Page 16 of Burn Bright (Cobalt Empire #1)

I don’t live under a rock. I’ve heard that Charlie clashes with Ben.

Tabloids haven’t caught them verbally laying into each other the way they’ve captured fights between Charlie Cobalt and Maximoff Hale, Ben’s older cousin, so I figured maybe it’s all fake to line the pockets of a phony friend who dished to the media.

“Those are unfortunately true, yeah,” Ben confirmed on the phone.

It panged my heart then, and hearing him describe Charlie pangs my heart now.

I hold his gaze in the lecture hall. “Charlie needed to skip some grades,” I repeat what he just said. “The brother you have beef with?” I ask under my breath so no one can hear.

Ben nods. “The one and only Charlie Keating Cobalt.”

Shit . “Sucks to say, Cobalt boy, but I now have more in common with your nemesis than you.” My chest tightens at the words, and I don’t know why.

“What do you mean?” he frowns.

“I skipped fifth grade,” I tell him. “Guidance counselor realized the same thing your dad realized about Charlie. Told me I needed to hike it over to sixth and stop being an asshole to the educators who were just trying to do their jobs.”

He slips the pen back behind his ear, but I can’t read the expression on his face anymore.

“Good. I’m glad someone was looking out for you.

” He says it in a way that definitely targets my parents—and the sad thing is, I can’t really defend them.

Other than admitting they were busy. Distracted. A nasty divorce will do that.

We go quieter as the room fills up with more and more bodies.

A white girl and her friend with dark brown skin strategically pick seats right in front of Ben’s chair.

They pretend to take selfies with each other, but it’s clear he’s caught in the frame.

He turns the ballcap around, dips it low over his eyes, and slumps down.

Seeing him use it as a shield from attention, I’m even happier I returned it.

Students pull out laptops and tablets for notetaking, and I check the time on my phone. We still have ten minutes to go. Nausea returns. Science courses are far easier, in my eyes. They have specific answers. True or false. Multiple choice.

Essays are too subjective, and based on experience, the teacher weighs them more favorably to whoever they like. It’s a popularity contest, and when it comes to those, I’m a big loser.

Ben pulls out a tablet from his bookbag, and I give him a look. “Why’d you need a pen?” I ask him, staring at my cheap ballpoint he placed on his desk. I stole it from the waiting room of an ED.

“So I could do this.” He picks it up and then twirls it between his fingers like he’s mastered the finger baton.

It’s moments like these that I remember…he is a jock. A popular, hot jock . And I’m stupid enough to find his pen baton routine charming.

Something gnaws at me, and I have to ask. “So why just Ben?” I wonder. “Why not something Shakespeare related?”

“Because,” Ben says, slipping the pen back behind his ear. “My parents love Shakespeare, but they love my Uncle Loren more. They let him name me.”

Oh, that’s sweet…but also diabolical. If I had a kid, I wouldn’t trust a single soul to name them for me.

It’s also strange hearing him say Uncle Loren , when I know full well that he’s referring to the Loren Hale, the husband to the Lily Calloway.

Lily is his mom’s younger sister. Basically because of the three Calloway sisters, there are three famous families.

The Cobalts.

The Meadows.

The Hales.

Fans choose allegiances to different families like they’re sports teams.

The Cobalts are the intellects, the ones to revere for their aptitude and prowess. They’re the gods among royalty.

The Meadows are the adventurers, the ones who climb mountains and race down highways on motorcycles. They’re more likely to be caught camping at a national park than fine-dining at a Michelin-star restaurant.

The Hales are the pop culture geeks, the ones who love superheroes enough to own a comic book publishing company and a comic-themed coffee shop. Plus, they’re behind a mega corporation that makes baby products. Hale Co. It’s generational wealth.

Ben has it too.

And beyond the surface-level stuff, Lily Calloway is notorious for being a recovering sex addict, and her husband is a recovering alcoholic.

They go in depth about their lives on an Emmy award-winning docuseries that’s been running off and on for decades.

I’ve never tuned in, but I do know most of Ben’s family have made appearances on the show.

Because of the Hales’ relatability and candidness about their struggles with addiction, they’re the most popular in the media, maybe even the most beloved, but also the most criticized.

I never showed my love to a family online by posting memes or putting “adopted Cobalt daughter” in my bio.

But I did wonder what life would be like if the Hales opened their door and let me live with them.

They’d be the ones most likely to bring me into their fold since they’re known for taking in misfits and broken toys.

The Cobalts are the opposite. They’re renowned for slamming the gilded gates on anyone who doesn’t bleed Cobalt blue.

There are far less Hales than there are Cobalts too, so it seemed more reasonable in my imagination to be a Hale. There was room for me in a family of six, but it’s not like I wanted to ditch my parents for the Hales. I was just picturing myself in the lineup.

It’d be Maximoff, Luna, Xander, Harriet , and then Kinney. A complete and utter fantasy.

If I were shrewder, maybe I would’ve tried to be Luna’s best friend at Penn and not just her lab partner. I had an in , but it felt gross to use that relationship to gain entry into a family. That’s her family.

Not mine.

It was always supposed to be just a fantasy. One that made me feel better when only-child syndrome struck harder.

