Copyright © 2023 by Elle Kennedy

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  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

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  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  Chapter 1

  Casey

  Fenn: How’s your day going, cutie?

  My entire face nearly cracks in half thanks to the giddy smile that overtakes it. It’s almost disgusting what one little text from Fenn Bishop does to my heart rate. I felt my phone buzzing in my pocket during French class, half a dozen texts in quick succession, but I couldn’t check it, otherwise it would’ve been confiscated. So I sat there dying for the bell to ring. Now, between classes, I stand at my locker and read the messages that remind me this place isn’t real life. Nobody knows me here at St. Vincent’s. All the rumors and whispers constantly buzzing around me whenever I walk down the hall—they don’t matter. I know the truth. And so does Fenn.

  That’s all that matters.

  The giddiness intensifies as I scan the rest of his texts. He’s been doing this every day since we became friends. Texting me good morning. Checking up on me. Sending me dumb memes because he knows I haven’t smiled in a while.

  It still feels so surreal. Fenn was a stranger to me for so long, just another upperclassman my sister occasionally hung around with. And then my car accident threw my entire world into chaos, and there he was with an easy grin and a strong shoulder for me to lean on. He befriended me, for no good reason other than he saw I needed someone and decided it would be him.

  And for no good reason, I let him in.

  As I head toward my media class, I type out a quick response.

  Me: Oh, you know. The usual BS.

  Fenn: Wanna ditch last period? I’ll come pick you up.

  Me: Sloane would kill you.

  We aren’t exactly public, Fenn and me. At least not where my family’s concerned. My dad and sister barely tolerate a friendship—I can’t imagine how they’d react to finding out Fenn and I are officially dating. I honestly don’t know who would lose their shit more. Last time she caught him hanging around, Sloane basically told Fenn she would put a hit out on him if he touched me. And Dad, well, if he didn’t have to clear it with the board of trustees, he’d have built a moat around our house by now. I’m not sure he really thought it through before accepting a headmaster position at an all boys’ boarding school in the middle of nowhere and brought his two teenage daughters along. Sloane and I were bound to fall for a couple of Dad’s delinquents.

  Fenn: Worth it.

  Me: You say that now.

  Fenn: Nah. I’d risk Sloane’s wrath any day of the week. You’re just that cute.

  My stomach does a happy flip. He’s too good at that. Or maybe I’m too easily impressed. Fenn throws the slightest compliment my way and I become a puddle of mush. It’s nauseating. Lately, he’s the best part of my day.

  Me: Meet after school?

  Fenn: Can’t wait. Usual place?

  Me: Yep. I’ll text you when I get home.

  I’m still smiling as I enter the classroom and take my seat in the second to last row. Not even Sister Patricia’s stern glare can hinder my mood. Although of course, she frowns upon smiling. Everything is frowned upon in this stupid school. St. Vincent’s is run by a group of super strict, terrifying nuns who view the girls more like wards than students. Every morning begins with fifteen minutes of chapel. Every class has assigned seating. My pre-calc teacher, Sister Mary Alice, even walks around slapping a wooden ruler against her thigh, ready to smack your wrist if you don’t finish your equations fast enough.

  I hate this place.

  “Hey, Casey.” Ainsley bumps my desk as she walks up. “Remember to take your meds today? I assume you do that at lunch so you can take them with food?”

  Just like that, my spirits sink.

  I clench my teeth, pretending not to notice the way she smirks at the prospect of spending another full hour picking at the bones of my carcass. I imagine she’s one of those girls who was dismembering her dolls and cutting off all their hair when she was little. Throwing rocks at squirrels to hear them scream.

  Lucky me, I’m her new favorite toy.

  People say that when faced with a seemingly insurmountable challenge, we tend to either rise to meet our potential, or regress to escape the problem. For me, I’m still stuck at the point of indecision. Neither fight nor flight, but grin and bear it. Close my eyes and bite down. If I’m being honest, though, I don’t think I’ve ever been Team Fight. Before I transferred to St Vincent’s from Ballard Academy, I probably would’ve been part of the flight camp, so I guess my current state is a step up from that.

  Ainsley slides into her seat behind me, then taps my shoulder.

  “What?” I hiss, turning in my seat.

  She stares blankly. “What? I didn’t do anything.”

  “Ladies.” Sister Patricia scolds us from the front of the class, where she’s setting up today’s video. It’s already October, and I don’t think she’s taught us a single thing since school started. All we do is watch movies, usually musicals, that I’m starting to suspect come from her home collection.

