“What’s with the doggy show?” The voice was inches from my ear. “Is this why you skipped the party?”!!!Twice! Never sit with your back to the door!

I remained eyes-forward until my voice-recognition software identified the speaker. A huge pit opened for business in my stomach.

I turned.

Jason Taylor crouched behind me, examining the web page I’d been viewing. He wore the standard Bolton male regalia: griffin-crested navy sport coat, striped “power” tie, blue button-down shirt, tan slacks, loafers. Everything neatly ironed, tucked, knotted, creased, and polished. And right side out.

Fast as a synapse, I closed Firefox. Too late.

“Seriously, Tory, you should spend less time ogling pooches and more time rocking the boat. In this case, literally.”

My mouth opened but nothing came out. What was he talking about?

“The yacht party, Victoria.” The corners of Jason’s eyes crinkled. “Saturday? Text message? Ring any bells?”!!!Of course.

One day, I won’t be so dense. Please?

“Sorry, I’m a bit spacey right now. Thanks for the invite.” I tried for witty. “Did you manage to stay afloat?”

“I guess. It wasn’t that sweet, actually. You didn’t miss much.” Then, mock-stern, waggling a finger. “But you still should’ve come.”

“The marina’s a bit of a hike for me.”

“I know. How’s Gilligan’s Isle these days?” Jason dropped into the seat recently vacated by Hi.

Jason’s style tended toward flippant. I reminded myself he was one of the nice guys.

“A nonstop thrill ride,” I said. “How’s Mount Pleasant?”

“Same old.”

The Taylor clan inhabited a house in Old Village, one of the classiest neighborhoods in the pricey burb. The estate had a private dock directly accessing Charleston Harbor. Not too shabby.

Pointing at the screen, Jason changed the subject. “Why the wolfdog photo album? Wait. First, what’s a wolfdog?”!!!Nice job, genius. Not a “criminal mastermind” move.

Had reporters already broken the story of an island wolfdognapping? I had no idea. Yet, there I was, browsing wolfdog images on a public computer.

Dumb. Unlike Jason, who could put two and two together.

“Oh, nothing.” I sounded way too casual.!!!Get it together!

“Honestly, I don’t know what that was,” I lied. “I’m looking for information on wolves. For an English paper.”

Pure babble. My improv sucks.

Jason lost interest. “Too bad it’s not for bio. We could’ve worked together.” A mischievous grin.

Uh-oh.

Though Jason was a sophomore, we had AP biology together. I’d been assigned to his workgroup my first day. Being a freshman in an upper level course was no picnic. Lucky for me, Hi and Ben were also in the class.

In some ways, Jason was my most important ally at Bolton Prep. He seemed to like me, and that kept some of the other jerks off my back. At least in his presence.

But lately he’d taken a more direct interest. I wasn’t sure why, but the attention made me nervous. Jason was great, but he just didn’t do it for me.!!!Now, his buddy Chance...

Jason interrupted my thoughts. “What will you write about your four-legged friends? Growl poetry?”

My search for a comeback was cut off by new arrivals.

Ugh. Frying pan to fire.

“Jason, are you coming?” Courtney Holt was blonde, skinny, and impossibly dumb. I was amazed she could even find the library. Courtney wore her cheerleading uniform, though no game was scheduled that day. Classic.

Courtney wasn’t alone.

“We’re going to scope out Madison’s new Beamer.” Ashley Bodford had a Prada bag draped over one tan arm. With her free hand she fussed her perfect black hair. “Her dad finally stopped being a jerk about grades.”

Beside Ashley was Madison Dunkle, blonde only by diligent and expensive effort. I guessed Madison’s earrings cost more than my townhouse.

The three formed an ongoing tableau of carefully manufactured perfection. I’d nicknamed them the Tripod of Skank.

The Tripod smiled at Jason, my presence not registering on their limited gray cells.

“Sure,” Jason said. “Madison hasn’t gotten a new car in, what, a semester?” Turning to me, he did the unthinkable. “Tory, want to come check out MD’s new ride?”

The Tripod froze, expressions equal parts shock, distaste, and annoyance. Jason may as well have farted as invite me.

Fighting the urge to crawl under the desk, I repeated my vow to keep my back protected at all times.!!!Think quick.

“Oh, no thanks. See...” I floundered. “I need to finish. Wolf stuff. I have to figure out where they sleep. And what they eat.”

Silence.

“For food,” I clarified.

I closed my mouth. Rarely have I failed so spectacularly.

