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Della

No one is noticing the smoke.

I cough.

Still nothing.

"Uh..." I shift my gaze to the science building and raise my voice. "Is that smoke ?"

Ms. Huffman, the wellness instructor, peers over her shoulder, does a double take, and sprints toward the building where smoke billows from an open window, yelling, "No one go anywhere!"

“Do you think it was a science experiment gone wrong?” River asks from across the net.

I recall my pre-breakfast arson attack on the science building, which ended with me laughing so hard I tripped over my own feet.

Narrowing my eyes, I stroke my chin. “Maybe someone stored something they shouldn’t have.”

It should not have been so much fun to empty chemicals in a metal trash can and sprint from the room before I could blow myself up in the process.

In our world, alphas are the heroes.

They are also the villains, but in the movies and TV shows, it’s a big, strong alpha doing the rescuing. Betas like me are the best friend or the waitress, always in the background but never the star.

Breakfast was quiet. Delicious, with smoked salmon and fresh dill on mini brioche toasts, but too damn quiet.

The science building had been even quieter when I peeked over at it on the way to the wellness center to change into my short, white tennis dress, which was surprisingly cute with a pleated skirt and a dropped waist.

“So, what’s Ms. Huffman’s story?” I ask.

Between wreaking destruction while making it look like an accident, I’ve been getting my measure on all the teachers so I know which ones to avoid.

Ms. Huffman is a beta, like most of the staff at the academy.

I hadn’t expected any alpha in an omega-only academy given whenever you put an alpha and an omega together for too long, biology soon has them wanting to fuck each other's brains out.

Mrs. Stratton, the strawberry-blonde secretary who showed me around the campus, told me it’s a form of exposure therapy.

Omegas are a slave to scents—alpha scents, in particular.

Several girls at the school are extremely sensitive since the only alphas they interacted with are their parents. The alpha teaching staff helps them become accustomed to all those delicious alpha pheromones, so they don’t embarrass themselves in public once they graduate.

“I heard that her husband left her for a waitress, and one night, she got so drunk that she accidentally set herself on fire with a cigarette she didn’t put out properly.

That’s the reason her face is all plastic.

” Cheyenne flips her flawless French dark braid over her shoulder.

“All that plastic surgery has made her a real fire hazard. She’s brave rushing into that building. ”

“ Cheyenne ! Those are rumors. Quit being such a bitch,” Brenna hisses.

I only catch a true glimpse of the omega behind the flawless hair, stylish clothes, and submissive demeanor between classes.

Their only freedom is here. Most came from their parents' gated mansion, where they had to ask permission for everything. After they graduate, they will go to whatever alpha this school picks out for them.

No one should have a life that hemmed in.

“Okay, so maybe some of it is rumors. Doesn’t change the fact she disappears for her—” She finger quotes, “—'spa retreats’ and comes back missing her wrinkles.”

“How old is she?” I frown.

“Fifty,” another girl calls out from farther down the court.

“ Fifty !” I wrench a muscle in my neck, twisting to face her. “Shit. I thought she was thirty.”

“It’s all Botox and fillers. Good on her, I say.” Cheyenne nods approvingly. “If my husband took off with a waitress and I melted half my face off, I’d want to show him what he was missing too.”

“How’d you know she was married?” I ask.

“Oh, Lucia told me. She heard it from Meghan, who might have gotten it from Traci, whose cousin’s sister went to the same tennis club her parents did.”

We all stare at her.

“So, someone just made shit up and decided to spread it, huh?” I ask dryly.

Cheyenne sniffs. “I’m just telling you what I heard, that’s all.”

Ms. Huffman and whoever else was in the science building get the fire under control far sooner than I would like.

She returns at a trot in her pink, matching sports set with white tennis shoes, her cheeks flushed from her run, her long, straight blonde hair barely out of place.

"Come now, girls, pick up your rackets. We will be perfecting our serves .” She beams as she makes her announcement with more drama than the moment warrants.

I roll my eyes and grab my tennis racket from a large white bag near the nets. It’s only the best for a Haven Academy girl, so these rackets aren’t cheap. "To beat an alpha?"

" Beat him!” Her hand flutters to her chest. “Good lord no. You will not embarrass yourself on the court when you invariably lose. And you will lose with the grace of a Haven Academy girl that makes your alpha look good ."

That’s Ms. Huffman for you. Overly fond of dramatics.

Someone sets a building on fire, and she shrugs it off as if it’s nothing. I suggest beating an alpha at tennis, and the woman is a heartbeat away from fainting.

I toss my messy auburn braid over my shoulder. One day I will perfect the art of the French braid, but it is not this day. “Wouldn’t it be more fun if we?—”

“We are not here to have fun , Miss Farrow,” she interrupts, glaring at me. “We are here to impart important life lessons you sorely need.”

“Like how to lose gracefully?” I ask sarcastically.

When she looks at me like she doesn’t see a problem, I mentally sigh.

Curious if anyone else is buying this horse crap, I turn to the nine girls gathered on the tennis courts this morning. The answer is a resounding yes.

Seven girls resemble bobbing head toys. River is one of the few frowning instead of eagerly nodding along to Ms. Huffman.

With the science building no longer in danger of exploding, we return to our tennis lesson.

“Excellent, Mary,” Ms. Huffman calls out as she walks up and down the tennis courts behind us.

“Not too energetic, Stacia.”

“ No , Tina. Horses stomp; Haven Academy girls are light on their feet. Light as a feather. You are still stomping. Light .”

River hits the ball over the net. It soars across the court at the perfect angle for my blistering backhand, which strikes the chalk line, sending up a small puff of white powder before the ball slams against the fence.

“What was that, Delilah?”

I look around before I realize Ms. Huffman is talking to me. I’m not Della Jackson here. I’m Delilah Farrow, the newest omega student. “What was what?”

“That backhand.”

“Match point.” I grin.

She starts to say something but then steps closer, the corners of her eyes creasing in what could be a frown. Given all the work she’s apparently had done, it’s hard to be sure.

“Is that sweat on your upper lip?” She stares at me with the barely concealed disgust of someone who just willingly rolled in dog shit.

I swipe the moisture away with the back of my hand, which disgusts her even more. “Uh. It’s a hot day.”

“Go towel your face right now. A light perspiration is acceptable.” She points an accusatory finger at me, and I recoil when she nearly takes out my eye. “ That is not. Towel. Immediately.”

River hides a smile with her palm as I trot over to the stack of neatly folded towels set out by one of the white uniformed serving staff. It’s embossed with HA. In gold. Because only the best for a Haven Academy girl.

I’m getting sick of lessons light on the education and heavy on the obedience, punctuated by fancy meals in the dining hall, and the omega lessons where I try desperately hard to be something I’m not.

It’s time to scale up operations.