Chapter 6

Miranda pauses again and then reaches out to ruffle up my hair with her fingers, curling one brunette ringlet next to my face. “I mean, unless you’re into forty-year-old married athletes.”

“Not quite that adventurous, I’m afraid,” I say as Miranda gestures with her chin, and I study the paper again. Tristan Vanderbilt, huh? When I look up, I catch sigh of a bronze plaque labelled Vanderbilt Study Hall. Right. “My family actually built this school, and yet … we still pay to be here. What makes you so special that you should get to come here for free?” Guess he wasn’t joking about that first part. The rest of it … that asshole has no idea how hard I worked to get here.

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. You have other, more important traits and talents. My mom and I read over a thousand essays before choosing yours.” Miranda studies me as we walk, the rain beating a rhythmic pattern against the stone walkways outside. Somehow though, even though this building’s big and draft