“I'd love to,” he schmoozes, taking my arm and walking me up the steps. As soon as we get inside and Dad turns away, I pull my arm from his grip, frustrated that I now have to keep my uniform on for the entirety of dinner. I'd been planning on changing into a pink tank and sweats, sans bra. That won't exactly work with Church Montague in my freaking house.

Dinner is a pot roast with mixed veggies, mashed potatoes, and some fresh bread with butter. Nothing at all as fancy as I'm sure Church is used to eating. His family owns some huge conglomerate that deals in seed production and engineering, one of those scary companies worth hundreds of billions that you never hear about, but that controls everything.

I'm actually surprised Church is even going to this school. For as rich as he is, he could easily afford someplace like Burberry Preparatory Academy in California, where all the super-rich assholes go.

“This looks delicious, Archibald,” Church says, still smiling, and I frown. Archibald? Since when is the Student Council President on a first-name basis with the headmaster? Isn't that, like, a breach of etiquette?

“Thank you, Mr. Montague,” Dad replies smoothly, either ignoring or not caring that one of his students is calling him by name. They smile at each other across the table, and I frown. This is the most awkward dinner I've ever been to in my life, I think as I stab a bit of zucchini and take a bite. “So how did the studying go?”

“Chuck's basic level of understanding when it comes to math is deplorable. Clearly, there are issues here that are catching up to him, issues that probably began years ago. He's been barely keeping up for a while.”

I frown and give him a look.

“So, what you're saying is that Chuck's low grades are actually just a symptom of how much … he's been slacking since elementary school?” Dad adds, giving me a dark look. He's clearly disappointed in me, but I don't care. Church spent one afternoon studying with me; he doesn't know shit.

“Math is all about foundation. Chuck has none. We're going to have to start back at the basics, or we're not going to get anywhere.” Church glances over at me, and smiles. But as soon as Dad's phone rings, and he looks away for a moment, the asshole's smirking at me.

I flip him off, and Dad glances back at just the right moment, so that's all he sees.

“Chuck Carson!” he snaps, and I drop my hand to my lap, pursing my lips. “You've caused enough problems for the Student Council already, and now here Church is trying to help you, and you've got an attitude?”

I grumble an apology as Church smirks at me again.

Again, Dad completely and utterly misses the exchange.

“I have to say, during our Culinary Club meetings, we’ve grown quite fond of your son. If only he’d apply himself …” Church gives me this smile that’s two parts sugar, and one part sweet. Meaning, it’s all a bunch of cloying crap. The urge to flick mashed potatoes into his face is astronomical. “Friendships are here for you, if only you’d accept them.” He puts his hand to his chest and gazes at me with such adoration that I’d almost believe it … if any of that expression actually transcended the physical shape of his face and reflected back in his eyes. Nope, still a cold, cruel something-path. Why can I never remember the difference between psychopath and sociopath?! Are those even the right terms anymore? And why do I consider myself some sort of amateur psychologist?!

“Chuck is adamant about moving back to the dorms,” Dad begins, sighing and setting his fork down. He dabs at the edges of his mouth it, giving me a very critical sort of look. “And to be quite frank with you, Mr. Montague, I think we’re at just about wit’s end with each other.” He shifts his attention to the Student Council President. “If—if I let Chuck move back into the dormitory, do you think you and the other boys might be able to keep a sort of unofficial eye on him? I’d never ask a student to take responsibility for another, but—”

“Mr. Carson,” Church begins, smiling pleasantly and tilting his head to one side so that the feathered honey-colored pieces of his hair slide enticingly across his forehead, ever the picture of beautiful teenage Americana. When he stands up and puts his hand over his heart, like he’s about to say the Pledge of Allegiance or something, I can’t control the eye roll. Dad gives me one of this signature ‘headmaster glares’, the one he’s perfected over decades working in various universities, prep schools, and academies. “As the President of the Adamson All-Boys Academy, I’d just like to say that it would be my honor to keep an eye on your son. I consider it my civic duty to help the less fortunate.”

“You are the ideal Adamson student, Mr. Montague,” Dad says, and my jaw drops. Seriously? He’s buying this crap?!

“Dad,” I start, and both men turn to glance my way. Church still has his hand over his heart, eyes wide and full of total BS. This innocent act sure as hell isn’t going to work on me, not after the jerk locked me in a trunk and almost got me stabbed by some maniac.

“If you want to return to the dormitory, you’ll obey direct orders from me. And if your student body president has any concerns or objections to your presence, I’m sure he’ll let me know about it?” Dad glances back at Church who nods, and I fume. Seriously, steam must be rising from my head now. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”

Archie stands up and exits the room, leaving me alone with Church.

The stupid asswad comes over to stand beside me, bringing with him that particular scent of lilac and rosemary. I hate that we use the same shampoo. His smell is almost, like, comforting to me. Gross. He leans down and puts his lips right up against my ear.

“Did you hear what your father said, Chuck Carson?” He licks my ear, and I reach up to slap him away, my jaw clenching with anger. He doesn’t even know my secret, and it feels like he’s hitting on me. Pretty sure it’s all just part of his fucked-up personality, built on intimidation and BS. “You’ll obey.” Church strokes my hair back, and I jerk my head away from him. He laughs in my ear, this cold, awful sound that gives me the chills. “Just remember that, Chuck. This is my school, and if you want to survive here, you will obey.” He stands back up and returns to his seat, plastering on one of those stupid happy smiles of his. By the time Dad comes back, he’s the very picture of adolescent perfection.

I stab my fork into my pot roast and try to consider myself lucky that Dad’s even thinking about letting me move back to the dorms. If I have to suffer one more night without Wi-Fi, I might just die. All I want is to talk to Cody and Monica, that’s it. Just a little taste of home.

Church seriously overstays his welcome, refusing to leave until he’s ruined my movie night with Dad. The entire film, I swear he’s staring at me.

I mean, seriously, what’s this guy’s problem?

If I were actually sticking around at this school, maybe I’d have time to find out? As it is, I just don’t care. All I have to do is survive a few more weeks, just a few short weeks, and I’ll be home.

Permanently.

On Sunday, Dad finally lets me move back into the boys' dormitory, and the twins offer to help carry my stuff. Thankfully, they already know my secret, so there's nothing for them to find. Unfortunately, they … well, already know my secret, so when I come out of the bathroom at Dad's place and head down the hall to grab the last few boxes, I find them going through my dresses in the closet.