Boarding with the Bad Boy [COMPLETE + BONUS published edition]

Admissions

I turn up my radio as the left-hand signal directing me into Ryder Academy's gates goes green. Bob Dylan's She Belongs to Me fills the car, loosening my tense shoulders. "Okay, Logan, " I say to myself as I turn the wheel of my '06 F-150, entering the steep drive toward Ryder's Admissions office. "This is really happening. And it's going to be awesome."

My truck takes the hill without difficulty, but I have to focus on keeping my breathing even as I approach the long brick building where I will pick up the booklet that determines the next year of my life. God, I hope I like my roommate. And I really hope I've made the right decision in coming to Ryder Academy. When Jill first proposed the idea to me, two weeks after my dad died in June, I thought she was crazy. But when my grandparents started to box up our house and discuss enrolling me at the public high school in their rural Ohio town, Ryder started to look a lot more attractive. Jill convinced her dad, a Spanish teacher, that he had to get me a place in this year's junior class (or, as they call it in the private school world, fifth form). He pulled it off, a month before school officially started. He got me a running scholarship and a room on campus. My grandparents put the house I grew up in on the market and flew back to Ohio. And now I'm reporting for duty and feeling a swell of anticipation and terror at the new life I'm starting today.

I push at the door to the Admissions office. A woman—smartly dressed, blonde—sits behind the front desk. She doesn't look up as I approach.

"Hi," I say when I reach her. My voice comes out a little hoarse and I clear my throat before continuing. "Logan Grey, checking in."

The woman sorts some things on her desk before looking up at me. "Boarders were due to check in by 4pm today."

Shit. I glance at the clock on the wall behind her. It's almost half past. I try to ingratiate myself to her, giving her an embarrassed, chastised shrug.

"I'm really sorry," I say. "I got stuck in traffic on my way over here and—"

"You have a cell phone, don't you?" The woman lifts an eyebrow in reproach. I will myself not to retort that I was driving and that using the phone while doing so is illegal in Connecticut. Retorting is my go-to reaction in moments of stress, and the last thing I need is to kick off my career as an RA student by fighting with the Admissions secretary.

"I'm sorry," I say again, ducking my head in apology. "I'm a little nervous about this whole thing and I just...I didn't realize how late I was."

The woman doesn't respond, just clicks her tongue against the back of her teeth and reaches to a black and gold Ryder Academy folder on the corner of the desk. It's the only one of its kind, and I take that to mean it's my check-in folder—and that I'm the last boarder to move in today.

"Thanks," I say, sighing with real gratitude as she hands it over wordlessly. "And I really am sorry. Again."

I turn to leave, but the secretary speaks before I get to the door. "We respect punctuality at Ryder Academy, Miss Grey. It will serve you well to remember that."

I can't help it—I lift a hand in mock salute before pushing open the heavy door of the building and stepping out into the warm sunlight of late afternoon. I hold the folder to my chest as I cross to where my truck is parked illegally by the Admissions building, letting myself into the driver's side before I investigate its contents. The first page is a welcome letter from Ryder's headmaster. It's typed, with a looping signature at the bottom. When I run my fingers over it, I can feel it's real pen. For some reason, this makes me feel comforted. But it doesn't stop my heart pounding as I move on to the second sheet of paper, which has my room assignment. I've met a number of the boarders through Jill, and she's filled me in on just about all the rest in the month that I knew I'd be moving in here. Unless my roommate is new to Ryder like me, I'm going to know right away if I've ended up with a great girl or a terrible one (and Ryder has its fair share of both).