Page 4
The Rules of Engagement
T he computer science building looms like a digital fortress, its severe gothic architecture a stark contrast to the cutting-edge technology housed within. As I cross the threshold into Professor Austin’s classroom, the air crackles with unspoken tension and the hum of expensive equipment. Twenty pairs of eyes track my entrance, each gaze weighted with judgment or morbid curiosity. Yesterday, I was just another new student; today I’m Shark Bay’s latest scandal after what happened with Dougie. If I’d known his friend group controlled the school’s gossip ecosystem, I would’ve chosen a different conquest.
Professor Austin is already standing in the center of the room, pacing back and forth and occasionally scribbling equations on the whiteboard as he rambles. The one he just finished is wrong, but no one corrects him. No one would dare. He runs his hand through his unruly dark curls, shooting me a smile when he notices I’ve arrived.
“Okay, let’s begin,” he says as he puts his notebook on the desk and claps his hands. Some girls in the front row laugh softly as he fixes his glasses. “You’ve all grown up in a world where your devices are extensions of yourselves,” he starts, his fingers drumming absently on the edge of his desk. “Your phones know everything about you and your habits. A long time ago, people only knew about technology of the time, but things aren’t as simple anymore.”
He winks at the class. “Our ability to manipulate the environment that surrounds us has taken quantum leaps. Every moment of your life is traceable and recorded, and using some very basic knowledge, one can track and predict where you will go next, who you talk to, and what type of music you like to listen to while procrastinating. Digital media has changed us, and we can no longer avoid those changes.”
I pull out my laptop, pretending not to notice how whispered conversations halted when I walked past, how eyes track my every movement. Let them stare. Let them whisper. I’ve survived worse than their petty gossip.
Professor Austin continues his intro to the class. His voice carries across the room as he paces it, his tweed jacket and wire-rimmed glasses screaming academic stereotype. He can’t be much older than thirty, and there’s an eagerness in his step that suggests he still believes in things like potential and second chances. Poor bastard has no idea what kind of snakes he’s trying to teach.
“In case I haven’t made it clear, today we’ll be discussing network security and digital footprints,” he continues, typing something on his computer. The projector flickers to life. “In today’s world, everything we do online leaves a trace. The question is: Who has access to those traces, and what can they do with them?”
A picture pops up on the screen, showing a series of codes. One by one, the codes start to break apart until the final character transforms into a full photo. It’s still blurry when it stabilizes, but I recognize those shoulders, that posture, that hair.
It’s Alex.
My phone buzzes in my pocket—another message from my parents. The timing is impeccable. I don’t need to look to know what it says. They want me to know that they own everything and everyone. That there’s nowhere I can run. This lesson isn’t for the rest of the class. It’s meant specifically for me, and it couldn’t be clearer that my freedom is only an illusion.
Belle saunters in late, perfectly coiffed hair bouncing as she takes her seat two rows ahead. She turns to whisper something to Nicolas, her boyfriend, who smirks in my direction. The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees.
Behind him sits Max, also smirking, presumably at Dougie’s smug expression. Everyone seems so content behind their wall of privilege, while knowing nothing of the pain waiting on the other side. Watching them act like they’re invincible is both infuriating and amusing. The more haughty they appear, the harder it’ll be when the storm rolls in and their nice, safe illusion finally breaks apart. These aren’t real sharks. They haven’t had to earn their scars.
And then there’s me. I’m just a hunter observing and haunting their perfect world while pretending to smile. They enjoy their power in their protected bubble, while I’ve come to understand what it really costs. Just one small mistake and their ideal life could fall apart. They don’t understand what real danger is.
Belle raises her hand, a coy smile plastered on her bright pink lips. Professor Austin frowns, but he gestures for her to speak. “What’s that icon on your desktop?” she asks, tilting her head and pointing at the wall where the screen’s being projected. “It looks important.”
Professor Austin raises his brows. “I’ve no idea. Let’s check.”
He moves the cursor toward the icon and clicks his mouse. The room goes silent as the icon opens. A video starts to play.
My blood turns to ice as I recognize the dimly lit scene—Dougie’s room, last night. The angle is weird, clearly from a hidden camera, but there’s no mistaking what’s happening. The sound is muted, thank God, but the visual is bad enough.
Everyone cranes to see, their expressions ranging from shock to amusement. Belle’s the only one unruffled. She studies her nails, the very image of casual confidence. There’s something vaguely reptilian in the way she holds herself, and no doubt her skin’s the same temperature.
