Ruby, perched on my shoulder, plucks a piece of frosted donut from my hair, shoves it in her mouth, and glances up at me. “That was the Spring Court Prince and heir.”
I have no idea who that is, but by the way Mack’s mouth hangs open, it must be bad.
“Prince Hellebore attends Whitehall Academy,” Mack protests.
It’s my turn to gape. “There’s another academy?”
Both look at me as if I should know this. “Centuries ago,” Mack explains, “there was an incident. After that, the royals from the Spring Court decided to create their own academy. It’s not officially recognized by the Unseelie Courts or the council.”
We find our lockers and quickly throw our books inside.
“But there are Spring Court Evermore here,” I insist, my brain refusing to believe two places like this could exist.
“That’s because Whitehall Academy is uber elite, so most Spring Evermore don’t get accepted. Only the highest ranking Seelie Evermore attend, usually royals, and it’s located in Spring Court territory instead of neutral territory.”
“Oh.” I ignore the stare from a female shadow rushing by us in the hall. I can’t even imagine what I look like. “So the Spring Court prince just randomly decided to attend here?”
Ruby shrugs. “Kid, all I know is that magic was powerful enough to take down Inara Winterspell and the Six. All because of you. And being the center of any powerful Evermore’s attention—other than lover boy—is a wonderful way to shorten your already tiny mortal lifespan.”
I shut my locker, sling my backpack over my shoulder, and grin. “I hope they got that on video. Now, off to . . .”
I look to Ruby for a reminder of my first period, but she just shrugs and goes back to licking the syrup from a tangled strand of my hair.
Mack frowns. “Summer, go shower. I’ll explain to your teacher what happened—”
“No.” I cross my arms, cringing as they stick together. “If I miss my first class, they win. It proves that I can’t handle being here. I’m already on thin ice after my expulsion last semester, and now, with Inara’s incentive to get me kicked out . . .” “I’ll never understand why some people have to be such dickwads,” Mack mutters.
Ruby sighs. “Evermore like Inara are broken and shattered inside, and they’re only happy when they make others feel the same way they do.”
The profoundness of Ruby’s statement nearly makes me drop my backpack.
Mack slams her locker shut with a loud clang, drawing a few questioning stares from the nearest shadows. “That’s no excuse for her awfulness. I hope the Spring Prince left her there to squirm for a while.”
That makes two of us.
Mack gives me one last look. “You got this, Summer. Take Ruby for support. Second years are allowed to bring their sprites to class if they need them for note taking or . . . whatever.”
Normally I would refuse. Even on her best of days, Ruby is a distraction more than a help. But facing a class full of people rooting for me to fail might just be a bit more bearable with someone I care about nearby.
I pat my shoulder. “Alright, Ruby, ready to be my emotional support sprite?”
“Ready as a broke stripper at a bachelor party.”
“O-kay. I’ll take that as a yes.”
As I sprint down the stairs to my first class, Ruby scraping bits of bacon and eggs from my collarbone, I cheer myself up with lies.
It’s fine. This is fine. You’re fine.
But my gut disagrees, making nervous gurgles. If the first day is any indication of how the rest of the year will go, I’m epically screwed.
Despite my efforts, I’m tardy first period. My Faerie Courts and History teacher, Professor Hawthorne, raises an eyebrow when Ruby and I slip into the room. Thankfully, the towering, jade-skinned Fae is too busy trying to work the new projector screen to publicly remark on my lateness, or the fact that I smell like an IHOP.
As I slip into a seat in the back, Reina laughs. “Who ordered breakfast?”
I’ve already decided my plan of attack this year will be ignoring the insults. Rise above and all that crap.
But Ruby didn’t get the memo on my new, dignified strategy, and she bares her tiny needle-like teeth at Reina. “Who ordered murder? Oh, right. You did if you keep talking smack, mortal harlot.”