I’ll Always Be With You (Lancaster Prep Book 4)

I CAN’T LOOK at him. I can’t. I don’t even know what I would say. How do I approach this, approach him?

Glancing down at the top of my desk, I stare at it until my vision starts to blur, the teacher’s droning voice becoming distant until I can’t make out what he’s saying. I’m achingly aware of the boy behind me, his gaze burning a hole into my skin, his disdain for me palpable.

Yet, isn’t he the one who lied to me? When we first met, he mentioned he already graduated from Lancaster Prep. But here he is, clad in the requisite uniform, surrounded by his friends. Still attending this school, which means he’s my age.

It’s obvious that he’s popular. What would his friends say if I called him out as a liar?

He’d probably deny it and they’d believe him because he’s been here far longer than I have. It’s my first day. It’s his last year. I have no friends, no one who actually knows me.

With the exception of him.

The moment the bell rings, I’m shooting out of the desk like a freaking rocket, practically dragging my book bag behind me, I’m in such a rush. I’m walking as fast as possible down the wide hallway, pushing my way through the hordes of students, ignoring everyone as I make my way to my next class. Statistics.

I hate math.

It takes me a while, but I find my classroom and of course, the period drags on and my stomach rumbles. I didn’t eat breakfast this morning because I was too nervous, and now, I’m starving. I arrived on campus only last night and didn’t have a chance to check out the dining hall. I’m worried about my food options. I want to eat healthy, especially since I won’t be regularly dancing, and I hope there’s more than junk food on the menu.

Considering how hungry I am currently though I’d take about anything I could get.

When the bell rings, I’m a little slower to gather my things, not feeling the need to flee like I did in American Government. I don’t even notice the girl approaching me until she’s practically on top of me, her loud voice making me gasp.

“Hey! You’re Carolina, right?”

I nod, taking her in. She’s beautiful, her features perfectly aligned. Wide smile, button nose, high cheekbones. Long, wavy brown hair, dark brown eyes. The sleeves are rolled up on her white button down, both of her wrists jangling with a stack of bracelets, and she has a ring on almost every finger. At least three necklaces around her neck and two, possibly three, piercings on each ear that I can see.

“I am,” I finally say to her, shoving my new statistics textbook into my bag before I close the flap. “I’m also at a disadvantage since I don’t know your name.”

“It’s Mercedes.” Her smile is brilliant, showing off bright white, straight teeth. “We also have American Government together.”

Oh. I knew she was familiar. I was so stuck on seeing West for the first time, I didn’t really notice anyone else besides the first guy I talked to. “Hi, Mercedes.”

“Hi!” Her smile grows, if that’s possible. “Want to sit with us at lunch?”

I get the feeling this is an important invitation. “Sure.”

We walk together to the dining hall, Mercedes chattering away, pointing out classrooms and rattling off the names of students and staff members as we pass by them. She also shares a shortcut I didn’t realize existed to get from one building to another. When we finally arrive at the dining hall, I’m able to sneak in a question.

“How’s the food here?”

She wrinkles her nose. “It could be better, but it’s not horrible. The pizza is good.”

Pizza. I can’t remember the last time I ate even a bite, let alone an entire slice. “Do they have a salad bar?”

“They do!” She nods enthusiastically. “The ranch dressing is delicious—it’s homemade.”

Clearly, Mercedes doesn’t have to watch what she eats. Lucky her.

We enter the noisy, crowded dining hall, and I follow Mercedes as she leads me over to the expansive salad bar. I contemplate my options, seeing that there’s at least a fat-free Italian dressing available. It’ll still be full of calories, but I could add just a little bit for taste …

“Yo, Mer!” A tall boy wedges himself between us, slinging his arm around Mercedes’ shoulders, though his gaze is on me. “Who’s your friend?”

He blatantly checks me out and my cheeks heat up. I look away from him, uncomfortable by his bold stare.

“TJ, stop!” Mercedes’ voice is extra high, and she giggles, flirtatiously. “This is Carolina.”

He flicks his chin at me, his gaze knowing. As if he’s in on some giant secret and I’m oblivious. “Carolina, huh?”

I nod, taking a step back, needing the distance. I don’t know him and if he tries to put his arm around my shoulders, I might lose it. “Hi.”

“I’ve heard about you.” His gaze rakes over me yet again, his hazel eyes sparkling. “The dancer?”

“The Lancaster,” Mercedes adds.

“Right. We haven’t had one of those on campus in a while.”

One of those. Like I’m an object, and not a real human being.

“Well, lucky you, now you do.” I offer him a brittle smile and leave them where they both stand, my entire body quaking. I go to the end of the line at the salad bar, trying to calm my accelerated breathing.

Was I a complete bitch just now? God, I hope not. Usually I wouldn’t care, but I don’t want to start the school year off with everyone hating me. I’m stuck on this campus for the entirety of senior year. I need to make the best of it.