  “You’re imagining things,” Ainsley tells me. “Better up your dosage.”

  Beside Ainsley, her best friend, Bree, is giggling. “Yeah, for real.” The brunette chews loudly on her gum, then coughs when she nearly chokes on it. I don’t usually judge people with low IQ, but Bree Atwood is the kind of stupid you genuinely feel sorry for.

  A few minutes later, class commences. And by class, I mean we proceed to sit in the dark watching a bad VHS-to-DVD transfer of a West End production of Les Misérables while Sister Patricia sits at her desk mouthing every line.

  “Sister Patricia?” Ainsley calls out.

  “What is it?” The irritated nun casts a glance in our direction.

  “Shouldn’t we leave the lights on?”

  Sister Patricia sighs, one eye on the TV. “Quiet, Ms. Fisck.”

  “I just don’t think it’s a good idea to keep us trapped in the dark with an unstable student.”

  I swallow a tired sigh. Within days of me transferring to St. Vincent’s, Ainsley had the whole school believing I’m a mental case. One bad hair day shy of a straitjacket.

  Not like it hasn’t crossed my mind. I don’t remember what happened the night of the accident, so in a sort of quantum sense, I guess anything could have. I’m basically Schrödinger’s cat in a box of poison. But what’s more plausible? That I was the target of some phantom driver, or that I got high off my ass at prom, looking for attention, and plunged my car into the lake? You can only rant about the one-
armed man for so long before you’re forced to consider the possibility it’s all in your head. Maybe I am nuts. Maybe I did have a breakdown that night and simply can’t remember.

  Sister Patricia’s response is an annoyed frown, but her focus remains on the film. Even the nuns know the rumors, and I’m sure more than a few believe them. I’m almost surprised I haven’t yet been snatched coming out of the bathroom and hauled into the chapel for an impromptu exorcism.

  “I’m not being mean,” Ainsley says with feigned innocence. “Darkness and loud noises can be triggering. Right, Casey?”

  I continue to ignore her and stare at the floor, concentrating intensely on the black shoe scuffs and dotted patterns in the tiles. Ainsley’s been at it since first period this morning. In AP history, she remarked on my shoelaces. You know, is it a good idea for someone in my condition to be walking around with those. In physics, she suggested to our teacher that perhaps I should complete my assignments in crayon, lest I fashion a pencil into a weapon.

  “How does it work?” she continues. “Like do you hear voices? Are they talking to you now?”

  I glimpse several smirks in the darkness. Hear a few soft snickers. Girls can be vicious. I always knew this in theory, but once you become a target, it’s hard not to grow disillusioned. Not to become disappointed in your peers. Maybe it makes me an anomaly in this world, but I’ve always tried to treat people the way I want to be treated.

  Sister Patricia shushes the class, though she doesn’t peel her eyes from the screen. Her mouth is still moving silently.

  “I saw this biopic on Netflix once,” interjects Bree, the feckless sidekick who couldn’t find a personality of her own if she tripped over one. “It was about a woman who heard voices through her microwave.”

  “Oh, I know that one,” Ainsley says. “She drove her car into a city bus because she believed it was a government surveillance unit tracking her.”

  I’m crazy, is the gist. Delusional, dangerous, and on a hair trigger.

  I wish. If I were all those things, maybe I’d have the courage to retaliate against these jerks. As is it, I’ve done the only sensible thing: ignore them. Every day, I brace myself against the snide comments and perpetual rumors. At first, Sloane said it wouldn’t last more than a few days. Ainsley’s just a bully and soon enough she’d get bored and move on. But her fascination hasn’t dissipated, and my resolve has withered. With each relentless assault, I’ve grown more self-conscious. Sorry for myself. Sulking in the misery of becoming the main character at a new school where only the worst parts of my reputation precede me.

  “Casey. Hey, I forgot.” Honestly, you almost have to admire her persistence. That Ainsley’s yet to reach boredom is remarkable. “I’m having a party next week.”

  She’s not especially clever, but what she lacks in material, she makes up for in purity of malice. Ainsley doesn’t have some long-simmering grudge against me. I didn’t steal her boyfriend in third grade. There’s no history here. She’s simply a rotten person who enjoys being a bitch.

  Her tone turns saccharine. “You can come if you promise not to park in the pool.”

