“Are you ashamed?” he asks, reaching out to stroke some of my hair away from my forehead. “About being engaged to me?”

“Me?!” I choke out, lifting a brow and trying not to tremble under that blindingly brilliant amber gaze of his. “I figured you were the one who’d be ashamed. Wouldn’t you be better off marrying some heiress or something?”

Church smirks and moves away from me, leaning down to pick up one of the boxes from the floor and setting it on my bed. The top flaps are open, leaving a clear view of the contents inside. On the very top, there’s a female Adamson uniform zipped up in a plastic garment bag. Church lifts it out and examines the navy blazer and plaid skirt inside. It's a junior’s uniform; starting Monday, seniors have to wear champagne colored jackets and blue ties, lucky us! The fact that the new uniforms were late has been yet another stressor on Archie’s plate. Spencer said his mom—who’s on the school board herself—told him some of the other members aren’t pleased with my father’s performance.

I finger the edge of the plastic garment bag and sigh. Dad bought this uniform for me last year and had it waiting in the hotel room the day we were supposed to fly out, like he thought I'd be excited about it or something.

After I'd finished throwing a fit about living in Connecticut, I demanded a boy's uniform, cut off all my hair, and well … the rest is history.

“This may come out as arrogant,” Church says, and I cock a brow, crossing my arms over my chest.

“May come out as arrogant? Well, since most of the things you say are peppered with arrogance, I'm just going to assume that it's bad.” I nod my chin and then gesture up at him. “Alright, go ahead and say it. Come on, Churchie.”

“Churchie?” he asks, laying my abandoned girl's uniform out on the bed and stepping back to examine it. “Interesting choice of nickname.” He lifts his honeyed gaze up to mine and smirks. “But considering you're my fiancée, I'll let you call me whatever you want.” Church turns my way and crosses his arms over his own chest, mimicking my stubborn pose. “You asked if I'd be better off marrying an heiress.”

“Yeah?” I prompt, feeling a tiny bead of sweat work its way down my spine. I'm nervous right now. Why am I nervous? I mean, this is just Church Montague, President of Adamson All-Boys Academy, and prince of the school, the richest person in Connecticut, and my future fake-husband. Hah. Hahahaha. Nothing at all to be nervous about.

“Well,” he begins, lowering his voice and stepping forward. One of his cool, dry palms comes up to cup the side of my face as his eyes meet mine. “I don't need to marry an heiress. My family is wealthy beyond all reason.” Church leans down toward me, and I feel myself start to tremble at the thought of him kissing me. I mean, he's a damn good kisser. My mind strays back to that night at his parents’ house, the way his hands roamed up under my skirt, the heat of his lips against mine. “And what is money for, if not to provide some level of freedom and control over one's life?” He levels his gaze on mine, speaking directly against my lips. “You've met my parents. They don't believe in arranged marriages, or convenience marriages—they believe in true love. They're fanatical about it.”

He releases me and steps back without actually following through with a kiss, and disappointment fills me the way that ice-cold water filled the tunnels beneath this creepy school.

Don't get embarrassed, Chuck, stick with the snark! That's our thing.

I flick some of my blond hair back from my forehead and give Church a saucy Monica-inspired look.

“Don't you think they'll freak when they find out?” I ask as Church lifts a few of the boxes marked Miscellaneous Crap from the floor to the top shelf in the closet. I'm too damn short to reach it.

“Find out about what?” he asks as he raises his arms up, and his pajama top climbs just high enough to show off the muscles in his lower back. I reach up to wipe drool from my lips, even though it's just a metaphorical move in the first place.

“That we're not actually …”

“In love?” he questions, looking back at me just before the door opens and Spencer appears, Ranger not far behind. Spence’s hands are tucked in his pockets as he moves into the room and looks around like he's sizing up the place. Then his attention lands on the uniform lying across my bed, and his mouth twitches.

“In love?” he says, repeating Church's words back to him. “And with a schoolgirl uniform just waiting to be put on? Come on, what am I supposed to think about this?” At least he's smiling when he says it. Ranger, not so much.

“I can't believe we were written up during senior year. Your dad's an asshole.”

“Yeah, sorry about that …” I say, tapping a finger against my lower lip. “Come to think of it, I really shouldn't have talked back to him like that. He's going to go out of his way to make this year a living hell for me.” I pause as Spencer unzips the garment bag and fingers the pleats of the skirt, and Ranger steals a coffee from Church's little red mini-fridge. “And also, probably for you guys, too. Apologies in advance.”

“Eh, you're worth every write-up,” Spencer says, lifting his turquoise eyes from the uniform to my face. Heat strikes through me like lightning, and I find myself shifting nervously in front of him, suddenly self-conscious about my baggy California Love sweatshirt and matching sweats. The way Spence looks at me, you'd think I were wearing a ballgown and a full face of makeup. He coughs suddenly and turns away, back to the stupid uniform again. “You know, now that we've got a lead on Mr. Murphy for the notes and … Mr. Dave for … Church stabbing him …” Spencer trails off and Ranger makes a grunt of protest as he sits on the edge of his best friend's bed. “What I mean to say is,” he lifts his head up to look at me, “why not just go as a girl now?”

“What?!” I blurt out as Church closes the closet and turns back around with that contemplative look on his face. Where are the fucking twins anyway? I wonder as all three guys stare at me like they're actually considering this nonsense. “I can't go as a girl! Newsflash: one of our teachers has been leaving me threatening notes, another one of our teachers got stabbed by someone in a hoodie, and there was a dead kid in the woods. Not to mention the creepy people in fox masks.”

“Yeah, but it's pretty clear at this point that it isn't femicide,” Ranger says, his blue-streaked black hair shiny and razored into an edgy rock star look. He puts just enough gel in, that one might think he spends zero time in the mirror. Now, I don't know for sure, but since the twins each spend an hour perfectly mussing their hair each morning, it wouldn't surprise me if Ranger did, too.

“Femicide?” Spencer asks, also snagging an iced coffee from the mini-fridge. Church snatches it right out of his hand, and he rolls his pretty turquoise eyes as he goes in for another.

“A sex-based hate crime,” Ranger replies, leaning back on the bed, dressed in a tight black t-shirt and jeans. Tomorrow, he'll be back in his uniform, so I take a brief moment to enjoy the sight. “Meaning, I don't think Charlotte is being targeted for her gender.”