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Carswell Thorne was the kind of person whose bedroom was a hyper-organized model of perfection. Every object was neatly shelved and his bed was always made the second he woke up in the morning, not a crease in the comforter. Thorne never slacked on washing his laundry or vacuuming the floor. It wasn't like Thorne enjoyed doing these tasks or anything; it was just the knowledge that he would receive a telling-off if he didn't. When you have a former military general (now a wealthy businessman) for a father and an office secretary for a mother, you learn to get organized real fast. They lived on the idea that anything unnecessary should be thrown away at once. If Thorne dared to leave a single object on his floor, it would be disposed of immediately.
But if you looked closely, you could see all the cracks in the mask of cleanliness and neatness swept over his room: a cluttered pile of objects that had been dumped hurriedly into a drawer without being organized, a stash of food shoved deep into the closet, a couple of dirty shirts he hadn't bothered to wash hidden under the cushions of the mini-sofa. These were Thorne's small ways of rebelling against the constricting rules and regulations his parents set. Of course, one day he hoped to break some of the bigger rules - particularly those concerning his future career. But this was as good a place as any to start.
Thorne, although his grades didn't show it, was very smart. Over time, he had learned that the best way to hide something was to hide it in plain sight. He had taken to slipping comics he wasn't supposed to buy and other pictures he didn't want his parents seeing between the pages of books, as well as hiding an unwashed shirt inside a pile of folded blankets where the extra bulk went unnoticed. So the best way, he decided, to store all the junky items he had accumulated over time was to put them in a drawer where all his other stuff went. It was almost funny how well this worked. Thorne's mother and father routinely inspected his shelves and desk, but they almost never looked in the drawer where he stashed the stuff.
Throughout the years, the drawer stopped being just a storage space for junk that was too nice to throw away but not useful or pretty enough to display on his shelves. Instead, he started hiding things that were more useful.
It all started with the textbook. Since Commonwealth High was a dirty public high school, the textbooks that were passed down every year almost always bore some kind of mark of the students who had used it before. Thorne was particularly pleased with the one he had received; he flicked through it while doing his algebra homework snorting at the rude words and funny images scrawled in the margins. That was until he reached page three hundred and four.
Carefully recorded in ink pen around the dense clumps of words and numbers were descriptions of all sorts of tricks and hacks and tactics for getting what you wanted. Thorne's eyes had widened upon reading the sections detailing how to cheat people out of their money. These were strategies he had been using since he was seven; he had just never seen them described so clearly. Upon scouring the next few pages, he learned even more tricks he had never heard of, covering everything from winning competitions to charming your way out of trouble.
Thorne had stayed up all night to copy everything from the textbook into a notebook he had gotten as a Christmas present and then forgotten about. It was the perfect plan since the notebook fit right in with the rest of his school books and he could slip it in his backpack without anyone noticing. During math class, he continued reading every inch of the pages and scribbling more notes down, while his classmates and teacher thought he was taking notes on the lesson.
And now, three and a half years later, the notebook was chock-full of tactics, ideas, and diagrams that Thorne found very useful for accomplishing some of his schemes. He hadn't copied it all from the textbook. Those notes had been a good place to start, but over time he found himself devising his own tricks and traps. As his plans got wilder and wilder, he started collecting small objects that always seemed to be useful: a bobby pin for picking locks, cheap business cards with fill-in-the-blank spaces he used when selling to neighbors, duct tape, which was always useful, a tin of grease that stopped hinges from squeaking when he was sneaking out of the house in the dead of night, and those were just a few of them.
Not all his schemes were about gaining money or winning prizes, however. Lately, quite a few of them had focused on his game with the ladies.
But first things first. The Commonwealth Autumn Festival was coming up, and Thorne had big plans to bulk up his wallet significantly. He flicked through the most recent scribbled entries in his notebook, featuring a rough map of the festival square with big red stars on the best places to sell, as well as sketches of products he was in the process of creating. He had become much more daring recently with the things he sold, after learning that he could slip his way out of almost any sticky situation - a story involving a pimply teenager named Jules, a tin of face cream, and a cute cheerleader.
