Page 21 of The Pawn

So none of the tips are usable, but at least this is a sign that there are still people out there who want to see rich kids brought to justice. There has to be some dirt about the Elites forthcoming. The tip line even has a drop down for which rich kid school a tip applies to, and I made sure Coleridge was in there prominently.

By the time Holly returns to the room, a few hours have passed and I've calmed down considerably about my run-in with Cole. After all, there's nothing he can do to me that could possibly compare to what he did to my brother—and I have my own social media power I can use to fight back if he does.

So it's a surprise when the first thing my new roommate says as she walks into the room is, "Cole told me that he put you on his list."

Chapter 11

"He marked you," she continues, studying me with her bright green eyes. "Is that true?"

Worrying on my lower lip, I admit, "Yeah, it's true. He told me it was 'you'll regret this' like some kind of TV villain."

"Oh, God." Sighing, she rolls her eyes and flops down onto her bed, crossing her legs in front of her. "I thought maybe he was fucking with me, but he wasn't. Ofcoursehe would manage to start some inane bullshit with my roommate before classes even start." She eyes me. "Was it really all because you helped that Lakewood girl get her purse down from a tree?"

"Yeah. He said I should mind my own business."

She rolls her eyes again. "I swear, I keep thinking he'll grow out of this shit. He promised me he'd be better behaved here than he was at our last school."

"Is it going to be some sort of problem?"

Holly cocks her head at me. "What do you mean?"

"With us." I motion from me, to her, then back again. "I mean, he said it wasopen season, and that anyone who helped me would become a social pariah. He said I wouldn't have any friends on campus."

"He's so fucking dramatic." Holly picks at her nails, flaking off old polish, as she settles back into her designer pillows. "I mean, crossing Cole isn't the best way you could start the school year. He's an annoying asshole when he wants to be. But all he's going to do is prank you. As long as you sniff your shampoo bottle for Nair and don't leave your phone unlocked, you'll be fine."

"Nair, really?"

"Yeah, I had to buy April Conway a designer wig last year to make up for that one. I swear, one of these days Cole is gonna cross a line, and I'll be forced to make him pick between me and the pranks." She snorts indelicately, twirling the end of her dark ponytail around one finger. "Can you believe I'm not even sure he'd pick me? Those bets and bullshit games he plays with his friends are like, what he lives for."

I press my lips together to keep from informing Holly that actually, hehascrossed a line. She may not see what he did to my brother as some kind of prank—after all, she probably thinks he was guilty, just like her boyfriend and the rest of the Elites.

I'll have to tread lightly with the future Mrs. Masterson, but it sounds like for now I'm safe. Unless of course this is all an act, and she's lying to me so I won't suspect it when I find bugs in my lunch or milk poured over my laptop.

"As long as we're cool, I should probably ask you... do you think it would be alright if I applied to be one of the Rosalinds?"

Her eyes light up. "Absolutely! We need fresh meat. The only girls who have shown interest so far keep asking me if being one of us means they get to set up their own date for the Blind Ball." She rolls her eyes. "Boy-obsessed, all of them. But you seem cool. And I already know you can climb—that'll come in handy, since what we need more than anything is another host for our rock climbing event, if you're interested."

"I'll do it," I promise, already imagining what I'll be able to achieve with a little bit of spending money on hand. Not to mention, it sounds like these social events could be a good way to network around campus and find out what the Elites must be hiding. "Whatever you need, I'm game. Especially since it pays. This way I won't have to try to find some kind of work study job or a retail position off-campus."

"Perfect." Beaming, Holly jumps off her bed and holds out her hand to me, and I stretch my arm out to take it. "I had the feeling you'd be a fun roommate. Just don't get too caught up in my boyfriend's little games—I swear, he makes a mess of everything he touches. The sooner you ignore him and move on, the sooner he'll be done acting little an immature brat and leave you alone."

I squeeze her hand and pump it once or twice, murmuring, "Oh, I won't try to take him on. I know better than to get in trouble—I've got a scholarship I can't jeopardize, after all."

Legacies can take on Cole. Brenna Cooke is going to be ingratiating herself to his girlfriend and his best friend, figuring out how to take him down from the inside once and for all.

"Consider yourself part of the team, Brenna." Holly beams at me. "I can't wait for us to get started."

* * *

Dinner on the weekends is held in our respective dormitories, unlike on days with classes. I walk into the small Rosalind dining hall worried that something might happen, on edge ever since I crossed Cole, but no one even looks at me.

Somehow that's worse. I hate that around here, I fade into the background. I may not have been the prettiest girl in Wayborne, or even the cleverest, but everyone there at least knew me. They looked at me, and more than that, theysawme. Here at Coleridge I might as well be the ornate wallpaper, that's how much attention I get.

After dinner I decide to take Holly's advice and opt for an evening shower. I take the opportunity to sniff my shampoo and conditioner, just in case the Nair thing was actually her idea. She may act nice, but I don't trust her.

There's no acrid smell of hair remover in my stuff, though, so I grab my shower caddy and take it down the hall to the dorm showers. No doubt they're the same athlete's-foot-infested showers you get anywhere, so I make sure to slip on flip flops to use while I scrub myself down.

But the Rosalind Hall second floor bathroom isn’t your typical communal shower. For one thing, it has a sitting area just beyond the door. A group of girls is sitting on the plush sofas, gabbing with one another. I spot a redhead who seems familiar from the tour, and a girl with dark hair who gives me a withering look. One of the other girls is painting her nails, taking great care, the expression on her face rapturous—as if she's worshipping a god and not just giving one of her rich peers an unpaid manicure.

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