Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
The car continues at a steady pace, rolling through the parallel rows of palm trees, the peak lights that normally illuminate their height no longer glowing under the morning sun. As the last set disappears behind us, the road widens and curves, taking us around the dormitory and out the second gate that blocks it off from the academy building.
The only way for students, all of whom are required to live on campus, to get to the school and outside the estate grounds is through the bottom floor of the boarding house. It narrows into a single tunnel, leading straight into the Power Play Hall of Greyson Elite. People often ask why the school isn’t protected within the grounds of the Greyson property, as if the third and final iron fence locking us in isn’t protection enough, not to mention the guards all around, but if they gave it even half the thought they should, they would find the answer quite simple.
Greyson Elite is a prestigious private school for young scholars: the geniuses of our world and the rare few lucky enough to be invited. We’re a nationally accredited academy, though we don’t publicize such a rudimentary term.
If a concerning complaint or perilous predicament were to be whispered into the county sheriff’s ear or reach the district attorney’s office before we had a chance to sweep our own halls, we couldn’t exactly keep them off “academy” grounds when investigating. Pay the right people to make things disappear, yes. Keep them off the grounds, no.
But preventing them from sniffing around the problems in our own personal place of residence? Easy as the SATs.
It’s rare for an issue to slip under the radar, but it has happened in the past, and we’re not naive enough to assume it couldn’t happen to us.
It all comes down to one idea: Greyson Elite is no joke.
It’s competitive and cutthroat. We’ve allowed enough rumors to roam, strategic ones, of course, alluding to what our personal interests are in the students of this place, so everyone is constantly slicing the ankles of the person in front of them in hopes for their time to shine. We encourage it. People either graduate and move on, get stepped on, or are hired on if they show promise or possess a specific skill our founders, a.k.a. our fathers, are after—reason number one most are presented with an invitation into the school to begin with, to help build our teams.
Tech whiz? Check.
Ties to prominent families overseas? Check.
Can hang five minutes sparring with Bronx or Damiano? Check and a golden star.
If you’re connected to our world in any way with a kid in their last year of high school, you’re waiting next to your mailbox on May 1 with bated breath, the official invite day.
There is no waiting list for those who decline, which is a rarity in itself.
You’re in, or you’re not, and once you are, you better be ready to work.
There are dozens of positions to fill and new ones to be created when promise shows itself.
That’s the beauty of the Greyson Empire. We aren’t stuck in a time loop where our elders know best and we don’t fix what isn’t broken. Buildings crash and crumble with no sign of a crack.
Tsunamis arise and destroy with little, if any, warning.
Here, we don’t hold on to what was but look toward what can and will be.
If you’re worthy, the possibilities are endless.
If there’s no place for you, you can create one.
It can be that simple … or it can be the hardest thing you’ll ever do.
No one can ever say Greyson Elite Academy is easy, and that’s exactly the way we want it. It’s as I said … only the supreme is selected, and only the strongest survive.
Heiress or not, no one can claim my girls and I haven’t earned our birthright.
And no one will know about the secret society we’ve created within the Greyson world unless we decide we want them to.
“Game faces, bitches.” Bronx straightens her shoulders, preparing to be seen once the door is pulled open, and the two of us follow suit. “It’s time to play plastic.”
She is first from the door, and I follow.
As per usual, at the top of the steps, leaning against the wall closest to the entrance, stands Delta’s boyfriends, Alto and Ander. Beside them, Damiano is propped with one foot against the wall, and his arms crossed over his chest with his wards at his side, the slightly psychotic, potentially problematic Greco brothers. The five of them stand back, watching as we step out, patiently waiting to fall in line behind us. They’re careful not to make eye contact with me but smile slyly at my flirty friend.
Delta is the last to get to her feet, and then Sai closes the door, folding his hands loosely in front of him and giving a curt nod to the boys. And then he waits, as he always does. I’m not exactly sure how long he stays at the edge of the curb, but he’s always there when I look back.