1: THE ROOFTOP

I’m positive the blood in my veins has been replaced with vodka, but I’m fine with it. That’s all everyone is passing around; red cups spilling with ice and the clear alcoholic liquid; some of it flavored, most of it not.

I stumble off the makeshift dance floor, zigzagging through sweaty bodies pressed up against each other; gyrating and dancing. The music is loud —too loud; a trending pop song that’s making my ear drums complain and my dull headache intensify. The cramped classroom reeks of alcohol, body odor, and teenage desperation. The disco lights overhead makes everything worse; bathing the classroom in pulsating rainbow colors, making everyone look like fucking clowns.

“Bella?” Camilla calls, stumbling towards me with a drunken pout, trying to reach out for my shoulder. She hiccups and takes another swig from the red plastic cup in her hand. “Where?” She drawls, too wasted to even make sense.

I slid open the window, momentarily appreciating the view of the moon and the gust of wind —of actual oxygen before I begin to take off my black stilettos.

“Bella...” Camilla repeats, her voice whiny. The fishtail braid her platinum blonde hair had been styled in an hour ago had come loose, resembling something like a bird’s nest. The straps of her short sequin dress hangs off her bony shoulders. She looks terrible under the harsh colored lights. “Party, not, over...”

I roll my eyes. “For me it is."

Suddenly the classroom’s door bangs open, revealing a red-faced, furious Mrs. Simone Sanderson dressed in her grandma nightgown. Her thick lips move, but over the music, nobody hears her. Most people don’t even notice. She stomps over to the speakers and begins to yank out the plugs.

I don’t wait to see what happens next, because at this point it’s basically a routine. A third-year senior organizes an unauthorized party with a classroom as a venue, and then an hour or two in, the party is busted by one of the teachers drawn by the loud music.

I swing my legs over the ledge and jump down the two storey, landing on the grass with a soft thud. Quickly, I get to my feet and grab my purse, wiggling my heels back on and brushing off the clumps of dirt clinging to my black mini dress.

“Fête stupide.” I mutter to myself.

Annoyed with everything, I start to make my way through the dark campus, back to House Hera, thinking of a nice hot shower and crashing into bed. However, halfway there, I mindlessly take another path straight to the main entrance of the science wing.

It’s eerily silent, with only crickets, the usual night fog, and the gothic architecture all around me. The doors creek when I open them and my heels click-clack on the stone steps as I ascend up the spiraling staircase that leads up to the bell tower which is rumored to be hunted.

A good thing I’m not exactly scared of ghosts. I find that it’s hard to be scared of something you don’t believe in.

I navigate through it all with familiarity that comes from years of sneaking around school grounds after dark. There’s a small window — just before the senior chemistry lab, that leads to the flat rooftops, and I slip out through it.

Roof vents jut out here and there, with dusty solar panels off to the right; glinting in the moonlight. Behind me, the bell tower continues up like the looming shadow of an architectural monster. Up here, everything is a little dusty but the air is clean, and blissfully quiet.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath of sweet, crispy oxygen.

When I open my eyes, I notice what I hadn’t the first time; there’s a tall figure standing on the ledge at the edge of the rooftop.

For a full minute I stood still, something akin to shock or confusion rendering my body immobile. But then I took a single step forward, and then another and the click-clack of my heels draws his attention.

William Ravenstone glances at me over his shoulder. The wind whips at his dark brown hair, his black tie roughly loosened and his black uniform blazer discarded on one of the vents. Seeing him standing there with looks that could kill or break hearts –dangerously on the edge, reminds me of Icarus.

He keeps his gaze steady on me, and I keep moving until I reach the ledge, holding on to the edge with both hands. We’re six-storey high; high enough to be dangerous even for werewolves.

I sigh, clear my throat, and sigh again. “If you’re trying to kill yourself, this is not how to do it. It’s not high enough, and the probability of breaking your neck is low, so you’ll just heal and get up looking like an idiot.” I can’t believe the first time I’m speaking to William Lee Ravenstone is me trying to talk him off a ledge.

He says nothing, but continues to stare at me with narrowing eyes full of suspicion.

“Fait chier.” I mutter under my breath and begin to climb up the ledge next to him, taking off my stilettos first before hiking up my dress.

“You’re drunk.” He points out, his tone wary. It’s the first time I’ve heard him speak outside a classroom —without that bored undertone he answers the teachers with, and his voice is smooth and deep; fitting him perfectly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I am a little tipsy, yes.” I admit, sparing him a sideways glance. “Neither should you.”

