Page 45 of Prince of the Palisades

“Reasons,” is all she says, nodding to the end of the open-air hallway we’ve just walked into.

There’s a thick, white column almost blocking him, but I know it’s Reiss. His constantly moving hands give him away.Standing a little too close to him is a short boy. He whispers in Reiss’s ear. Shadows partially hide Reiss’s expression, but not the other boy’s smirk.

“This isn’t the palace, Just Jadon,” Morgan says. “People have their secrets around here.”

I watch Reiss’s hand brush the boy’s as he takes his phone, types something, then returns it.

Logically, I know Reiss is allowed to talk to whoever he wants. We’re not dating. We’re not…anything. And I’m not mad. My knuckles aren’t aching from how hard I’m squeezing my fists at my sides.

“I’m late for class,” I say hoarsely,notstomping away like someone who’s clearly bothered by what he just saw.

It just looks that way to anyone who sees me.

Rehearsals are a disaster.

Truthfully,I’mthe disaster. We’re on day four of read-throughs. Everyone’s present—the cast, stage crews, techies—as I stumble through my lines. Dustin’s face is alarmingly red, like he’s made a huge mistake. Dr. Garza Villa spends half our allotted time correcting me. Either I’m too tense or too monotone. Speaking too fast or missing my cue.

By the end, Mr. June, the second faculty adviser, is tugging off his heels and shaking out his deep blond hair. He mutters, “I didn’t leave Broadwaytwicefor this,” stomping offstage.

“Let’s do some independent meditation and reflection before we call it a day,” Dr. Garza Villa suggests.

Students huddle together onstage for the exercises. I flopinto one of the auditorium’s front row seats. Head down, I roll and unroll my script. Try to clear my head. Focus on something other than what Morgan said.

People have their secrets around here.

Why did her words surprise me? It’s not like I haven’t encountered this before. Classmates at Académie des Jeunes Dirigeants smiling in my face, only to catch them making fun of me in the restrooms. Kofi ditching me in LA. Prime Minister Barnard insulting my mom behind closed doors.

Léon.

A sharp, unwanted pain cuts across my chest like a blade. The memories come in clear, vivid colors. Orange like a dying star when Léon stopped being around as much, blaming travel and modeling gigs for all the missed calls. Watercolor blues when he kissed me in Centauri’s gardens, only to end our relationship the next morning with an “I’m—we’renot happy. It’s not the same anymore.” Bloodred when he walked away from me as I tried to talk about what his papa said.

I know how this goes. How it always ends. It’s why I keep my guard up. Maintain a distance from people. But Reiss—he feels different.

Iwantit to be different.

“Bro!”

I startle as Karan drops into the seat next to me. “Is this a method acting trick? Are you purposely fucking up because Mr. Green is an anxious, clumsy mess?”

My brows knit. “Yes?”

“Don’t get me wrong—I appreciate the dedication. But it’s not that serious.”

“It’s not?”

“Of course it is!” He clutches his chest in faux distress. “How am I going to make it to Hollywood, star in the ultimate badass movie franchise that finally overthrows that Fast and the Furious nonsense if you don’t get your head in the game? Did you know Vin Diesel is my villain origin story?”

My lips quirk into a small smile. “No.”

“Now you do.” He stretches his legs out. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not one bit.”

“Perfect. Group psychologist is Lo’s strength, not mine.”

“Who?”

“Bestie number two. You haven’t met them?” His face scrunches. “Makeup crew manager?”

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