After the last bell rang, like clockwork, Eli booked it from class and sped-walked to his locker and out the doors towards his ride.

His brother Jackson had hired bodyguards to patrol the school grounds while he and his little brother Ian were in school. There was always one outside his classroom during school hours. Then, once school was done, they'd take the two of them home. Unless Jackson picked them up—which he sometimes did.

Jackson had been a pain in the ass when they'd first started at Jostlin Academy. He'd issued bodyguards to stand in the classrooms and walk him and Ian from class to class. It'd been intimidating for other students and for the first half a year, he didn't have any friends. He'd had admirers and fans, sure, but no one was brave enough to get close to the scary buff men at his shoulder.

Only after his sister Lizzie put her foot down did Jackson cave and pull back. And while people approached him now, he wasn't sure he was happier.

He had a few loose friends. But no deep connections.

People never wanted just friendship with him. They always sought something else. To meet his sister, Anonymous. To see his brother Jackson in action. To hang out in the Royal Palace that served as his home.

He wasn't a whiny person—he didn't need friends.

But he wouldn't hate having one or two.

Eli stalked out the main archway and down the snow-plowed entrance walk. He kept his slightly down, silently begging no one to spot him.

"Eli!"

Damn.

A girl with long, vibrant red hair stepped in his path. He jerked to a stop, only to avoid colliding with her.

Pasting on a polite smile—which was hard to do with the exhaustion riding him—he said, "Hey."

The girl—whose hair was too bright not to be fake—fluttered her eyes at him. "I was hoping I'd run into you..."

Run into was right—he'd almost plowed her straight over.

"...you could help me write a song."

He frowned. She wanted him to help her write a song? How the hell was he supposed to do that if he couldn't write his own damn songs? "I'm sorry..." Shit, he didn't know her name.

"Ariel."

"Ariel, right. I don't mean to be a dick, but I really can't right now."

As if she hadn't heard him, she ran her fingers down his arm. "I thought maybe we could enter Daxton Cavenaugh's contest together."

Contest? "What contest?"

She bounced once, perking up as if his question meant he'd say yes. "Daxton Cavenaugh is having a songwriting contest!"

Was he now? Why hadn't he told Eli? The jerk.

Not that he'd have any material to share anyway.

"The winner gets to work with him! And I kinda thought, well, since you sort of know him, you might be able..."

His jaw tightened. "To get you an in?"

"Yeah!"

Of course.

"Look, Ariel—"

Ian—bless his little soul—called from the dark ride idling at the front-drive. "Eli! Let's goooo."

"I'm sorry, I've gotta go," he broke from his hold and, praise Creator, got away from her.

The cool leather of the SUV was the best comfort to him right now. "Thanks, man. I owe you one."

His little brother smirked over at him. "You looked like she was going to spit acid at you at any moment."

Eli relaxed back in his seat, closed his eyes, and murmured, "you never know when you're going to run into an acid spitter. Gotta be prepared for anything."

❄❄❄

The next day, Eli's eyelids were heavier than the 20-pound backpack sitting at his feet. He sat with his elbow on the wooden desk in front of him, head propped on his hand. Professor Fields droned on, her quiet voice frighteningly soothing.

His eyes slid left. That mousey caramel haired girl sat next to him today, right near the window. Usually, Garth sat there, but Garth was on vacation—lucky bastard—and some exchange student was auditing the class today. Mousey girl's usual window seat near the back had been snatched up and she'd had to move further up by him.

She furiously scribbled in her notebook, her black frames sliding down her nose. He had to admit her hair was a rather pretty color, especially in the sun. Though it was quite frizzy and all over the place. As if she hadn't brushed it this morning.

What was her name? Anna? Natalie?

And what the hell was she writing?

Professor Fields wasn't speaking fast—not so fast that you'd have to get it all down that quickly. Besides, the slides were right there on the projector and Professor Fields was reading right off of them.

Eli snorted. Teachers. At this rate, he could go up and teach the class if he wanted. He was, after all, a great reader.

"Nora," Professor Fields called out. "How about you?"

He didn't know who Nora was, but he felt bad for her. Hardly anyone paid attention in this class. The last thing any of them wanted was to be called out to answer a question they had no answer for.

The girl next to him continued to scribble down at her notes. Furiously. As if the words were trying to escape from her and she had to catch them before they escaped her.

"Nora?"

Everyone was staring at the girl next to him. Ah. So she was Nora.

He stuck his foot out and kicked the leg of her chair. She glanced over at him, affronted. He bit his lip to hold a laugh and jerked his chin at the teacher.

"Yes?" Nora asked. She had a gentle voice. The type that settled over your ears. He couldn't imagine that voice ever yelling. The softness would never harden enough.

Professor Fields asked her a question about ions. Eli checked back out. He'd never been one for chemistry. The sciences tripped him up. The applicable classes like gym and music, those were his strong points.

It felt like years before the end-period bell rang.

Eli's feet dragged against the glossy tile floor as he exited the classroom, his bodyguard close behind. His eyes were heavy, brain foggy, and if it weren't for the loud chatter and scramble of the packed hallways he'd fall asleep standing up.

He'd spent most of the previous night arranging music unsuccessfully. Hours and hours of arrangements that would sound better droning out of a steel trash can. At 3 am, he'd given up and deleted the files. Maybe he'd already peaked with his first album and that's all he'd ever come up with his entire career.