I shift my attention back to the view before me. Far beyond the gates, the thick dense woods and the tall dark trees, city lights twinkle like a sea of stars we can’t reach; as above so below. The night sky dazzles with constellations that makes me feel small and insignificant. The wind is fierce up here. The whole school is laid out before us below; trees shuddering, shadows shifting, lights too dim to see.

It’s peaceful, and the change of perspective feels needed.

Opening the snap of my black Louis Vuitton leather purse, I rummage through the makeup items until I find a stick of cigarette that has been in there for longer than I care to admit. I stretch it out to William like an offering; a drunken peace offering or whatever.

“Cigarette?”

He eyes it distastefully, his sharp Greek features slightly morphing into aversion before his gaze darts back to mine. “I don’t smoke.” His frown deepens.

I snort and shove the cigarette back into my purse, slight annoyance tugging at the edges of my lips, thinking how unfair it is that some people are attractive even when they look disgusted. “Neither do I.”

He raises one aristocratic eyebrow and crosses his arms like he’s about to call me out on my bullshit. “Why do you carry it around?”

For the aesthetic, I guess. In truth I had confiscated a packet of Marlboro from my younger sister and flushed it down the toilet. Somehow one stick had fallen into my purse and I’d grown attached to it because I considered it a survivor. But of course, I’m not about to tell him all of that, as drunk and out of character as I am tonight.

Above us, thunderclouds were beginning to gather fast, partially blocking out the moonlight, and lightning brewing within the cluster of dark clouds.

“Why are you trying to kill yourself?”

He looks taken aback for a second, before dipping his hands in the pockets of his black slacks. “I’m not—“ He sighs, looking off into the distance with another frown. “I’m not trying to kill myself.”

“Aha...” I nod, unconvinced.

The wind keeps teasing his hair and it’s a little distracting. “What are you doing standing on a rooftop ledge after school curfew then? Both of us should be in the dorm rooms, sleeping like the good students Acadia Academy is trying to shape us into, yet here we are.”

William huffs out an annoyed breath. “You ask too many questions.”

I roll my eyes. “And giving me a vague answer doesn’t give you mystery points, Ravenstone, it just makes you look suspicious.” A gust of cold wind blows through my flimsy dress, making me shiver slightly.

His gaze darts to my face, his brows furrowing, eyes a little wide like he’s surprised that I know his surname at all. He’d made it a point to be the quiet person in class, but I’d made it a point to know everybody’s business in case I needed to use it against them.

Not William Ravenstone though; he’s as much of a mystery to me as he is to everyone.

“It’s illegal to kill yourself, you know.” I continue, taking an infinitesimal step backwards, feeling woozy and lightweight, as if a gust of wind strong enough could knock me off the ledge, and then I’d go spiraling down, down, down into the darkness below.

He uses his bored tone now. “Mhm, how convenient.” I could feel his eyes on me, trailing down my short dress and then glancing at my restless bare feet that keep shifting on the ledge.

He hops down and grabs his school blazer. “Get down, it’s getting windy.”

I ignore him, spreading out my arms and closing my eyes, drunk on vodka and the feeling of danger. “I’m living life on the edge.” I move my right foot forward. “One leg dangled towards danger—“ I feel the world tilt too fast, shifting under my feet, the darkness below me yawning like an awaiting abyss, and then a hand grabs my arm, yanking me back.

I collide with William, falling on top of him.

For a second, the world stills. His eyes are the color of the storm clouds above us, framed by long lashes any girl would kill for, and that calculative gaze is locked on me. I trace a finger down his jaw, wondering why my fingertip isn’t bleeding from those features sharp enough to cut rocks. When my fingers move to touch his full lips, he grabs my wrist; stopping me, his eyes searching for something in my face, his breaths shallow and uneven.

I press my ear to his chest, and let out a drunken giggle at the erratic sound of his heartbeat.

He scrambles upright, briskly pushing me off and rising to his feet. Something drops out of the pocket of his school blazer in the process and rolls towards me.

I pick up the yellow pill bottle half full with little white tablets as I tipsily rise. They look like oxycodone tablets. “What’s—“

He snatches it from me and stuffs it back into his pocket, hands shaking slightly, refusing to meet my eyes. “You could’ve fallen.”