Gasps and snickers erupt around the room. Professor Austin fumbles with his computer, face burning red as he tries but fails to stop the video. Either way, the damage is done.
Part of me admires her technique. Belle may not rule this school by sheer force of personality, but she’s obviously mastered the more subtle arts. Blackmail is my bread and butter. I thought I’d see it coming.
I refuse to cover my face as laughter echoes through the room. My fingers curl into fists beneath my desk, nails biting crescents into my palms. Shame is for the weak, the people with something left to protect. To hide is to admit weakness. No, not again. I’ll never beg again. Not for anything.
Belle’s shoulders shake with silent laughter. In less than twenty-four hours, she’s managed to turn my own weapon against me. Now, my value is dependent upon hers. She owns the Queen, and therefore, she is the Queen. Unless I challenge her reign, which I will. My parents might not want me to speak about our truth, but they’d punish me if they knew I was letting anyone tarnish our name. Belle put me on the cliff, and there’s too much on the line for me to fall.
Professor Austin struggles to regain control. His eyes land on mine, desperate and pleading. I meet his gaze, forcing myself to stay calm, even as shame threatens to burn me from the inside. My expression is blank as I will the shame to turn into rage, burning through my veins. Amateur move, Belle. If she thinks this will break me, she has no idea what I’m capable of.
Professor Austin finally manages to shut off the video, his face ashen. “I… I apologize for that inappropriate content. Someone seems to have gained access to my computer. Rest assured, we will find out who’s responsible.”
“No need,” I say, my voice carrying clearly across the shocked silence. I stand slowly, gathering my things. “We all know who did it. The question is—what are they going to do when it backfires?”
I click my tongue, shaking my head. Belle’s blue eyes widen just slightly, and behind her, Nicolas’s mouth twists in a wicked grin. They think they have me cornered, that I’ll roll over and take whatever scraps of power she deigns to toss me. They think they can do whatever the hell they want with their riches and powers, taking whatever I’m stupid enough to leave unprotected.
Belle’s smirk falters slightly as I walk past her desk. I pause just long enough to whisper, “Thanks for the free publicity. Now everyone knows what they’re missing.”
Her perfect mask cracks for just a second, revealing the insecurity beneath. Good. She needs to learn that in these waters, there are always bigger sharks.
I stalk out the door without turning back, focusing every ounce of energy on hiding the trembling of my legs. Rage and shame battle to consume the few fragile embers of my heart. I can’t go back—don’t want to go back to that place, to the weakness, to the broken fragments of who I used to be. Failure isn’t an option.
Belle thought she could use my sexuality to shame me? Time to show her how that game really works. By the time I’m done, every guy in this school will be wrapped around my finger, and her carefully constructed kingdom will crumble. All I have to do is cast a spell or two—easier than it sounds. Spells have consequences, though, and some games even I can’t afford to lose.
The hallway outside the classroom is eerily quiet, the kind of silence that feels heavy, like it’s waiting for something to happen. My heels click against the polished marble floor, each step echoing like a gunshot in the empty corridor. I can still feel the heat of their stares, the weight of their judgment pressing down on me. But I won’t let it break me. I can’t.
I round the corner, my mind racing. Belle’s move was calculated, precise. She didn’t just want to humiliate me—she wanted to assert her dominance, to remind everyone that she’s the queen of Shark Bay. But she made one critical mistake: She underestimated me. She thinks I’m just another broken girl, another pawn in her game. She doesn’t know what I’m capable of.
My footsteps quicken as I make my way down the hall. I can hear the hushed whispers of the students as they follow my progress, no doubt eager to spread the latest gossip. I push the doors open, blinking against the bright sunlight as I step outside.
The grounds are buzzing with activity, but I don’t stop to take in the view. Instead, I head straight past the stone building and down to the beach. Older students sit around the plaza, basking in the midday sun while waiting for their classes to start. Perfect.
Some of them glance at me, but I ignore them. I’m used to the stares. Word must’ve spread. Gossip always travels fast.
With the waves crashing behind me, the soft wind blowing around me, and my eyes set on the sandy beach stretching on toward eternity, my head feels clear. I didn’t think the school could live up to its reputation of a vacationed prison, but looking out over the magnificent white sands as the crystal blue water stretches on for miles, I’ve no choice but to accept its beauty.
