The sultry, low purr of the black Audi is the only sound in the tense awkward air. On the same couch, Atlas sits as far away as possible, his cheek almost touching the windows. He has a pair of earphones in his ear, pretending I don't exist in the car. Fine by me.

It's weird being on this end of such a rich service. My eyes flit to the driver's shaded eyes in the rearview mirror. I want to spark conversation with him, to make it feel less like a service and more natural to me. But it never comes. At least I know his name: Ezra Orlando.

I shift the itchy grey skirt under my thighs and loosen the wine red tie around my neck. I never got the ideology behind these silly uniforms, and now they make me look like another snobby prep kid. It does serve me one purpose, though, and that is not needing to show anyone my non-designer, cheap clothes.

Everyone in the Upper East Side moves at a slower pace than the rest of Manhattan. No rush, just happy people walking their dogs, riding their bikes, living their happy lives. The luxury doorman hotels and city parks are a stark contrast to where I grew up. Even the trashcans have no garbage surrounding them. This place is for pearls, pocket squares, and dollar bills. It is home to the city's elites.

We finally drive through pointed, steel gates to what I assume are the school's. The buildings' gothic architecture screams old money—stone exterior, grand, tall designs that sweep upwards to the sky with height and grace, and clustered columns. It looks like something straight out of Milan.

The driver stops us next to the center building, and we step out. I'm still staring in wonder at the beautiful exterior when Atlas spins to my side with a stony expression.

"Try not to attract too much attention to yourself," he mutters, grabbing my hand and pulling me inside.

Looking around, I realize what he means. Everyone is staring at me with whispering eyes and cupped hands over their mouths, mainly targeting Atlas's hand on my forearm. I pull my hand out of his death grip and scowle at his neck.

Before I can curse him, I'm stunned for the second time at the interior of the school. It is the polar opposite of what I was greeted with on the outside: polished white and black granite, sharp corners, and glass windows everywhere. It's as though he pulled me into a different school, modern chic.

The hallways are filled with rushing students. A group of girls stroll past me, and I'm hit with the suffocating smell of hairspray and Chanel perfume. I recognize it from the samples Marli and I would giggle over in the mall.

A group of guys greet Atlas with slapping backs and laughter. His tense demeanor shifts, and an easy look plays on his face as they catch up. It's the first time I see a smile on his face, full lips pulled to reveal flashing, straight whites. He would look charming if I didn't know him so well.

They're all clad in the same grey uniform, with the exception of two wearing a varsity hoodie. I cross my arms, self-aware as they shift their attention to me once they realize I'm standing next to Atlas.

"Aren't you going to introduce us?" a blond one asks with curious eyes.

Atlas rubs the back of his neck in discomfort, meeting my eyes. He's thinking of how to tell them I'm a charity case that'll make daddy's company look good.

"Ah . . . This is Sage Black, she's enrolling here."

"Got tired of Yvonne?" another asks with a chuckle.

Atlas rolls his eyes. "I wouldn't leave the gates of hell to enter the devil's playroom."

"Trust me," I say with a grimace, "We're both satisfied if he keeps his Yvonne."

They laugh and start teasing Atlas again like little boys. No one would guess this is the same Atlas that I'd grown to know in private over the past few days. I wait patiently while they say their goodbyes before turning to him.

"Yvonne?" The words are out of my mouth before I can think better of it. I instantly regret it, and realize how interested I sound. His relationships don't appeal to me.

The smile he plastered around his friends turns into a scowl when he faces me. "Not your business, little girl."

"Call me little girl again, and I'll cut you up into little pieces," I spit.

He runs a hand down his face with a deep exhale, clearly getting sick of me. Through his fingers, he spots someone over my shoulders and relief is apparent on his face.

"Theo!"

I take a deep breath in annoyance and glare at the ground. This guy's friends never end, do they? How long would I have to stand in his unbearable presence?

Theo, I assume, stands next to me but keeps a respectable distance between us. "What's up?" His voice is deep.

I turn my head and glance upwards at Theo—he is a head taller than me with a straight Greek nose that leads to a strong brow bone. His dar eyes meet mine for a second before his attention back to Atlas. They clasp hands in their own guy handshake.

"Listen, man, I need you to do me a favor," he pauses for a second. "This is the girl Dad told you about. I have to show her around but Coach Kim asked me to meet with him before first period."

My eyes shoot back to Atlas in alarm before looking back at Theo. His expression doesn't change at Atlas's request. David told him about me? How close are they? Who is this guy?

"Yeah, sure," he says, giving me a side-glance. "Didn't know she was coming so soon."

