Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Discover more Entangled Teen books… Alpha
Lies That Bind
True Storm
Hiding Lies
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Shannon Greenland. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 105, PMB 159
Fort Collins, CO 80525
[email protected]
Entangled Teen is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Kate Brauning
Cover design by Fiona Jayde
Cover photography by
Honored_Member/iStock
stock_colors/iStock
enjoynz/iStock
ISBN 978-1-64063-588-3
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition July 2018
Prologue
Stalker
Her long dark hair fans out beneath her as she lies sprawled on the ground.
What a pitiful excuse of a girl.
Squatting down beside her, I take in her huge irises as I tighten the white scarf around her neck and watch the life in her eyes start to fade.
She had been warned.
She didn’t listen.
This is what she gets. For everything.
Chapter One
Whoever installed this mess must have been high.
Crammed under a desk in the library, I reach for a wad of tangled wires, completely aware that my butt sticks straight up in the air and hoping nobody notices.
“Dammit.” I bang my head on the underside of the desk and try yet again to wrap a label around one of the wires.
“Can I help you?”
I stop, and pushing my glasses up my nose, I glance over my shoulder to see a pair of tanned muscular legs standing right behind me. He’s probably staring at my butt. Great.
“Can I help you?” he repeats, and I catch a hint of accent.
“I’m all right,” I call back. “Just trying to label some wires.” What’s he doing here, anyway? The semester doesn’t start for two more days.
“You new here?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Student tech crew?”
“Yeah,” I answer again, wondering if he’s going to keep standing there staring at my ass. At least I’d thrown on jeans. Although they are low rise.
“Sure you don’t need any help?”
Obviously he’s not leaving, and I’m so not comfortable with the probable direction of his stare. So I wiggle my way out.
I smile up at him, trying not to show my irritation at being interrupted, and catch him looking right down my V-neck T. His eyes jump to mine in that embarrassed, I-just-got-busted-looking-down-your-shirt way that makes him seem more harmless than anything.
I tighten my ponytail as I stand and zero in on those eyes, and phew, what eyes they are. Amber? No, green. No, a combination of both.
He wears his dark hair long enough that it curls against his neck. He smiles then, and I catch a flash of dimples that flutter all kinds of girlie things through me that I have no business feeling. As I take him in one more time, I think of this Calvin Klein poster my momma has of a young Antonio Sabato Jr.
Yes, my momma has an underwear ad hanging in her locker at work.
I remind myself I need to speak. “Great accent,” I tell him. “Where’re you from?”
“Spain. You?”
“Backwoods, Tennessee.”
“Tennessee?” He laughs a little, and Lord help me if it’s not the best I’ve ever heard. All deep and chuckly. “Guess that explains your twang.”
“Guess so.”
“Big change coming south to the Keys.”
“Yeah, big change.” He has no idea how huge of a change. Where everything in my life is concerned. “Well, I need to get back to work,” I say, more because I don’t need an amber-eyed, Spanish, chuckly distraction. “Thanks again for the offer of help. I guess I’ll see you around when class starts.”
“Sorry, didn’t introduce myself.” He offers a hand, and I take it, finding it warm and dry and perfect. Nothing worse than a clammy hand. “I’m Riel Villanuevo.”
“Oh! You’re my peer mentor. The guidance office gave me your name.”
His lips curve in confusion. “They did?”
“I’ve heard all about you. I’m Viola Burnett, the academy’s scholarship recipient.”
His smile slides away as does his hand from mine. “I’m sorry, did you say scholarship recipient?”
The air between us suddenly chills. I blink and take a step back. “Yes?”
The muscles in his jaw tick. “As of when?”
“Last…week.” What’s going on? Why is he suddenly so pissed?
“Who called you?”
I stare at him a second, unable to wrap my brain around his sudden temper. “Dr. Williams, the director.”
Riel doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, then he jerks his fingers through his dark hair. “Something’s not right.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I’m so completely clueless why he’s upset.
He grabs his books off the computer desk.
“I already moved into the dorm,” I say,
not really sure why.
“Listen,” he tells me. “There’s been a mistake.”
“A mistake?” Dread settles through me. “No, I don’t think so.” There better not have been a mistake. I spent my entire school career trying to get into this private academy, and I’m here. I’m finally here. No way has there been a mistake.
