in town on Tuesday mornings. You should join us tomorrow. Here, program your number.”

I add myself as a contact and hand it back. “Mmm, coffee.”

“Oh good, I’ve found another addict,” he retorts, smiling. “This one’s no fun.”

“Hey,” Scarlett whines, hitting his arm. “I like caffeine, too.”

“Green tea doesn’t count, sweetie,” he jokes, shaking his head.

“Foul,” I mutter, making a face, and Scarlett laughs, throwing her arms up. I point to my backpack. “I actually came in here to figure out where the hell I’m going for first period,” I add.

“We’ll show you,” Scarlett offers, and I gratefully hand her my schedule.

“Ugh, history,” she mutters, glancing at the sheet of paper.

“That’s right by my first class. We can walk you over,” Jack declares. Before I can thank him, he changes the subject. “So where in California did you come from?”

“Marin City.” They both stare blankly at me. “It’s the town on the other side of the Golden Gate Bridge, near San Francisco,” I add, my words practiced.

They both ahh at my answer, and we continue chatting for a few minutes. Luckily, the reason for me being in Massachusetts doesn’t come up during our conversation. I’m not sure how Andrew and Hunter are perceived here, and I want to get the lay of the land before I go telling people the headmaster is my new stepfather.

Just as I’m about to ask which classes they each have first, a loud bell sounds. I tug my backpack over one shoulder. They pull me along with them, through the door of the library and out into the quad.

“Just follow us,” Jack offers.

“I’ll give you a quick rundown,” Scarlett starts as we make our way across the quad. “Don’t make eye contact with anyone. Just focus on your own work.” I swallow, but she continues. “Don’t be intimidated. Most of them are just your typical rich kids, you know? Nothing special.”

“Well, except…” Jack trails off. We enter the building to the right.

“Except who?”

They both halt in front of the first door.

“Okay, here’s your classroom, bye!” Jack screeches, and then they’re gone. 

I sigh, looking into the large room where a few students are already seated.

Here goes nothing.