Page 21 of Framed

That didn’t curb her curiosity. If anything, it fueled her even more. “They’re usually pretty strict about application deadlines. Not many are enrolled after the cutoff date.” Her gaze turned quizzical as if I was a mystery she couldn’t solve. “Last year, Renee Blackbeard missed the deadline and they rejected her application even after her father donated a shit ton of money. It was her senior year. You must have some solid connections with people in high places.”

I didn’t know much about the school, outside of the fact that they were known for their discretion, but it made sense that they were running a tight ship.

“I must do,” I replied vaguely, my voice coming out tighter than I expected. I wasn’t fond of what she was insinuating, but I didn’t want the growing apprehension to show even more.

A new start, Scarlett. Focus on a new start.

“Hmm,” she said again, still staring at me. Her gaze wasn’t friendly and knowing like the receptionist’s. But she didn’t seem hostile like the lady at the fancy hotel, either. She was curious, probing as if she wanted to undercover my deepest and darkest secrets with just her eyes alone. I felt vulnerable under her scrutiny, transparent even. I resisted the urge to squirm.

I wondered what her major was. She could work wonders for the FBI. That look alone would get anyone singing like a canary.

“I have a few spare sheets and covers in the hallway closet. You’re welcome to use them until you get your own,” she said after a reluctant moment of silence, never taking her eyes off me. It was clear she was having a hard time placing me.

“Thank you,” I said, honestly grateful for the offer. I didn’t have time after I got done dying my hair to stop by the corner store. My stomach growled loudly, yet another reminder of that fact. I was supposed to pick up groceries too. I needed to find an ATM and I needed to find one fast.

“I also just got a grocery delivery yesterday so the fridge is fully stocked. I normally send a list to Greta, my personal shopper, on Fridays.” Of course, she had a personal shopper. “I’m on a strict diet so it’ll probably be wise to make your own list that I can give Greta.”

I shook my head. “That really isn’t necessary. I can get my own groceries. I just need to go to the ATM. Is there one on campus somewhere?”

She pursed her lips as she scanned my outfit. Starting with my black hoodie, her gaze made a slow perusal of my whole body until it finally settled onto my new black crocs. I’d stumbled across a gift shop as I was leaving the hotel and reluctantly bought a pair of ridiculously overpriced crocs.

I was hesitant to spend twice as much as retail, but I really needed a new pair of shoes, so against all better judgment, I bought them. The store attendant may have had to wrestle my last hundred-dollar bill out of my grasp, but that wasn’t important.

“There’s an ATM by the security corner.”

“Where is that?” I remembered Dr. Masters mentioning that they had security on campus at all times, but I was having problems with recalling if she said where their corner was.

“In the West Wing by the beach.”

“The beach?” I repeated.West wing? Jesus, just how big was this place? I’d definitely need to carry around a map for the first few days or even maybe the first few months before I could confidently navigate the campus.

“You don’t know where the beach is?”

I shook my head. I didn’t know where anything was.

“You’veneverbeen to a Royal Bash?” A royal bash? I was still trying to wrap my head around them having abeachon campus. Who has a beach on their college campus? Rich people, that’s who.

I shook my head again, slower this time. Which seemed like a mistake, because a secretive smile crossed her lips. Eyes glimmering with mischief, she declared, “Well, I’ll be. I reckon you and I are going to have a lot of fun.”

I struggled for a response. She reminded me a lot of Naomi. Which meant this girl was trouble.

A muffled alarm sounded and she stared at me expectantly.

“That’s not mine,” I tell her. It sounded far away, in the building but not in this room. I doubted my outdated minute phone had such a feature.

“Shit.” She cursed. “I have a chapter analysis due at midnight. If you need anything, I’ll be down the hall. My room is the last door on the left.”

“Uh, okay. Thanks.” I said to her retreating figure. She was, um, interesting to say the least.

I waited until she was no longer in view and I heard the faint creak of a door shutting before I crouched on the floor and looked under the bed. There had to be one. I knocked lightly on the wooden planks of the floor but had no luck. The foundation was solid, with no shallow areas I could carve out.

I huffed out a deep breath and placed my palms on the hardwood floor. I needed to find a safe place to put the box. Somewhere no one would look. Feeling defeated, I stood and clapped a hand over my mouth to stop the bloodcurdling screech that threatened to spill from my lips.

“What the hell?” I snarled at the figure.

chapter nine

Scarlett

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