Welcome to the world of Hawthorne Prep. A seemingly idyllic school where ivy clings to the thick stone walls and a wrought iron gate keeps out the townies who can’t afford to foot the hefty price tag.
A couple of months ago, the idea of being ripped away from my life in Chicago and plunked down in the middle of nowheresville, Wisconsin was unimaginable. Laughable, even. And yet, here I am, forced to wear a short plaid skirt and navy blazer to school every day. The only silver lining is the brand spanking new G-wagon parked in the weathered brick drive. All I have to do is make it through senior year and then I’m off to college.
Shouldn’t be a problem, right?
In a school like this, flying under the radar is impossible.
There’s a king who presides over the kingdom and he’s set on forcing me to my knees so I can kiss the crown. Unbeknownst to me, being a Hawthorne in this town comes with a price and he’s going to make damn sure I pay what’s owed.