Something is off.

People are staring.

Some of them are laughing.

Everyone is whispering.

And I’ve barely even stepped inside the building.

You’d think the stupid rumor about me hooking up with Oakley would be old news by now, but apparently not.

Sawyer rushes over the second she spots me in the hallway. “Hey. You’re here.”

“People really need to get a life.”

She shuffles her feet. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t fuck my step-cousin,” I hiss loud enough for the people gawking nearby to hear. “Find something else to feed your drama.”

“We already have,” some guy says smugly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sawyer blows out a breath. “I’m so sorry, Dylan. I tried to take as many as I could down, but they keep taping them back up.”

“Taping what—” My knees buckle as we turn down the hallway where my locker is.

This can’t be happening.

“How did they…” I swallow and it feels like glass. “Who?”

My stomach churns as I pass the rows of lockers lined with my dad’s mugshot and an article outlining his court case.

All my dirty laundry, the one thing I wanted to keep private is laid out for everyone to see.

Humiliation burns through me like wildfire as I approach my own locker where the word thief is spray painted in bright red.

Who would do such a cold-hearted, cruel…

I freeze as it occurs to me.

Oakley not only knows about my father being in jail, he dislikes me enough to use the information to hurt me.

Since the moment I stepped foot in Royal Manor, he’s made it clear I wasn’t welcome.

I figured it would blow over soon, but he’s gone too far this time.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

Sawyer’s eyebrows shoot up. “Who?”

I don’t answer her because I’m too busy pushing my way through the hallway full of people, searching for the asshole responsible for today and yesterday’s spectacle.

My pulse quickens as my Doc Martens hammer the shiny, terrazzo floor. Each step I take is fueled by vehemence.

I’ve been here less than a week and already I’ve reached my breaking point.

I’ve tried ignoring them.

I’ve tried turning the other cheek.

I’ve tried standing up for myself…all to no avail.

And the one person who should have my back in this hellhole—my family member—is the one pulling the strings to this little shit show.

If I don’t do something drastic and put an end to the bullshit now, it will only continue.

I catch Oakley hanging out at the end of the hallway by his locker. His back is turned to me as a visibly agitated girl—who I presume must be his girlfriend—berates him about ignoring her phone calls.

Wait your turn, sweetheart. He’s mine first.

Intuitive people who can smell a fight from a mile away step aside as I approach him.

Standing at just over six feet, Oakley has almost a hundred pounds on me, but it doesn’t deter me from my mission.

I might be scrappy, but I’ve been in enough fights to know the first punch has to pack enough power to disorient him, or at the very least, throw him off enough that I’m able to get a second one in.

The bigger they are, the harder they fall. I remind myself as I tap his shoulder.

It’s clear my presence is unwanted when he twists around. Feeling’s mutual, douche.

“What do you—”

I don’t think, I just act.

The second I register the sound of my knuckles cracking against bone, I know I landed a good one.

And I don’t stop there. Not even when he raises one of his hands in self-defense.

“Christ. What the fuck is your problem?”

My answer is another punch. This time straight to his throat. “You.”

He stumbles back. The hand covering his eye flies to his neck and he coughs.

Half the people surrounding us gasp in surprise, while the other half encourage Oakley to sock me back.

But he won’t. He can’t. I’ve knocked the wind out of him temporarily.

It’s exactly the position I wanted him in. Unable to fight back, but also too proud to ask someone for help while a girl beats his ass.

He lunges toward me, and for a split-second, I think he’s going to hit me, but he starts walking away instead.

I’m not done with him yet.

Taking hold of his shirt, I wrench the material until it rips, and he’s forced to face me again.

“Tell everyone the truth,” I demand.

“About what?”

Wrong answer. My knee goes straight into his nuts.

He doubles over in pain. “Jesus Christ.”

I grab a fist full of his dark blond hair, compelling him to look at me. “Tell them the truth.”

“Fine. I didn’t fuck you.” His laughter is taunting. “I’m not that desperate.”

I take another swing at his face with my free hand. Blood splatters across the front of my white shirt like drops of rain on a windshield.

“You crazy bitch,” he barks as he tilts his head, attempting to halt the blood trickling from his nose.

He’s not wrong. I made my point and I should stop, but I can’t.

It feels too good.

My palm connects with his cheek. “Who’s the bitch now?”

“I swear to fucking God,” he roars, pushing me away.

“What’s the matter?” I mock, sailing my knee into his junk for a second time. “Getting tired of having your ass handed to you by a girl in front of the whole school?”

He’s crouched over grabbing his balls, but I hear a low snarl break free. I can tell it was the straw that broke the camel’s back and he’s going to charge me any second.

I must be more deranged than I thought, because I want him to.

“Come on,” I prompt as I smack him again and again, battering his back so many times I lose count. My vision turns glassy. “Hit me, bi—”

A pair of strong arms wrap around me and I’m airborne against my will briefly. I kick my legs as they begin towing me away, but their iron-clad grip is unyielding.

I assume it’s a teacher or security guard, but when I glance down at the arm around my midsection, I notice the sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up, showcasing veiny muscular forearms and perfectly bronzed skin I’d recognize anywhere.

“Let me go, Jace,” I grit through my teeth. “I’m not finished with your precious boy yet.”

Jealousy coats my insides and I make no effort to conceal it.

I loathe Oakley for starting rumors about me. I detest him for telling everyone about my dad in such a messed-up way and humiliating me.

But I’m straight-up bitter about him taking my place as Jace’s best friend.

I’m full-on fuming, high on adrenaline and anger by the time Jace drags me into a storage closet and locks the door.

The single dim bulb swinging above us like a pendulum illuminates his tall, lean frame enough that I make out the sharp line of his jaw and the perfect shape of those full lips.

My reaction to his close proximity is visceral. Instantly, my pulse, my breathing, my emotions—slam into overdrive.

When I was a kid, I didn’t understand why I’d experience such an extreme response whenever he was near, but now I do.