Chapter 1

Thirteen Years Later.

As usual, the university café is filled with the noise of conversation and gossip. But today, for the first time, the noise annoys me. My head hurts, and the pill my mother gave me didn't help. I wish I could get everyone to talk more quietly. Even I can't do that, though; the room is too big. Smoothing a nonexistent crease in my silk shirt, I locate the right table and head toward it, nodding to the fawning glances and welcoming smiles along the way. My daily ritual is like a queen's procession through a crowd of subjects. I am Tasha Evans: president of the student council, organizer of the most talked-about parties on campus, head of the sorority, and a style icon that everyone wants to emulate. I have earned my popularity.

"Hi, sweetie!" Miley and Jenna get up from the table and take turns kissing me on the cheeks. They don't touch my skin so as not to ruin my makeup, as I taught them.

"Nice shirt, Tasha," Jenna comments as she pushes a green salad with asparagus and coffee—my standard order—toward me. I have no idea why everyone raves about the food at this diner. In my opinion, seventy percent of what they serve here is completely inedible. And this is at the most prestigious university in California!

"Is it Gucci?"

"It's vintage Moschino. I bought it in Milan."

Jenna's face tightens as she nervously takes a sip of coffee, trying to hide her embarrassment over her latest failure. She and her family moved to Los Angeles from Iowa. Over the past two years, her parents' business has skyrocketed. It had previously barely scraped together enough money to pay off their mortgage. Now, Jenna tries to pretend that she has always worn designer clothes and vacationed at expensive resorts. She's terrible at it, but I don't usually comment because we're friends.

"Have you heard the news?" Miley's eyes light up, and she leans forward slightly, holding a fork with asparagus on it. She always copies my preferences. She eats the same food as me, listens to the same music, and buys the same things. She can afford it—her father is a major shipbuilder, and her family has money to burn. The one thing I don't understand is why she hasn't hired a stylist yet. Copying others without showing any imagination of her own looks pathetic.

"What news?" I rub my temple involuntarily. My headache is getting worse by the minute, and I make a mental note to visit Lindsay's spa after school. Massage and herbal tea always help.

"A new guy!" My friend raises her eyebrows, bites her lip seductively, and makes me cringe. "And he's super sexy!"

I like Miley, but her excessive fascination with guys is annoying. As soon as she sees an attractive man, she's ready to jump on him.

"Not very impressive information. Better tell me, have you heard anything about Terry?”

My friend opens her mouth to answer but suddenly looks over my shoulder and smirks. Following her gaze, I turn around and see a blonde girl in front of me. Nothing remarkable: a shirt with a generic brand logo, a plaid skirt, and no makeup. Her bag is nice, but the collection is hopelessly outdated. All of this flashes through my mind in a second and disappears from my memory, just as the girl herself will.

I have developed the habit of evaluating and calculating other people's actions in my mind, and I do it almost automatically.

"Can I sit with you?" The girl nods at the empty chair next to me. Jenna starts giggling, anticipating public humiliation at my hands. I hate idiotic laughter for no reason. Jenna is more annoying than helpful.

"No, you can't," I say, meeting her questioning gaze from under my pale eyelashes. "This table belongs to me and my friends. You are definitely not my friend, so you can't sit here."

"There are no tables belonging to anyone in the university café," the girl says indignantly. "I have the right to sit wherever I want."

This reaction from the rejected is nothing new to me. I even have a signature expression for such occasions: sympathetic mockery.

"You must be new here and not know how things work. Listen and remember: You can sit wherever you want, but forget about this table if you don't want to get into trouble, do you understand?”

The girl frowns and clutches the tray more tightly but doesn't move. A new headache shoots through my temple, and at the same time, my cheek starts to burn. I have an unbearable desire to press a bottle of mineral water against it. What the hell is going on today? Is my body on strike?