"Yeah, me neither," I mutter under my breath, but he manages to hear me and gives me another curious look.

Atlas finally leaves and my shoulders sag in relief, releasing tension I didn't know they held. But I don't let my guard down for too long; an unsettling feeling in my stomach tells me I have to be cautious around Theo.

"What do you know about me?"

He shruggs and starts to walk. I follow him before I can lose him in the dense crowd of students.

"Doesn't matter. Soon enough, everyone will know as much as I know. Word spreads fast here."

I stop short, making him stop with me. "Am I supposed to be worried? Or can you keep your mouth shut?"

"It's not me you should worry about." He jerks his head, and I follow his gesture to the crowd. It's subtle, but I still notice the students staring at us as we walk. All this money spent on education and no one told them that staring is rude? "And if I'm not wrong, you agreed to this knowing your picture will appear on headlines, no?"

He's right. It'd be impossible for me to pass the year with my head down. And from what I've gathered on these kids, they love good gossip. So, here I am, a headline on my forehead as I walk the halls.

I say nothing and let him lead me through the crowd.

After a long tour of the typical things you'd expect in a high-class high school and a quick visit to the administration for my schedule, the bell rings. The school is bigger than I expected with almost every kind of sport being played here. They even have a wrestling gym with equipment way better than the ones I use at Lucien's warehouse. I make a note to visit it sometime after school hours.

Conveniently, Theo shares my class for first period, and we enter the room together. From the fifteen minutes I spend with him, he only talks when it is necessary, labeling the different places in the school. But that does nothing to ease my cautiousness around him.

The first four hours of the day pass quickly, and by the time lunch comes around, I've introduced myself four times. The whispers and unwanted attention does not lessen, but I grow used to it. I'm just glad I can sit through an hour of lunch by myself. Back in my old high school, Marli and I didn't share any classes so I'm used to focusing in class with no one to chatter with. But we'd always meet up in the library for lunch, sitting in our little corner and laughing about anything and everything until the librarian kicked us out. I realize, with a tinge of sadness, she won't spend lunch with me here.

All feelings of nostalgia are wiped away when I shut my locker door to find Atlas standing in front of me.

"You're sitting with us in lunch," he states.

"No, thanks. I'd much rather sit alone in the library."

"Are you tone deaf? I'm not asking," he snaps, spinning on his heels.

"Roman, you're making it very hard for me to stay out of trouble like your daddy requested," I hiss. "What happened to not getting into each other's ways?"

I blow air through my mouth when he keeps his mouth shut. He doesn't enjoy my presence as much as I do his which only means one thing: there is an ulterior motive behind me sitting there. And he won't tell me. I guess I'll find out when we get there.

The hall is packed and smells uncharacteristically good. Of course, I think, only a school like this would serve good food. I absentmindedly grab a tray of food, thinking of the type of friends Atlas would have. If they are anything like him, then I'm in for a long hour. Only after we leave the line do I realize I have Alfredo fucking pasta on my tray. This is definitely something I can get used to.

He leads me to a table in the center of the large room that seats twelve people with six seats on either side. I don't recognize anyone at the table, except for a Middle Eastern girl in my chemistry class and Theo. As soon as we stand in the table's vision, everyone looks up to us. I focus on not looking at the ground as I take the only empty seat at the edge of the table, next to a girl with wild curls. In front of me sits Theo, but he keeps his eyes on his food, not looking up.

"Guys, this is Sage, a . . . Friend of mine," Atlas takes a seat in the middle of the table, placing his tray down.

Some of them are disinterested, already going back to their food, but most stare at me with curiosity. A girl with sleek blonde hair and heavy hoop earrings stares at me with neither emotion. Instead, she shoots daggers at me that I feel on the side of my face, making my scar burn with acknowledgment. After a few minutes, I decide to meet her spitting gaze.

She speaks first, not breaking my gaze while placing a manicured hand on Atlas's shoulder. "Sage, huh? You never told me about her."

"I am now," he simply says, unwrapping his burger. It's the size of his large hands.

"I've never seen you around here," she ponders.

"Yeah, well it's a big city." I rest my chin on my hand, dodging the meaning behind her words.

Right then, I realize why he's so intent on seating me with them. He wants people to start talking about me, knowing my name. The new mystery girl that suddenly enrolled here. David Roman is really going all in.

We hold each other's gaze for a few minutes until someone prods her shoulder to show her something on a phone.

The curly-haired girl next to me stifles a laugh. When I look at her, I'm struck by how thick her eyebrows are. That with the freckles that dot her cheeks, she looks like the models that belongs on the covers of fashion magazines.