I set my bag down and sit on a low stone wall overlooking the sea. The breeze carries the familiar scent of saltwater and sunshine, and for a moment, I can almost pretend I’m back home. But the illusion quickly fades, replaced by the chill of reality. I’m not home. I’m trapped on this island, forced to play by their rules or risk losing everything.
“Is this seat taken?”
I look up to see a handsome boy in a Shark Bay yellow and navy-blue uniform. His white shirt is buttoned up, the tie perfectly knotted, but there’s something in his mischievous gray eyes that tells me he’s not a typical highbrow lackey. In his hand is a book, the title hidden.
“It is now.” I scoot over, patting the space beside me. He grins and sits, folding his long legs underneath himself.
“Erik Stone,” he says, offering his hand. “Born and raised in Washington. Previously expelled from North Ridge Preparatory School for alcohol and drug possession. Since it didn’t align with my family’s politics, they decided to send me away.”
“Luna Queen,” I respond, shaking his hand. His grip is strong, his palm calloused, and the spark in his eye is enough to make my stomach flip. “New York City. Too many expulsions to list.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Luna.” His smile is blinding. “So, why’d you end up here?”
“Because I’m out of control.” It’s a half-truth. My parents wanted me in a controlled environment; they thought sending me here would help. At least, they hoped it would. Every teacher here is probably spying, every conversation I have, recorded. Just like freedom, privacy is also an illusion.
Erik chuckles, shaking his head. “Aren’t we all?”
“Probably.”
We sit in silence, watching the waves crash against the shore. The sound is soothing, calming, and from the corner of my eye, I find myself studying Erik. His hair is pale blond, the ends slightly curled. His jaw is squared, and his eyes are a gray so light it’s almost white. Though he cleans up well, there’s a darkness behind his polished looks.
Suddenly, he stands and takes a step closer. He reaches a hand out for me to take.
“Dance with me,” he says, his voice low and soft. There’s something almost predatory in the way he moves closer, like he’s testing my boundaries. I recognize the look—I’ve worn it myself often enough.
“There’s no music,” I reply, unsure if I trust his friendly demeanor. The sea breeze carries the faint scent of his cologne, something expensive that reminds me of old leather and deeper secrets. Everything about him screams danger, but not the kind I’m used to dealing with.
“I can fix that.” He taps a few buttons on his phone, and soft piano music filters through the speaker. The melody is hauntingly familiar—Chopin’s Nocturne in E-Flat Major. Of course he’d choose something so perfectly aligned with Shark Bay’s pretensions. I swallow hard, taken aback by how smoothly he’s managing to turn the attention on me. And he’s not just charming—he’s handsome. The uniform only adds to his dashing appeal.
“I’ll probably step on your feet,” I lie, but I can’t help my smile. My heart pounds against my ribs, a warning I choose to ignore. This isn’t how the game usually goes—I’m supposed to be the one in control. He’s mesmerizing.
“Don’t worry,” he replies, gently guiding me to him. He holds me with ease. His hands are calloused in places that suggest he’s more than just another trust fund baby playing at rebellion. “I don’t mind a challenge.”
I try to focus on the slow movements as we turn in a small circle on the sand, but it’s impossible. The way he’s looking at me is almost too much, like he can see through all the carefully constructed defenses and right into the black hole of a heart beating within. There’s something so familiar about him, the confidence, the determination in his eyes.
He leans in, and I allow him to press his forehead against mine, closing the space between us. The salt in the air and the fresh ocean breeze aren’t enough to distract me from the heat that’s building between us. It’s been a while since someone looked at me the way Erik is looking at me now.
“Are you going to kiss me or not?” I breathe, my eyes closed and my head leaning even more into his touch.
“How do you know I want to kiss you? Maybe I’m just being friendly.”
I don’t buy it, but I don’t push. Whatever game he’s playing, I can learn the rules too.
“A smart man would,” I murmur, my heart racing. He smiles, then, to my surprise, takes a step back and puts some distance between us.
“I guess I’m not a smart man,” he replies with a playful smile. He pauses for a moment, eyeing me appraisingly. “I’ll see you around, Luna.”
As I watch him walk away, his book in one hand and his phone in the other, I can’t help but wonder what his deal is. Does he actually believe his own act? Or is he smarter than he appears?
A chorus of laughter on my left brings me back to reality. I don’t know what Erik’s playing at, but right now, the only game I should focus on is the one I’m playing with Belle.