Ruin Me

1. Watch me

"Whew," Jenson blew out a long breath as he slowed down to an almost stop and we stared up at the looming gateway in front of us, "are you sure this is right?"

"Kings Bridge Academy," I read out the huge bronze sign attached to the brick wall on the right of the dramatic wrought iron gate, "this is it."

"Jesus," Jenson, the guy I'd only met yesterday through a friend, whistled under his breath, "what are you, some distant cousin to the queen?"

"Do I look like some distant cousin to the queen?" I raised my eyebrows suggestively as Jenson's eyes scanned up my bare legs to my cut off jean shorts then to my simple black tank top and my bare face grubby from two days on the road, framed by my greasy brown hair. I didn't belong in a place like this in the slightest.

"No," Jenson gulped as I nodded curtly,

"I thought so douchebag, now drive before I die of old age," I rolled my eyes as Jenson dragged his gaze from me back to the open gate in front of us that announced the way to my new life. The guy who I barely knew pressed his foot on the accelerator and forced me into the world I had no desire to be in.

Kings Bridge Academy was in California but unlike a lot of the things in Cali it wasn't from new money, no Kings Bridge housed the sons of land and vineyard owners, bankers and lawyers who'd made their money centuries ago and had passed their trade down to their long line of sons. This was a place for the upper class elites, the aristocracy with double barrelled surnames and four summer homes to pick from. All the boys here had probably had a nanny who raised them and had never heard the word no in their life. At least that's what I presumed.

Life, and my mom, had taught me to always come prepared, to anything. And that had worked for me so far though usually it applied to gambling, but I could still use my skills now. I'd looked up all there was to know about Kings Bridge, where the person who had helped conceive me worked.

It was founded in 1827 by some duke of something-or-other from England who wanted a classic British education for his children and since then all the richest old money millionaires in the area had been sending their heirs there. When I looked through the alumni on the website there were more name drops than in a music video. The CEO of this or managing director of that, who'd all sent their sons there to follow in their footsteps. It looked too stuck up for words. Of course I didn't say that to Jenson though.

Instead I leant back in his open top car and allowed my hair to fly back as he hit the accelerator hard and we zoomed into the immaculate grounds. The gravel beneath us let out a resounding groan as we whipped towards the majestic building that was soon to be my new home.

The pictures on the website didn't to this sprawling Victorian mansion justice, it was built from a light grey stone and stretched out in a horse shoe shape. All around the school spread hundreds of acres of well preened grass as far as the eye could see. 360 acres to be exact. Up the gravel driveway ran neatly cut trees trimmed into little circles like something out of Edward Scissorhands. Ivy grew up the four storey walls of the building clinging to the huge bay windows and black tiled roof like a prize to show off how long the building had been there.

"Holy crap," Jenson had the look of awe that I imagined he could see on my face too, "tell me why you're here again?"

"Your job is to drive not ask questions," I rolled my eyes but my heart wasn't in the insult.

I was here because my mum had died two weeks ago and I had to go and live with the dad who until two weeks ago I hadn't seen in fifteen years.

Wow, my life was a true train wreck.

"Do you have your petticoats packed?" Jenson joked but I wasn't in the mood, I was dreading seeing my dad again.

When he arrived the day after my moms death two weeks ago seeing him had been the most uncomfortable experience. He'd only stayed for three days and left right after the funeral saying he had to get back to work. The whole time we'd been together we'd barely shared more than a few sentences. He was my father but he wasn't my dad, he didn't know the first thing about me or my life.