"Evil?" she asked, her lips testing the word. She suppressed a giggle that surfaced at her mouth. "There's no way you're evil." His dark eyes softened at the sound of the humor in her voice. He ran his fingers through his hair, pushed a few strands away from his face and let his eyes fall on her lips. She was biting the corner of her lip, a habit that he was finding completely irresistible. "I assure you, Miss Cora, I am as evil as they come," he hummed seductively, snapping his eyes up to meet hers. "Nope," she quipped. "You won't hurt me." "Yes, Cora" he said, his eyes suddenly sad. "I promise you, I will."

What do a badass pianist, a seemingly talentless party girl, a quiet genius, and an immature guitar player have in common? Not a damn thing. Welcome to the Ursula P. Bradley Institution for the Gifted, a school for the prodigal minds of today's generation. If you think our future Fortune 500 CEOs, Albert Einsteins, Beethovens, and Monets can't party...well, think again.