A/N: Reference to Carswell's Guide to Being Lucky in Stars Above (I LOVE that book)
"Carswell! Breakfast!" he heard his father call irritably from downstairs. Immediately, Thorne thrust the notebook into his backpack and closed the drawer. He raced down the stairs, tightening his belt along the way and hopping up on the banister to slide the last few feet into the entrance hall.
His mother frowned up at him when he entered the kitchen through an arched opening. "What have I told you about sliding on the staircase?"
He shrugged. "It helps get the dust off."
Her lips tightened, but she said nothing more.
Thorne, grinning cockily, checked the clock. "It's only seven-thirty!" he cried in indignation. "Why did you call me down so early?"
"We need to talk to you." His father's face looked like it had been carved from stone when he said the words.
He sighed. He knew what was coming.
"Carswell, dear, we've noticed that your grades are slipping in several subjects," his mother began. She was attempting to look kind and motherly but miserably failing.
"Particularly in math and science," his father interjected, almost sounding bored. He had a right to be. They had had this conversation many times over the years.
"I know," Thorne told them. He perked up his eyebrows to try to look earnest. "I'm getting it figured out."
"Clearly," his father said in a tone that dripped with disbelief. "We've spoken to your teachers."
Thorne spit out his orange juice. "Seriously? Why?" His parents, although always interested in the state of his grades, had never gotten even remotely involved with his teachers.
"Because you always say that you're going to get better and you never do!" his father barked. He leaned across the table, fists clenching. "Boy, I see right through your charm and trickery, even if the neighbors don't."
Thorne sat back in astonishment. Had his father really noticed what he did to earn money?
Continuing to rant, his father went on, "It's a disgrace that any son of mine would use such measures, while I work hard to put food on the table in front of you. I work as a true man! You, son, have grown lazy and pathetic from always using the back door!"
Thorne glared at him. "Why do the measures I use matter, as long as I get results?"
His father looked like he was about to start shouting again, but his mother put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "What your father is trying to say is that we've been thinking it's time for you to work a little harder. Your teachers and we both agree that you should start getting tutored."
That was the final straw. "You can't possibly be serious," Thorne said, shaking his head. "I don't have time to be tutored. And by who? I absolutely refuse to spend any more time with those horrid teachers."
"We were considering you ask a fellow student to tutor you," his mother pressed on with a nervous smile.
"Like who?" he asked incredulously.
"Any of your friends," his father scowled. "They're all smarter than you."
"I'm delighted that you think so much of me," Thorne said, pretending to blush. He stood up, leaving his breakfast almost untouched. "I'm done with this conversation. See you later."
He was about to turn away toward the door when he heard his father say, "I'd shape up if I were you. Carswell, if your grades don't rise much more over the next few weeks, you are most certainly not doing the play."
"Of all the crappy days to come back to school," Cinder muttered from next to Scarlet, who had just informed her that the roles in the play were going to be announced today. Both girls eyes a pack of girls darkly, who were giggling and skipping along as they speculated who would get what part.
"I'm really not in the mood for this," Cinder sighed. "I have no inclination whatsoever to be in the play anymore. Not without Peony." At the last word, her voice hitched a little, and Scarlet could tell she was still struggling to cope with her sister's sudden illness, despite the mask of strength she put on against the stares of other students.
"You're not the only one," Scarlet said bitterly. Her mind, as it now often did when she didn't have anything else to think about, conjured an image of Wolf in her mind. The way he had looked chasing after her into the hallway, green eyes confused and injured, bulky silhouette dark in the midday sunshine. She growled in frustration. Luckily, Cinder thought she was still thinking about the play and didn't question it.
She smiled wryly as she remembered the look on her grandmother's face when her red motorcycle had zoomed down the drive, cutting class in the middle of the day. Normally, Grand-mere didn't tolerate that sort of behavior and would have yanked her right back to school, but she seemed to sense that something was off with Scarlet. She had settled her down in the kitchen with a plate of her favorite lemon cake and allowed her to lie on the couch all afternoon instead of working all over the farm like she normally did when she was at home.