I look to Ben beside me. I do really like this reality where I’m friends with a Cobalt (specifically, this Cobalt). It feels just as unbelievable in a way, but I want to embrace it fully and not construct more defensive walls.

“Why’d your uncle name you Ben?” I ask him in a frown, trying to figure out a connection. Are there Marvel superheroes named Ben? I don’t read comics, but I’ve seen enough of the movies and remember an Uncle Ben from Spider-Man.

He angles his body more toward me, no longer facing forward in the direction of the girl’s unsubtle selfies.

“My uncle is big into Star Wars,” he explains.

“I’m named after Obi-Wan Kenobi, who went by the name ‘Ben’ when he was in hiding on Tatooine.

Personally, I think there was a missed opportunity to name me Anakin. That would’ve been badass.”

I roll my eyes. He’s such a guy. “Be glad he didn’t go with Jabba the Hutt.”

Ben laughs. “I’d like to think my mom would have vetoed that one.” His voice is almost drowned out by a sudden hum of loud whispering. The volume escalates across the entire room, and both Ben and I swing our heads for the source.

It takes less than a second to spot the disruption.

Even with red headphones around his neck, a black hoodie drawn up over his head, it’s impossible to not recognize Xander Hale.

When he shrugs off the hoodie like he’s suddenly overheated from the thick fabric, the audible feminine gasps and squeals reverberate and echo in the auditorium.

Especially as his T-shirt sticks to the hoodie and rises a little too high on his chest, revealing his carved abs before he quickly tugs the black tee down.

A girl is close to hyperventilating. I hope her friend tells her to take some deeper breaths or she actually might pass out.

It’s not a total overreaction either.

The allure of Xander Hale is real. He has tousled brown hair, a sharp jawline, and a slender build with defined muscles in his biceps—notably different than years ago when girls in my high school used to call him Jack Skellington chic.

But it’s his arresting, amber-colored eyes that completely disarm onlookers.

I’m not sure I’m immune. I weirdly feel almost oxygen-deprived by his beauty.

Everyone who’s arrived early has rotated in their chairs to watch him, film him on their phones, entrench his image in their memories.

I don’t think anything of it until I realize he’s frozen on a stair ten rows below us. He peers over his shoulder and speaks under his breath to the tattooed guy behind him. His bodyguard. Paul Donnelly.

Last semester, I ran into Xander and Donnelly on occasion when Xander was visiting his sister Luna at Penn. I don’t know what feels more unreal—the few months I was circling the Hales in Philly or the present situation in New York where I’m friends with Ben Cobalt.

On the stairs, Xander continues whispering to his bodyguard.

Donnelly wears a white MVU Thrashers tee, probably to blend in. His inked arms, pierced ears, and casual-cool demeanor should make him stand out more than Xander, but it’s clear the Hale is the one being ogled of the two.

I’m sure it’s partly because Xander is a known recluse. He’s rarely spotted out, despite his level of popularity online.

Admittedly, I’m not the best at reading body language, but there must be a reason he hasn’t moved off the stairs. Is he inwardly freaking out? I mean— I personally would be flipping the fuck out if that many people were staring at me.

I turn quickly to Ben, expecting him to be waving Xander over because, you know, they’re cousins. But Ben is just silently watching Xander like the rest of the students. Confusion throttles me. “Are you going to wave him over?” I ask.

Ben looks from me to Xander, then back to me. “Do you want me to?”

That’s not the reply I was anticipating.

“He probably doesn’t know where to sit. Right?

” I ask, not even sure myself. There are girls literally on the edge of their seats, hoping he’ll choose the empty chair beside them.

The two girls in front of us have abandoned taking “selfies” and have aimed their cells more blatantly in Xander’s direction.

Not hiding the fact that they’re filming him.

Ben opens his mouth to reply to me.

“Xander!” That voice originates from the other side of the auditorium. A petite brunette waves a hand and bounces up in her seat. “Come sit over here!”

Xander pretends not to hear and continues up the stairs. The girl goes beet-red and shields her face with a textbook. Ugh, I feel the rejection secondhand, and my stomach cramps.

Ben takes a deeper breath the closer his cousin comes to our row, but Xander hasn’t exactly spotted us as the lecture hall begins to crowd. “I just think he’d prefer to sit in the back,” Ben whispers to me.

“You think?” I frown. “If a ton of strangers were bombarding me, I think I’d like to sit with my cousin. You know, a friendly face.” I shrug.

“I’m not a friendly face, Fisher,” he says tightly.

Wait. “You have beef with Xander too?” I whisper back, shocked.

This is not advertised, to my knowledge.

Granted, I’m not diving into the depths of Fanaticon.

People on those forums dissect every breath these families have taken, so maybe there are theories or videos about discord between Xander and Ben.

“Beef isn’t the word I would use,” he whispers hurriedly because Xander is getting closer. “I don’t have anything against him. But he hates me.”

He hates me . I have to repeat the words in my head because they don’t fully make sense to me. Who could hate Ben? He’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met—and okay, maybe I don’t know him completely yet, but hate feels too brutal of a word.

It just baffles me more, and I watch his cousin continue ascending the flight of stairs. The lecture hall has gone extraordinarily quiet now like everyone is caging breath, wondering where he’ll choose to sit.

Xander climbs three more stairs, then his eyes flit to his right, and they land directly…on…me.