CHAPTER THREE
Alice
They say, "Start the journey with a blank page." Yeah, right. Whoever wrote that clearly never had their "blank page" run over by a luxury SUV and covered in street filth. Today was supposed to be the start of my new life—the big reset. A fresh beginning at Oakhaven university that I fought tooth and nail for. But here I am, literally discarding my dreams in a bathroom trash can because one specific asshole ruined it along with my entire morning.
I stare into the cracked mirror as I wash my face, my hands trembling so hard the water splashes over the counter. All the effort I put into today—the "first impression" I spent three hours perfecting—is literally being drowned in muddy water. I want to cry, I want to laugh at the cruelty of it, and at the very top of my list, I want to kill that bastard.
I unbutton my ruined blouse, the silk fabric feeling cold and slimy against my skin. I'm almost choking on my tears as I peel it off. My fingers shake as I stuff the expensive, ironed fabric into a plastic bag I got from the clerk at the store—the same clerk who stared at me like I was a circus clown while I was dripping on his floor. I pull on the oversized, overpriced grey hoodie I just bought. It's scratchy, it smells like a dusty warehouse, and it's three sizes too big, but it's dry. It's my armor now.
I'm standing there, desperately wiping my face with cheap, rough tissue paper, trying to get the mascara smudges out from under my eyes when the restroom door swings open with a loud creak.
A petite Asian girl walks in. I turn to look at her, probably looking like a maniac, and she freezes mid-step. She stares at me like I'm an alien who just crash-landed in the girls' room.
"You need some help?" she asks. Her voice has a soft, melodic tilt to it—Japanese or Korean, I think.
"What help do you have to offer me?" I snap. The bitterness leaks out before I can stop it, sharp and ugly. I don't mean to be a bitch, but my life is currently a dumpster fire. I turn back to the mirror, aggressively scrubbing at the black streaks on my cheeks until my skin turns raw and red.
Suddenly, a slim, small object is shoved into my field of vision. I blink, looking down at the counter. She's holding out a high-end mascara tube, watching me with these wide, doll-like eyes. If I wasn't currently in the mood to commit a felony against a certain Porsche driver, I'd probably think she was the cutest adult girl I've ever seen. She looks like she belongs on a "Study With Me" YouTube channel, not in this grimy bathroom with me.
"Thought you might use some help," she says with a small, shy smile.
"Thank you," I mutter. My voice softens as I take the tube. The kindness catches me off guard, and for a second, the lump in my throat feels like it might actually swallow me whole.
"Are you new here?" she asks, leaning against the sink next to me, watching me work.
"Yeah. First day at Oakhaven," I say, carefully reapplying the black tint to my lashes. My hands are finally stopping their pathetic shaking.
"Did you not know that they have uniforms for the students?" she asks with genuine curiosity.
The question hits me like a physical blow to the stomach. Of course, I know they have uniforms. I close my eyes for a second, and a sharp, stinging memory of my bank account balance flashes behind my lids. Every cent I had went into the tuition deposit.
Who would I even ask for the money? My father? The man who left my mother dying in a hospital bed because he had an "important meeting" with his mistress? The same mistress who is currently carrying my half-sibling in a house bought with the money that should have been my mother's? I'd rather wear a literal trash bag and cardboard shoes than ask that man for a single cent.
"Actually, I do know they have uniforms," I say, forcing a casual shrug as I hand the mascara back. "But I wanted to make a specific first-day impression. A 'me' impression."
"First impression in... this?" she asks, her head tilting as she looks at the baggy, hideous hoodie.
"Yeah, because a specific asshole ruined the clothes I spent the entire night ironing," I say. My voice cracks on the last word. I'm dangerously close to losing it again. I take a breath, forcing the air into my lungs. "Anyway... I'm Alice Miller." I extend my hand, trying to reclaim some shred of dignity despite the fact that I smell like a wet dog.
"I am Enami Mio," she says, accepting my hand with a firm little squeeze. "But people call me Mio."
I look at my watch, and for a moment, my mind goes completely blank. The numbers don't make sense. I arrived at this campus twenty minutes early, feeling like a winner. But currently? I am seven minutes late for the most important seminar of my life. On. My. First. Day.
"Are you coming to the university, Mio?" I ask, my heart starting to hammer against my ribs. I hastily shove the plastic bag with my ruined shirt into my backpack and check my reflection one last time. My hair is tied up in a bun—thankfully, the mud didn't reach the red strands.
"Yeah, let's go," she says.
We leave the bathroom and she practically runs toward the main campus gates. I have to hustle just to keep up with her short, quick strides.
"Are you a first-year here too?" I ask her, my lungs burning from the humid air.
"Yes, but I have been here since high school," she says. "Oakhaven has a preparatory academy. I know every corner of this place."
I look up as the twin towers of Oakhaven loom over us. These are the towers I worked my ass off for. The nights I spent studying until my eyes bled, the shifts I pulled at the diner just to pay for the application fees—it all led to this.
The moment we reach the gate, I stop. I take a deep, shaky breath, trying to cool the fire in my blood. I finally pull my glasses out of my bag and slide them on. They're prescribed for my myopia, and even though I'm wearing contacts, these glasses feel like a shield. They're more "me" than the lenses ever were.
I walk in with my head held high. This is it. This is the payoff.
The campus is buzzing. It's a sea of tailored ash Oxblood blazers and expensive leather satchels. I feel like a grey smudge in a world of high-definition luxury.
"That's Marcus Hunter," Mio whispers, nudging me. She points toward a group of guys standing near the fountain. "He's a god of golf here. You know, he's like every girl's crush... well, after Zade Hamilton. They hate each other, by the way."
The name Zade Hamilton sounds familiar—like a song you hate but can't stop hearing—but I shove the thought into the back of my mind. I have bigger problems than campus royalty. I watch the guy Mio named as he detaches himself from his friends and starts approaching us. He has that "I own the room" walk that rich guys seem to be born with.
When he stops a few steps away, Mio nudges me again, her eyes wide.
"Didn't know we had this specific kind of beauty here in our university," Marcus says, his eyes raking over me. He's looking at the oversized hoodie and the messy bun like he's looking at a puzzle he wants to solve. His friends behind him start making low, annoying noises, egging him on.
I look him dead in the eye. I've had enough of men in expensive cars and fancy shoes today.
"The beauty bites, too," I say, my voice flat and cold.
I don't wait for his reaction. I move right past him, my shoulder nearly clipping his, as Mio follows me with a suppressed giggle.
"Where are we going?" she asks.
"I need to find the President's office," I say, my jaw set. "I have a scholarship detail to discuss, and I'm already late. I need to fix this day before it completely swallows me whole."
I keep walking, my gaze fixed forward. I don't care about golf gods or campus kings. I just need to survive.