  I focus on the musical number on the screen, pretending not to hear the giggles. Fuck these girls. I don’t need their approval. Don’t need their friendship. Even if they’d all welcomed me to St. Vincent’s with open arms and tried to make friends with me back in September, I still wouldn’t trust them. I had a big friend group at Ballard Academy and look how that turned out. Every single one of them betrayed me after the accident. Smiled to my face and laughed behind my back. They spread rumors about the worst night of my life, turning me into a laughingstock.

  I had to learn the hard way that loyalty is rare in high school. Which is why I’m not interested in buddying up to any of these girls, not when they showed me their true character right out of the gate. There are only two people I trust these days.

  My sister.

  And the one guy who never fails to put a smile on my face.

  So I keep staring straight ahead and mentally count the minutes until I can see Fenn.

  Chapter 2

  Casey

  After school I throw on my running shoes and whistle for Bo and Penny, who hardly wait for me to open the front door before they bolt down the driveway toward the sun sitting low above the tree line. For a couple of big golden retrievers, they’ve got engines like racehorses and the patience of caffeinated toddlers. They sprint most of the way to the forest path between the dorms and my house on the edge of the Sandover campus, where Fenn is waiting for me.

  I’m still not tired of the way he always looks deep in thought before his head lifts and his blue eyes light up. That embarrassed grin he smothers as he wraps his arms over my shoulders and kisses the top of my head.

  “Hi,” he says. Never more than that. But it’s the inflection that makes it our own secret language. Everything we need to say in one tiny sound.

  “Hi.”

  I lock my arms behind his back and stay there awhile. Because even on days I remember my armor, school is exhausting.

  “You okay?” Fenn says against my hair.

  He’s almost a foot taller than me, letting me nestle against his chest. He must’ve ditched his blazer in his dorm because he’s wearing only his Sandover-issued button-down, the sleeves rolled up. He smells so delicious. That boarding school tuition doesn’t skimp on the good fabric softener.

  “Uh-huh,” I answer. “You give good hug.”

  I feel his laugh fan over my cheek. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “’Kay. Knock yourself out.”

  I give him one last squeeze before I let go, shielding my eyes from the sun to spot Bo and Penny harassing some creature up a tree.

  “Guys,” I shout in reprimand, and they quickly dash away from the tree.

  “How long can you stay?” Fenn quickly unbuttons his shirt and lays it down on the grass for me to sit on.

  I can’t help but snort.

  “What? It’s called manners, Casey.”

  “Any excuse to take your clothes off.” Not that I hate it. Playing soccer has given him ridiculous abs. Which he’s not shy about.

  “Eyes are up here, sweetheart.” He winks at me and sprawls out beside me.

  Something weird happens when the guy you like says he likes you back. Everything becomes hyperreal. Vivid. Those dimples I hadn’t paid significant attention to before? They now occupy an inordinate share of my thoughts. I can’t stop staring at his lips, the bottom one fuller than the top. Or noticing how he always seems to miss one tiny patch of dark-blond stubble on the corner of his jaw whenever he shaves.

  It’s impossible not to let my gaze drift to his bare chest again. His sculpted muscles and tanned flesh make my fingers itch to touch him. I swallow through my dry throat and force myself not to ogle him. Sloane mockingly refers to Fenn as the golden boy, and it’s hard to disagree with that assessment, only not in a scornful way. With his blond hair, golden skin, and tall, muscular frame, he’s hotness personified.

  I still can’t believe he’s actually mine.

  “I can’t stay long,” I tell him. “Homework. And Dad’s making dinner. So…”

  “So I better not waste my time then.”

  With a naughty grin, he reaches for my hand and pulls me to sit across his lap. My resulting squeak is a cross between surprise and delight. Then my pulse quickens, as Fenn catches me around the waist to hold me tight and presses his warm lips to mine.

  It begins innocent enough at first. A sweet kiss. The soft brush of his lips. My fingers find their way down his bare shoulders to travel the firm ridges of his abs, and I feel his muscles contract under my touch. My tongue seeks his while he tangles his hands in my hair, gently cupping the side of my face.

  I know he wants me. I hear it in the soft groans muffled in his chest. Feel it when he skims the skin at the small of my back. I sit up and comb my fingers through his hair, deepening the kiss and breathing heavy.

  Fenn’s always the first one to pull away.

  “You’re killing me,” he whispers with heavy-lidded eyes.

  “I don’t know who you’re trying to impress by trapping us on first base all the time.”

  “Trapping? Damn.” He flashes an indignant smirk. “I get no credit for good behavior with you.”