And maybe if he beat his skull against a brick wall, the sound would create a better beat than what he could come up with.

At his side, Devon went on about some party this weekend. Pete, on his right, slapped Eli's shoulder, "—you'll be there though, right?"

The absolute last thing he wanted to do was go to another party where kids would be drinking and he'd have to escape sloppy advances and trapping conversations while his classmates tried to force him into another collaboration.

He'd done the collab thing...and it was the worst song on the album.

He tried to avoid collabs altogether. Even his sister Lizzie had offered to do one with him, and no doubt that would have skyrocketed his career—even if it was a bunch of fluff. It was Lizzie. Anything she touched turned to gold.

He wasn't being stuck up or generally ungrateful. Rather, he simply didn't like collaborations. Not too many singers worked harmoniously together. He generally didn't enjoy a whole bunch of lyrics in his songs anyways. He specialized in EDM—electronic dance music—a genre where lyrics were optional. The lyrics would never be as important as the beat, the feel of the piece.

No, if he was releasing music it would be his music and his alone. Because he wanted it to be his success when he rose up the charts. There was something incredibly satisfying about putting in hard work and reaping the benefits.

Pete shouldered him, "Come on, you have to go."

Eli wasn't stupid. The only reason Devon and Pete wanted him to go was because they'd arrive with Eli Leonger. Not because they were "friends". They wanted a piece of the attention—and the action from the girls.

If fame was something tangible, he'd give it to these guys in a heartbeat. Maybe then he could crawl in a hole somewhere, back in his anonymity, and come up with some decent music without all the outside voices yapping at him.

He was so exhausted mentally and physically that he didn't have it in him to argue or deal with their sputters when he said no. What was one more party? "Sure, whatever."

Pete actually fist-pumped. "Sweet!"

Devon leaned around Eli to sock Pete in the shoulder.

"Ow!"

"You're literally a walking embarrassment, you know that?"

Pete scoffed, "Well, at least I'm not—"

They strolled past the library, but once Eli spotted the double wooden doors, a glorious idea lit his mind. He'd miss lunch, but at this point, he didn't care. "I'll catch you both later."

"What?"

"Wait—"

The Jostlin Academy library was blissfully, blessedly quiet. A deep wooded circle service desk sat near the entryway, the librarian Nadine and her aide working peacefully at the sleek monitors there. The room was two stories which curved in a large circle. Tall domed ceilings and one curved section on the right almost fully glass, the library was a perfect spot for those who got claustrophobic in classrooms. Natural light flooded through the room. Bookshelves lined in a half-circle rested against the walls. Students could work or study at the tables dotted around the space on the ground floor, or they could walk up the staircases and follow the glass railing to the study corner on the top floor.

Eli had a spot up in the back corner of the upper-level stacks he frequented. The tiny table stood behind a smaller shelf that appeared to mark the end of the library's collection.

He'd stumbled upon the area quiet unexpectedly. During last year he'd needed a quiet place to pull himself together. His brother Jackson had called to break the news about his sister Lizzie being found over the phone.

It was the only time he'd ever had a breakdown. One minute he was answering the phone and the next...the emotions drowned him. He'd stalked his way to the very back corner of the library—the science and philosophy section that hadn't seen a soul in 40 years—and collapsed. It wasn't until he sat on the carpet that he looked to the side and noticed a person-sized gap among the stacks.

The table that had become his sanctuary lay beyond that gap.

Eli rounded the philosophy section—and stopped dead.

Someone had found his spot.

It was that quiet girl from his chemistry class. Nina? She scribbled in a notebook below her—much like she'd done in class—and didn't look up when he got close.

It was going to suck when she found out she had to move spots.

He dropped his Abilities 403 textbook on the table with a rather loud cluh-clunk.

She glanced over at the textbook and froze.

But she didn't pay him any mind, which made him frown. Why was she staring at his textbook? And not at him?

She lifted a pointer finger in his direction as if to say hold that thought and dug around in the navy satchel bag at her feet. "Can you do that again?" She fiddled with a small device, still not glancing his way.

Do what? Rudely stomp over? "What?"

She gestured at the book.

She wanted him to slam his book down again?

Crazy. This chick was actually crazy. He gave her a look that said as much—not that she noticed.

"Okay," she clicked a button, "go."

Eli dropped his book.

"No, not like that," she said and showed him. Apparently she wanted the top edge to hit the table first.

Eli did it.

"Wait, I wasn't recording." She checked the small recorder. "Now."

Eli repeated the motion. And again. And again.

When she finally seemed satisfied, she looked up. Brown eyes blinked up at him through dark frames.

Exhausted, Eli slumped into the other wooden chair and put his head down. He didn't have the energy to kick this girl out of his spot. And, oddly enough, he discovered a part of him didn't want to. She seemed more concerned with her own happenings anyway.

So he stayed there—and fell asleep.

When he woke up his mouth was dry and the corner of his lip crusty from drool.

Ew.

Surreptitiously, he wiped at it with his knuckle. Though if his mouth was dry, that meant he'd fallen asleep with it open.

Please Creator, tell me I didn't snore. The last thing he wanted was that story all over the school.

But when he sat up, the other seat was empty save for a green apple and a tiny slip of paper.

Hi—

I think you missed lunch.

And I ate mine (sorry).

No signature. He couldn't verify if her name was Nina. Though surprisingly, he smiled to himself as he picked up the fruit.