Riel doesn’t respond and instead turns and strides off.
It takes me a solid minute of standing in a befuddled haze to realize he’s probably headed straight to the director’s office to dispute my scholarship.
Oh, wait a minute! No, he’s not! I charge off after him across the library and down the hall, and as I march into the administrative suite, I immediately hear them.
“But Dr. Williams,” Riel pleads. “I thought you said the scholarship was mine.”
I come to a halt. His? Oh no. This isn’t good.
“No,” Dr. Williams patiently responds. “I said you were a candidate for the funds. You know as well as I do that it goes back up for review every year.”
“But I’m a senior,” Riel says. “This is my last year. I’ve had the academy’s scholarship every year I’ve come here. Shouldn’t I get seniority?”
“It doesn’t work that way,” the director says.
“Why didn’t somebody tell me?”
“I thought the committee did. I apologize for the oversight.”
Riel sighs. “Is there any other available money?”
“No, Riel, I’m sorry.”
Silence falls between them, and guilt works its way through me at the things I said, and didn’t say, to get the scholarship. Of course I know nothing about Riel so I don’t know if he really deserves it more than me or not, and look at me trying to justify everything. Reverse the roles, and I’d be pissed, too.
“If Viola for some reason doesn’t work out, what will you do with the funds?” Riel asks.
“That decision will ultimately go to the committee. Generally, though, the money goes to our second choice, which would be you. But I can’t see why she won’t work out.”
The guilt turns to foreboding and stirs darkly in my gut. There’s no reason anyone around here should find out that I stretched the truth on my application.
“I know your situation,” Dr. Williams says. “I’ll do everything I can to help you.”
Situation? What situation?
“Right.” Riel finally speaks. “Well, thanks for seeing me.”
“Riel?” Dr. Williams stops him from leaving. “How is everything at home?”
Riel doesn’t answer, and I take a step closer to hear.
A phone rings. “Need to take this,” Dr. Williams says, and I quickly turn to leave.
“Have fun eavesdropping?” Riel snips as he brushes past me.
I want to snip back but have no place. He’s right; I had been eavesdropping.
A blond guy sticks his head in the door to the administrative suite. “Yo, Riel, you coming tonight? Gonna be a kickass beginning-of-the-year bash.”
Riel shakes his head. “Too much going on.”
“Sucks for you,” blond guy says.
“See you in a couple days, though, when school starts,” Riel tells him.
Blond guy glances at me, giving me a once-over. “Freshman?”
“Senior.”
He gives me what I’m sure he thinks is a sexy smile. “Welcome. I’m Peter.”
Ugh. “Thanks.”
With that, blond guy’s gone and Riel turns to me. Confusion, worry, and strain reflects in his gaze for a beat, bringing on my own confusion and worry. What have I done to this guy?
It seems like he wants to say something, so I hold my breath and wait. Instead, he shakes his head and walks off.
I close my eyes. This is not how I expected to start my year.
Chapter Two
Ponce de Leon Academy, located in the Florida Keys, sits on several acres of manicured land right off the beach. Palm trees and live oaks provide plenty of shade for the cobblestone paths leading between the brick buildings that are fashioned much like an up-to-date fort. Tennis courts, an Olympic-sized pool, a workout facility, and an equestrian area make the place seem more like a resort than a school campus.
The academy is known for its academic excellence in the science and mathematical fields. Graduates typically can write their Ivy League tickets. But it’s also the only academy with a direct track to MIT, and that has been my goal for as long as I can remember.
The academy only offers one full-ride scholarship a year awarded based on academics, which I excel in, family values, and citizenship, of which I have none. I don’t even know where to start with how many ways I stretched the truth in those areas.
Riel Villanuevo, though? He’s the real thing. Thanks to last night’s internet search, I now know he is eighteen years old. He’s a senior and has maintained a higher GPA than anybody in the history of the academy. He’s a community leader, a volunteer, and yep, it doesn’t get any better than Riel.
Which both depresses and irritates me. He does deserve the scholarship. Probably more than me.
But I really did work my ass off to get here. Grades. Extra classes. Study prep. I never half-assed a single assignment. Sure there’s more I could’ve done, like Riel, but with school, working forty hours plus a week, and helping Momma with the twins, there were only so many things I had time for.