It had been a few days since then, and Scarlet hadn't spoken to Wolf. He seemed to be hanging around in his old circles again, the shifty-looking kids who skulked in back alleyways after school. Once, their eyes had caught from across the hallway during passing period. He had looked like he wanted to talk to her, but Scarlet had promptly turned around and ran the other way down the hallway, to the surprise and confusion of Cress and Winter.
She didn't know exactly why she was avoiding him. After all, she was the one who had blown him off, so she should probably go to apologize. But she didn't want to. Scarlet was done being made fun of by Levana, and her friendship with Wolf was just another thing that could be used against her.
Not to mention, she had other friends and other concerns at the moment. She was still worried about Cinder, who was obviously not fine despite the fact that she insisted she was okay. And Scarlet also had to start thinking about her college application and first-quarter exams...She was not in the position to deal with more drama now.
Thorne enjoyed the attention he received as he strutted lazily down the hallways. Everyone, not just the theater kids, seemed to know that it was the day they would get their roles in the play. Girls clutched each other and whispered excitedly as he passed, and a few nearly experienced internal combustion when he winked at them. He was excited, expecting to get a lead role for the fourth year running. There was almost no way he wouldn't. Since there were many more girls than boys who did the play, usually Thorne's only competition for the male lead was Kai. Of course, Kai was a big-shot television actor and all that, but Thorne - in his humble opinion - was the better singer.
The morning dragged on and on with a seemingly endless stream of boring class lectures. Thorne found himself almost dozing off several times, chin in hand. He only woke up when a girl sitting behind him, Aurora, tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around in his chair to give her a flirtatious week and say, in a low, seductive voice, "Thank you." This was one of the tactics he had developed in his notebook, particularly useful when one is single and very handsome. By making it clear that you appreciate their help but not establishing the idea that you owe them for anything, they will continue to help you while you don't have to do anything. And even if the girl did realize that Thorne was using them, she would be too enraptured by his shockingly good looks to think straight.
He knew that this was a little bit manipulative, but technically, all he was doing was letting them help him. It definitely wasn't hurting the girl in any way: girls were practically falling over themselves to catch his attention. Like he had told his father, Thorne believed that the ends justified the means.
He hadn't forgotten about his father's warning, but he wasn't worried. Thorne was sure he would be able to charm some smart girl into tutoring him. He smiled at the memory of Kate Fallow, who had tutored him at his old middle school. It was such a shame that all the desirable ones were never smart. Kate was nice, but definitely not a winner in the looks department.
Finally, it was lunchtime. Thorne sat with his normal crew, and while he sat patiently, the looks he exchanged with Kai showed that he wasn't the only one itching to leave. Levana, sitting nearly on Kai's lap as usual, didn't seem in any hurry. Thorne guessed that she was confident she had gotten the lead. He would never say it to her, but he wasn't so sure. There had been more talent than usual at tryouts this year. Cinder was quite good, as was the cute little blonde that he could never remember the name of.
Thorne sat straight up in his chair as a new idea occurred to him. Someone had told him that the little blond girl - Cass, or something like that - was a genius. And he dimly remembered the awards ceremony last year, where Principal Rikan called her name, again and again, to give her awards for nearly every subject - the STEM Fair, the Matholympics, the story contest, and tons more stuff he couldn't remember. Judging from how she had reacted when he caught her singing in the bathroom, she was smitten with him and would be over the moon when he asked her to tutor him. He smiled in satisfaction. It was the perfect plan.
After what felt like an era, the bell rang across the cafeteria. Kai caught his eye and they both stood up, Thorne with his chin held high and Kai with shaking legs. He was always surprised at how nervous Kai got before things like this, as he was the professional actor. Kai had explained to him that when you were a professional, it mattered a lot more because you actually got money for the job. He had also said that as a teenage actor, he had to constantly be booking jobs so that his parents let him keep acting. Still, Thorne would love to have that opportunity and live the glamorous Hollywood life, regardless of stress.
Across the cafeteria, Thorne saw Cinder and her friends standing up to go check out the list of roles that would be taped outside the auditorium. Seeing her, he remembered that he had forgotten to give her his condolences about her sister. He was about to walk over to her, as he was the kind of person who never missed the chance to show how kind and considerate he was, but Kai tapped his arm.
"Let's go. It's time."
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