The Tripod stared.

“Wolves?” Courtney snickered. “Are you, like, one of those hippy chicks who lives in the woods and doesn’t shave?”

“No, no, she lives on an island,” Ashley snorted. “Your dad’s a shrimp boat captain or something, right?”

“Marine biologist,” I corrected, face red with embarrassment. “He works for CU.”

Ignoring their scornful looks, I spoke directly to Jason. “Thanks, but I really need to finish up here.”

“If you say so.” Jason leaned toward me and spoke behind one hand. “I don’t want go either.”

“Come along, Jason.” Madison smiled sweetly. Mannequin fake. “The freshman has a project. We should give her space.”

“Thanks,” I responded dumbly. “I like your shoes.”

“Of course you do. They’re Ferragamo.”

Ouch.

Another unwelcome voice piped in.

“It seems we’re all in the library.” Chance Claybourne’s amused Southern drawl was unmistakable. “Can someone please explain? I thought Maddy had a new auto to parade?”

My heart pole-vaulted. With Chance present, I stood in the eye of Bolton’s social hurricane. With no storm doors.

Chance wore the same uniform as the others. Most looked like little boys wearing daddy’s lame tie and jacket. Not Chance. Not even close.

Darkly handsome, Chance Claybourne was night to Jason’s day. Black hair, expertly tussled. Deep brown eyes under curving brows. Captain of the lacrosse team, young Mr. Claybourne was built like a racehorse.

In a word, Chance smoldered.

The son of state senator and pharmaceutical magnate Hollis Claybourne, Chance was Bolton’s most connected student. Old-money Charleston aristocracy, the Claybournes had owned a Meeting Street mansion for over two centuries. Their ancestors numbered among the region’s mayors, governors, even a vice presidential candidate. Oh, yeah. The Claybournes were blue bloods squared.

Chance’s own story was legendary. His mother, Sally Claybourne, died in childbirth, leaving her husband to raise their son alone. The term stern was too soft for Hollis. Rumor had it the old man rode Chance mercilessly.

Most girls at Bolton heard only two words: sole heir. At his next birthday Chance would inherit the Claybourne family fortune. Almost eighteen, Chance was a rocket ship set to blast off.

“Jason’s talking to the brainiac girl from the boats.” Courtney sounded way too eager to please. “Something about werewolves.”

Sweet Lord.

I was grateful for the arrival of Chance’s girlfriend, Hannah Wythe. Long auburn hair. Bright green eyes. A real stunner. Oddly, Hannah seemed unaware of her beauty. I liked that about her.

Chance arm-wrapped Hannah’s waist, pulled her close, and kissed her cheek. All the while he eyed me, like a jogger sizing up a stray.

Hannah was the most popular girl at Bolton. And, for once, the award was deserved. Southern sweet, she never bad-mouthed anyone. In class Hannah tended to stay on task, so we didn’t chat much, but she was always friendly.

Hannah and Chance had been together for three years and were unmistakably Bolton’s royal couple. Their future was the subject of much gossip, with people laying bets on engagement dates.

“My fault, Chance.” Jason, always the diplomat. “I was just saying hello. Tory has bio with Hannah and me. We’re in the same study group.”

“Not to worry. I recall you invited Miss Tory last weekend, yes?”

Jason nodded.

Chance dipped into a bow, typical of his mock-formal style. “A pleasure, Tory. Sorry you couldn’t attend. Will you be joining us this afternoon?”

The Tripod went rigidly silent. Nobody argued with Chance Claybourne. But their unfriendly eyes drilled lasers at me.

“Thanks,” I replied. “But I’m swamped. Maybe next time?”

“Next time?” Ashley sniped. “How late do the barges run?” Madison and Courtney snarked viciously.

“That’s enough,” snapped Jason. “Quit being rude.”

The spiteful smiles vanished. I knew later they’d cut me to pieces amongst themselves. Bitches.

Chance frowned, but otherwise seemed indifferent. He glanced at his watch, clearly ready to leave. Hannah looked sympathetic, but remained silent.

“Sorry about that, Tory.” Jason sounded sincere; I think he felt responsible. “See you in class tomorrow.”

“Sure thing.” I flicked a wave. Lame. “Bye guys! Have fun.”

Madison and her sidekicks moved off, not deigning to acknowledge an inferior. Chance and Hannah smiled as they left. In seconds I was alone.

I put my head on the desk.

The final bell couldn’t ring quickly enough.