I grab a chilled white plate and start loading it with the healthiest options on the salad bar, which, thankfully, are plentiful. I’m even able to grab a small cup that I can fill with salad dressing, so I can keep it on the side. I note how everyone in line adds cheese and bacon bits and croutons to their salads, drenching everything in ranch or whatever other creamy salad dressing they love.

Wrinkling my nose, I take my tray with my salad and go to the cashier, scanning my meal card with a faint smile for the woman sitting at the register.

“Nice and healthy salad you got there,” she notes, her smiling eyes meeting mine. “Great way to start your first day of school.”

“Thank you,” I say, feeling awkward, unsure how to respond.

“You’re new here?”

I nod, shoving my meal card into the front pocket of my book bag. “Yes.”

“Welcome to Lancaster!” the woman practically shouts, causing what feels like half the occupants of the dining hall to look in our direction, their expressions curious.

I run away from the counter, ducking my head, relief filling me when I spot Mercedes, who’s waving frantically at me from a nearby table.

How did she get through the line already?

“Carolina! Come sit with us!” she calls.

I go to the table, noting that the guy who checked me out, TJ, is sitting right next to her. There are other guys at the table as well, plus a few girls. Mercedes kicks out the empty chair next to her, indicating it with her hand. “Sit here.”

I settle into the chair, setting my tray in front of me, scanning what everyone else is eating. Mercedes has a greasy slice of pepperoni pizza on her plate. TJ has a cheeseburger and a pile of fries that smell like salt-flavored heaven. The other girls have salads, but you can barely see the lettuce thanks to all the dressing that tops them.

“Everyone, this is Carolina Lancaster.” Mercedes says my last name with extra emphasis, which makes me wonder if she’s being so friendly because it gets her some sort of popularity points, becoming friendly with a Lancaster.

The girls offer up enthusiastic smiles and little waves. The boys give the standard chin nod and a muttered, “what’s up,” clearly not impressed with who I am, which is perfect.

But TJ watches me carefully, his gaze assessing before it finally drops to his phone and he starts tapping away at the screen, the unmistakable sound of a text being sent filling my ears.

“Who are you texting?” Mercedes nudges her shoulder against TJ’s. “And where’s West?”

My stomach hollows out and I stare at my plate, my appetite disappearing at the mere mention of his name.

“That’s who I was texting. I have no idea where he is.” TJ pockets his phone, his gaze sweeping over the dining hall. “I don’t see him.”

“Maybe he’s at the library,” one of the girls says, a knowing tone to her voice.

Mercedes starts to laugh, the sound light. “I don’t think he moves that fast.”

“You’d be surprised,” TJ says with a chuckle.

I feel like I’m missing out on the joke, and my face must convey my confusion because Mercedes takes pity on me and explains.

“West is known for taking girls into the library so they can—fool around,” Mercedes explains.

“I heard he had sex with one girl right against the stacks in the Ancient History section,” one of the girls adds.

“Oh please, Sam.” Mercedes rolls her eyes at me. “Samantha exaggerates.”

“Nah, that’s true. He fucked Helena Madigan in the library. I think it was in the Autobiography section though,” TJ says with a grin, just before he shoves his mouth full of french fries.

The girls start giggling with the exception of Mercedes, who’s glaring at TJ. “No need to be so crude. There are ladies present.”

“You referring to Miss Lancaster here?” He points at me, rude as hell. “Pretty sure she knows about fucking around with West.”

It takes everything in me to remain still and have zero outward reaction to his words. Mercedes’ head swings between the two of us, her curiosity growing into a living, breathing thing, though I get the sense she’s not brave enough to ask what he means by that.

And I know I won’t say a word.

“You know West?” Mercedes asks, her voice so low I almost don’t hear her.

“No.” I swallow hard, my gaze on TJ’s, quietly daring him to deny my answer. “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“He was in our class—” Mercedes starts, but TJ cuts her off.

“Really.” TJ’s voice is flat, and he leans toward me, his arms crossed and resting on the edge of the table. “Weren’t you in Paris this summer?”

“That’s public knowledge.” I lift my chin, hoping I look strong. Like what he’s saying isn’t bothering me in the least, though I feel like I could puke if he keeps up this line of questioning. “I performed there this summer.”

“Uh huh. Well, I happen to—”

“You know nothing.”

At the sound of his voice, we all turn to find West standing directly behind TJ’s chair, his stony expression completely unreadable. His gaze is locked on me and he doesn’t say a word, his upper lip slowly starting to curl with disgust. There are two other boys standing directly behind him, like they belong to some sort of gang and he’s their leader, which makes me realize …

I’m completely out of my element. I’ve gone to school with nothing but girls and a handful of boys for the last five years, and all of us had the same goal. Each of us were desperately clawing our way to the top. That, I understand. Dance and all of the competitiveness it brings is something I’ve been comfortable with for years.

The politics involved in navigating an American high school—an elite private school attended by the children of some of the richest families in the country, if not the world—is not something I’m prepared to do. Regardless of my last name.

Pretty sure I’m in way over my head.