Wicked Elites by Sofia Daniel

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Ashley and I returned to the middle and were peering into an empty computer lab on the first floor, when a male voice purred from behind, “Who are you?”

I whirled around and stared into the aquamarine eyes of a tall boy with golden hair, tanned skin, and a wide, devilish grin of full lips and gleaming white teeth.

A breath caught in the back of my throat. Was he a student? The athletic, muscular body in the green uniform told me the answer was yes. A palpitation reverberated through my heart, heat bloomed on my cheeks, and I snatched my gaze away.

It landed on an equally as gorgeous, olive-skinned boy with hair that shone like polished jet and piercing eyes that were equally as dark.

My mouth dried, and I gulped hard. We didn’t get boys like this at Cummersdale Comprehensive. We didn’t get boys like this in Carlisle. They looked like they belonged somewhere fancy, like London or Paris or Milan.

The blond boy smirked, but the dark-haired boy scowled.

My sister was the first to speak. “Ashley Evergreen.” Her gaze lingered over their bodies.

I sucked in a breath, waiting for Ashley to introduce me to the boys, but she cocked out her hip and said, “And you are?”

“The one who’s going to light your fire.” The blond took Ashley’s hand and kissed her knuckles.

Disappointment made my shoulders droop, and I stared at my feet. Ashley was the party girl with more boyfriends than she had fingers, and I was the girl who spent my life in a textbook. Those were the roles we had fallen into since leaving London and settling into Carlisle. I’d hoped that things might be different in an elite academy dedicated to academic excellence, but I was awkward, even here.

Ashley giggled. “What name should I call out when I’m in the throes of passion?”

“Leopold. Leopold Brunswick And this moody bastard is Prakash Kashaayah.”

“How exotic!” Ashley cooed. “Are you Indian?”

The boy’s words sank through my well of embarrassment and hit my brain. Brunswick was the name of the oldest bank in England, and I’d heard the name Kashaayah from history class. It was a company formed in the eighteen-hundreds after the Indians drove out the British East India Company from the tea plantations of the Amala mountains. Was Prakash a descendant of the founder?

“His friends call him Kash,” added Leopold.

“Friends,” snapped Prakash. “Not random girls roaming through the hallways.”

I furrowed my brow. Did he have a problem with us?

Ashley’s lips pursed at his rudeness, but she quickly masked that expression with a wide smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Do you know where a girl can have a bit of fun?”

“There’s a party on Friday at Hessington Hall.”

Prakash turned away and rolled his eyes.

I hugged myself and stared at the parquet floor. While Ashley was making friends, I was invisible. Again.