Chapter 8

Sitting down in the classroom I texted Diana feeling guilty for not chatting with her this few weeks. The teacher hasn't arrived yet so I didn't worry about getting in trouble. I took out my phone and texted her updating her on how Ive been doing making sure to include Andy and the cast system here. As the teacher walked into the classroom, I quickly silenced my phone and slipped it into my backpack. I didn't want to be distracted during the lesson. Ill look later to see if she responded back.

The teacher stepped in, a stern woman in this class, started her lesson. Her voice was steady, just like the rest of the teachers here. Back at my old school, the teachers spoke so fast that it was hard to keep up. I wasn't too surprised, though—most of them didn't want to be teaching students who didn't care about school and only focused on mates. It was annoying, to say the least. I forced myself to focus on the board, jotting down notes and making sure I didn't miss anything.

Once the bell rang, signaling the end of class, I quickly packed my stuff and headed toward the cafeteria, my stomach growling in anticipation of lunch. The hallways were buzzing with chatter, students laughing and rushing past me. I was lost in thought, planning what I would get to eat. My money was draining on the heat patches Ikept getting, so I had to choose wisely. Suddenly, a voice called out from behind me.

"Hey, you!"

I turned to see the blue uniform guy I'd met a few days ago. He was leaning against a locker, arms crossed, a smug smile plastered on his face. I remembered our last encounter; he was such a cocky jerk. What did he want now? Even the other students were giving him weird looks, and avoiding him whispering things like:

"Poor kid."

"Another victim."

"Don't look at him unless you want to get dragged into his business."

Great! Hearing those whispers, I walked toward him, trying to keep my cool. "What the hell do you want?" I said, sounding more aggressive than I intended.

"I've got a job for you," he said, pulling out a small, unmarked box from behind his back. He handed it to me, and it felt surprisingly heavy. "Deliver this to the Monarch Social Area. They're expecting it."

"Uh, what's in it?" I asked, my curiosity battling with hesitation.

He shrugged, that grin still on his face. "Don't worry about it. Just get it there, and you'll be fine."

I looked at the box, then back at him. The cafeteria was just down the hall, and the Monarch Social Area was on the other side of the school. I weighed my options. I needed the money, but why did he look so smug?

Frowning, I finally said, "Alright, I'll do it."

"Good choice," he replied, his smile getting even wider. "You'll be doing me a favor, and who knows? You might even enjoy it."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there with the box in hand. I took a moment to gather my thoughts and then made my way toward the Monarch Social Area. I figured I'd just drop the box at the entrance, knock, and get the hell out of there.

As I made my way across the sprawling campus, the box felt heavy in my hands, both physically and metaphorically. The Monarch Dorm was on the other side of the school, a place I had only heard about in whispers. The closer I got, the more I could sense the shift in the vibe. This building screamed elite, towering over everything else like a fortress of privilege. Its architecture was grand and expansive, with tall windows glimmering in the sunlight, making it look almost regal along with the rest of school buildings around it.

I couldn't help but compare the Monarch Dorm to my own. My dorm was decent-looking, I guess, with its plain design that seemed like it was trying to offer comfort. But in sharp contrast, the Monarch building was pristine, with manicured lawns and stone pathways that looked like they were meant for the most privileged students only. It felt like the school had dumped all its money into this place.

As I approached the entrance to the social area, the atmosphere shifted again. There was this buzz of exclusivity that made my skin crawl. I pushed open the heavy door, which swung open with a smooth whoosh, and stepped inside. The interior was just as impressive as the exterior—gleaming marble floors, tastefully arranged furniture, and artwork that looked like it belonged in a gallery, not a school dorm.

I walked forward, heading toward the receptionist area at the far end of the lobby. The receptionist looked up as I approached, her gaze scanning me from head to toe. I felt a pang of self-consciousness, especially in my brown uniform and worn-out sneakers. She raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, and pointed toward a doorway off to the side. "That's where you need to go," she said flatly, not even trying to hide her disdain.

"Thanks," I muttered, feeling that judgment settle over me like a thick fog as I walked toward the area she indicated. As I reached the door, I hesitated, glancing back at the receptionist. Her expression was as cold as the marble beneath my feet, and I felt a chill run down my spine.

Taking a deep breath, I seriously thought about just dropping the box and bolting, but I didn't want to give her the satisfaction. So, I pushed the door open and stepped inside, still clutching the box tightly. What I saw made my heart race. The room was filled with students, all decked out in designer clothes, laughter and conversation swirling around me like an invisible wave. But as soon as I walked in, the laughter died down, and I felt all eyes turn toward me.

Suddenly, I was hit with this pressure coming from them. It was like the room itself thickened, making it hard to breathe. I could feel their judgment piercing through me like daggers. The atmosphere shifted from casual to confrontational in an instant, and I felt like I was crashing a party I definitely didn't belong at.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my cool as I moved toward the center of the room. The box felt heavier with every step, and my palms were sweating like crazy as I finally dropped it gently onto the ground. The thud echoed in the silence, and I felt a knot tighten in my stomach.

"Who are you?" one of the students finally asked, his tone dripping with arrogance. I met his gaze, trying to muster some confidence, but the words got stuck in my throat. All I could think about was how out of place I felt and how I totally regretted agreeing to this.

"I—I have a delivery," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. The room stayed silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. I felt their eyes boring into me, and for a moment, all I wanted to do was turn around and run. But I was here now, and I had a job to do.