"I'm Tasha Evans," I say, my voice booming like ice because I want this girl to leave as soon as possible. "Find yourself a friend and have them tell you who I am and what I can do. If you want to study at this university without any problems, you'd better not mess with me." Consider this friendly advice. Now, please leave us alone. My friends and I are having an important conversation.”

I turn away with Miley and Jenna without making sure the girl understood me. One way or another, all these people listen to me. Contrary to what people say about me, I don't enjoy humiliating others. In school, I tried to make friends and be liked by everyone, but few people appreciated kindness and openness. In middle school, Wanda Abbott and Stacey Chase publicly ridiculed me for making a birthday card for one of them by hand. Sandra Carmichael, whom I considered a close friend, poured tomato juice on my dance costume, getting me kicked out of the competition. I found out she did it on purpose in the ladies' room. That day, I broke into her locker, stole her diary, and sent photos of its pages to my classmates. In each one, she badmouths them and confesses her undying love for Cole Manson. She became an outcast, and I took the first step toward becoming Tasha, the girl everyone fears and wants to be friends with.

Fear turned out to be a more effective method of gaining popularity and friends than I had ever dreamed. The more despicable I behaved, and the sharper my remarks became, the more people gravitated toward me. A paradox? I don't think so. Weak people need a leader, and I was strong enough to become one. What happened at our table just now is just one way of maintaining my image. After all, who was stopping that girl from ignoring my threats and taking the empty seat? No one would have stopped her, yet she still chose to leave. She's weak, like all of them. And I'm bored.

"She left," Miley states with satisfaction, looking at me with a fawning smile. "You totally got her."

Someone's gaze stings my cheek—the one that hasn't started to burn—and I instantly want to find that person in the crowd, memorize their face, and punish them when the opportunity arises. I can feel their condemnation on my skin, and I don't like it.

"I just filled her in on the basic rules of the university," I shrug, wrapping my hands around a paper coffee cup. It's snatched from my fingers at that very moment.

"Sorry I'm late," Ruby says, leaning over the table and taking a sip of my coffee. She returns it to me with a childish pout. "Oh, don't be mad, Tasha. I was really thirsty."

"I asked you never to touch my cup," I say, trying to sound stern, but I'm not very good at it. Ruby is my best friend, and she's the only person I'm willing to forgive for anything. Unfortunately, she knows this and isn't afraid of me at all.

She plops down in the chair next to me, and under Jenna's and Miley's frowns, she kisses me on the cheek. Touching my skin, stubborn bitch. I look at her disapprovingly, but she doesn't seem to notice and continues to chatter.

"How's it going, girls? The parking lot is packed today, isn't it? It's a good thing Tasha got us a spot; otherwise, we'd have to walk three blocks in heels. Has everyone seen the sexy new guy?"

At the mention of the new guy, the jealous expression on Miley's face disappears, and she leans her chest on the table.

"You saw him, right? They say he's older than us, and his uncle—some local crime boss—is paying for his education.” Her eyes light up as she turns to me. "You have to see him, Tasha. He's something else!"

"I have Isaac." I finish my coffee in one gulp, wondering why the mention of this guy irritates me so much. It's probably because I'm used to being the center of attention, and this is the second time he's been mentioned in the last half hour.

"We'll get more," Ruby winks.

The burning sensation on my face becomes almost impossible to ignore, so I finally acknowledge it. I turn around to look at the source of my discomfort, and when I find it, I stop breathing. My chest aches and my throat goes dry from the cold contempt in the gaze directed at me. No one looks at me like that. They just don't dare.

This guy has thick, dark eyebrows and a mop of unruly, curly hair. It's unbecoming for a man, yet it suits him well. He has dark skin and eyes, a slightly large nose that has clearly been broken more than once, and a beautiful, bright mouth. I once wanted lips like his, though they didn't have a scar back then. My best friend from childhood has changed a lot, but I would recognize him even after thirteen years because his image is deeply etched in my memory.