"Well, we haven't been properly introduced. I'm Yvonne Sutton."

My attention is once again brought back to the girl seated next to Atlas, and realization dawns on me. She's the hell he was talking about this morning. A jealous girlfriend is exactly what I need, I scoff internally, wondering what their story is.

"She's weirdly possessive over her prick of a boyfriend," eyebrow girl explains to me, popping a fry in her purple-painted mouth, "but you shouldn't mind her. I'm Zain Petrakis. That's Octavian," she points to a dark-skinned guy with pierced ears sitting next to Theo, "but you can call him Tave, and the brooding guy next to him is Theo Roman."

I almost get whiplash when I snap my gaze to Theo. "Roman? As in Atlas Roman? You guys are brothers?"

Zain and Octavian speak simultaneously for him. "Cousins."

He continues to say nothing, only staring at me with observing eyes as I let the information sink in. Cousins. That's why he was the first to know about my arrangement. The two boys share no similarities save for the chiseled jaw—Theo's skin is significantly lighter than Atlas's.

"You should stay away from Yvonne," Tave says with laughing eyes. "Bitch bites."

I can't help but chuckle. Her arm is possessively held around Atlas's, much to his disdain, and she's still eyeing me like a mother bear protecting her cubs. I don't even know why she's so worried about me; my looks are plain in comparison to hers. And the only thing that connects Atlas and I are the mutual hatred we share for each other.

"How do you like it here?" Zain asks, chasing a stray bit of guacamole around her plate with the edge of a nacho.

"It's nothing like my old school."

"Where'd you go before Wetheron?" Tave pipes in with innocent curiosity.

Theo's eyes meet mine for a split second, and I choose to answer vaguely, careful not to look away or fidget. "Harlem."

"Oh, that's a cool place," Zain says, "Ugh, I've always wanted to see the Graffiti Hall of Fame."

Tave rolls his eyes. "Zain likes to play tourist in her own city."

"Yes, and? It's a city worth being a tourist for."

"Nah." He shakes his head with a mouthful of food. "I think you do it because you think it gives you a quirky edge."

She taps her chin, green eyes looking to the ceiling as she feigns thoughtfulness. "See, I'm looking and looking and looking. But I just can't seem to find where I asked for your deep, psychological analysis of my personality with burrito sauce dripping down your chin,"—she turns to the blond guy from this morning with Atlas—"Can you find it, Zale?"

He smirks, clasping Atlas's unamused shoulder. "Nope. Sorry, buddy."

Zain winks at him, and Tave mumbles under his breath—something about trying to get in her pants.

I sat through the exchange quietly, watching them bicker back and forth. It all seems light-hearted; Tave is stifling a smile, and Zain pulls a fry from his tray a minute later. But Theo remains quiet and uninterested, his eyes trained on his food or phone.

"What are you doing Thursday after school?"

It takes me a second to realize Zain is talking to me. I walked in here not expecting to make friends on the first day. It's not like I particularly want to be a loner, but I've only ever gotten along with Marli and a few people in my old school. If there are ever friend tryouts, I'd probably come in last. Unfortunately, my tactlessness and impatience aren't exactly desirable friend features.

"Uhm," I pause for a second before deciding on my answer. Who makes plans this early? "Nothing actually."

"Great, you're coming with us to Atlas's party," she declares.

I snort. "I don't do parties."

At this, both Tave and Zain stare at me in shock, and Theo stares with curiosity than anything else.

"You mean to tell me you've never been to one?" Zain asks with wide meadow eyes. "I took you for the fun type."

"There are other ways to be fun," I reply, a defensive tone lacing my words.

"Doesn't matter." She waves her hands dismissively. "You're coming."

I lifte an eyebrow at her demand. People really don't understand free will around here. Or maybe they're just born with everything easily given to them at the snap of a finger.

Before I can say anything, Tave jumps in. "There's no saying no to Zain. You can forget that. But what she means to say—" he points a look at Zain, "is, can you come?"

Truth be told, I've never been to a party. Sure, I like getting drunk on cheap beer with Marli and aimlessly taking the subway to wherever the hell God willed us to go, but getting drunk with people I barely know doesn't seem so appealing.

Then, something like a bulb lights in my head: an idea.

"Where'd you say the party was at again?"

"Atlas's house."

Hiding the hope on my face, I nod. If I ever want to get the information I need, then his house is the perfect place to start. I can easily slip away to his dad's office and do a little snooping.

"Sure. I'll come."