One that can’t be climbed or jumped over.
A wall that represents the deep hole between the two of us. Unless we have a competition with them, we don’t tread into each other’s waters.
Which is why I’m pulling on Cecily’s hand and promptly stopping her from barging into their campus.
We’ve barely just arrived and we’re currently near the metal gate. A golden lion holding a key sits at the top, under which is the name ‘Royal Elite University’ in sophisticated writing.
Even Ava, who’d usually be hugging her cello for dear life, has abandoned it and is holding on to Cecily’s other arm.
“Be reasonable, Ces. Just because you couldn’t find your notes, doesn’t mean one of The King’s U’s students took them. They don’t have access to our campus, remember?”
Cecily’s silver-dyed hair falls in disarray as she attempts to release herself from our hold. Her black shirt that says How About No kind of translates her whole mood. “Their stupid football team logo was on my locker. It’s them. And I’m going to see this through to the end.”
“And go missing?” I sigh, feeling the tension rising to my head.
“Small price to pay to catch those pricks.”
“You won’t be saying that when they get you locked up in their basement or something.” Ava shudders, then whisper-yells, “You know those rumors about them being financed by mafia money? I totally believe it. And I’m definitely not going to let you be chopped up nineties mafia movie style.”
“We’re in a country of law,” Cecily says with pure determination, and she even sounds to believe it.
“Law is bullshit to some people,” I say, feeling the terror from two days ago mounting to my throat.
“What she said.” Ava bobs her head up and down, then flips her blonde ponytail back. “Now, can we go back to the dorm without worrying about finding Ces’s corpse floating in the sea tomorrow?”
I can tell Cecily wants to continue with her original plan, despite our warnings. She’s usually laid back, but not when her things are touched, and I honest to God think she doesn’t give two flying hecks about the reputation of The King’s U’s students.
She might even witness them doing horrendous acts and would choose to psychoanalyze them instead of running the hell away.
Like her hair, she’s silver to me, not really white, and can be smudged with black.
Ava is, without doubt, pink, like her dress, aura, and personality.
“Excuse me?”
A soft voice interrupts my and Ava’s attempts to drag Cecily back with us to the dorms.
We share a small apartment at the top that costs a fortune but at least gives us the chance to stay together.
I stare back to find a petite girl, around my height but way leaner and with a lithe body, standing near REU’s gate. Her brown hair falls to her neck and her blue eyes are big and breathtaking amidst her small features. Juggling a soft pink backpack with a fluffy kitten keychain on one shoulder, she rests her matching suitcase on the asphalt and stares at us.
She’s wearing a purple dress with a lacy hem with an elegance that rivals Ava’s princess wardrobe.
Having the same reaction as me, my friends study her intently. It’s Ava who asks, “Do you need something?”
“Yes, would you please tell me where the School of Art is?”
American.
The new girl, who must be right out of high school, is definitely an American—if the accent is any indication. And while we do have some American students at REU, they’re very few and far between. They always try to get to The King’s U first. It’s also why almost all of us British students don’t even attempt to apply to the other university.
“Are you perhaps lost?” I say with a warm tone, then point behind her. “The King’s U is that way.”
“Oh, I know. They don’t have a ballet school there, so I applied here and luckily got accepted between semesters. I’m going to try and do the college thing aside from ballet, but we’ll see how that goes.” She smiles brightly. “I’m Annika Volkov, by the way. You can call me Anni or Anne. Just not Nika.”
“I’m Ava Nash. A cellist. I study classical music at the School of Arts and Music.”
“Cecily Knight. Psychology major.”
The newcomer, Annika, stares at me expectedly, and I realize she’s waiting for me to also introduce myself.
I’m so out of it lately, it’s a little embarrassing. Maybe I should lock myself in my room for the week to come.
“Glyndon King. I’m a studio art student in the same school as Ava.”
“Nice to meet you all. I’m sure we’ll get along.”
“Judging by your fashion sense, I’m sure we will.” Ava glues herself to Annika’s side. “Let us show you around your new school first.”
Cecily slides her black-framed glasses over her nose and shakes her head in a ‘here we go again’ gesture. Ava has always been the most social out of us, and she’s probably met her match in Annika since they’re chattering happily about fashion and the latest trends.
We let Ava guide Annika through the giant halls as Cecily and I fall a step behind.
I feel a flash of movement in my peripheral vision and I freeze. Slowly, I turn back, only to find some students are buzzing around.
But the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and sweat trickles down my back.
Cecily nudges me. “Want to bet on how long it’ll take for her to call the new girl her bestie?”
I startle and hold in a yelp. “What? Ah… Ava? Yeah, probably soon.”
Cecily stops in her tracks, watching me intently. “What’s up, Glyn? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Nothing… I just spaced out.”
She touches my arm and I know not to take that for granted. Cecily is the type who has her emotions in a vault, so the fact that she’s offering me any type of consolation is a big deal in and of its own.
“I know the pain must still be raw, but it’ll get better with time, Glyn. I promise.”
I stare dumbfounded for a beat, and then I realize she’s talking about Dev. That should’ve been my first thought, too, but right now? When I felt a shadow following me?
That definitely wasn’t on my mind.
“Thanks, Ces.” I rub her arm back, grateful to have her.
She’s a year older than Ava and me and the most serious out of all of us, but she’s also the most motherly. Probably why she chose to study psychology in the first place.
If I tell her about the other night, she’ll listen and won’t judge me.
But that means I’ll have to tell her why I was there in the first place, and that’s just not going to happen.
Not in this lifetime.
A small smile lifts her lips. “Let’s go save the poor soul from Ava.”
“How about you save me from my misery instead?” The cool tone takes us by surprise, and soon enough, the owner of said voice barges into the space between me and Cecily and wraps an arm around our shoulders.
Remington Astor, or just Remi—who’s about three years older than me—grins down on us with his all-encompassing charm. His brown eyes twinkle with mischief and pure trouble. He’s built like a Greek god and has an aristocratic nose that’s courtesy of ‘his lordship’ stature, as he likes to remind us. Small tidbit about Remi, he always talks about himself in third person and says things like, ‘my lordship did this’ and ‘my lordship did that.’