Winning the scholarship is my huge payoff for all my hard work. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it. Because this education is my ticket to freedom. To breaking the cycle no one ever thought my family would. To getting my momma and the twins out of the projects and into a better, safer place.
With that thought on my brain, I head out of my dorm and across the hot muggy campus, wondering when the infamous ocean breeze is supposed to kick in. I step into the administrative area and to the guidance office where I rap on my counselor’s door.
“Come in,” she calls.
I open the door. “Excu—” and my gaze goes from the counselor to the guy sitting in front of her desk. Riel. “Oh.”
She smiles. “Viola, Riel and I were just talking about you.”
My gaze immediately drops to the folder he has in his hand. VIOLA BURNETT is printed on the tab. Panic flashes through me. “Why are you looking at my folder? Is that allowed?” Surely, it’s not.
“Yes,” the counselor says. “He’s your peer mentor. Given what happened with the scholarship mix-up, I tried to find you another, but the rosters are full.”
But how? Why is he still here? I won the scholarship. Shouldn’t he be gone? How is he paying for the enormous tuition of this place?
Riel stands then, and his height spurts intimidation through me, followed by a blaze of irritation at my own self. I’m done being intimidated by guys.
“Just getting to know you,” he says, tapping the folder. “Seems you have quite the record.”
He’s going through my folder. What if he double-checks everything? He’ll find inconsistencies. He could go to Dr. Williams. I might be pardoned for one fib, but not for two. I’ll lose my scholarship. Riel will get it.
“Yes.” I clear my throat and mentally go through everything I submitted in case he asks for details.
“As your peer mentor,” the counselor says, “Riel recommends whether or not you be released from your probationary period.”
I already know all of this. And, honestly, coming here, I didn’t think it’d be a big deal. Then again, I didn’t know who my peer mentor would be.
“Classes, studying, required tech crew, community hours.” Riel lifts his brows. “Keeping this scholarship entails a lot.” He huffs a laugh that holds no humor. “I should know.”
I glance at the counselor. This is a major conflict of interest. But I don’t say anything. I don’t want to make any waves in my already precarious situation.
“It’s Riel’s job,” the counselor says, “to be frank, honest, and firm with you. Every new student does a semester of probation. No exce
ptions.”
I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
Riel props his hip on the counselor’s desk and gives me a long study. “I know you probably think this is a conflict of interest—”
Bingo.
“But there’s only six other mentors and their rosters are full. I’ll be on the up-and-up about this, I promise you that. I’ve mentored a lot of students over the years, and I’ll treat you just like I do them. I’ll be watching you closely. Observing you. Checking up on your work. Anything less than the best and I can’t recommend you be released from probation.”
“Yes, I know,” I say when all I really want to do is argue about this whole thing.
He holds up my folder. “I just started reviewing your files. Impressive.”
I try not to let that go to my head. I can only imagine how hard it was for him to say that to me. “Thanks.”
He motions to my jeans and tee. “Jeans aren’t allowed on campus.”
Embarrassment warms my face, and suddenly I’m propelled back to regular high school when the popular girls would tease me about my clothes. “Sorry,” I mumble.
“You know to be in uniform when classes start? For you that would be your academy jacket and skirt.”
“Yes.” I push my glasses up my nose. “I know.”
“Okay.” Riel slides away from the counselor’s desk and sits back down. “If you have any questions, come to me. That’s part of my job.”
Though he’s being civil and very professional about all of this, Riel is the last person I’ll go to. I plan on hovering far, far below his radar.
A few silent seconds slide by while he opens my folder and begins sifting through papers. I stand here, barely breathing, trying to see over his shoulder, wondering if there’s anything in there other than what I submitted.
He glances up then, straight into my eyes. “Did you need something else?”
Shaking my head, I back up, and I let myself out the door.
I’ll come back when he’s not here and ask to see my file. Though I don’t know what good that’ll do since he’s looking through it right now. At least I’ll know for sure what he has and hasn’t seen. At least I’ll know what new truth I might have to come up with.
Chapter Three
That’s where I go first thing in the morning, back to the guidance office to double-check my file. It’s full of exactly what I submitted: transcripts, reference letters, miscellaneous things, and my fake essay, but nothing I myself didn’t send in.
Watching You Page 1