The Academy

Riptide Publishing

PO Box 1537

Burnsville, NC 28714

www.riptidepublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All person(s) depicted on the cover are model(s) used for illustrative purposes only.

The Academy

Copyright © 2018 by Quinn Anderson

Smashwords Edition

Cover art: Garrett Leigh, blackjazzdesign.com

Editor: May Peterson

Layout: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Riptide Publishing at the mailing address above, at Riptidepublishing.com, or at marketing@riptidepublishing.com.

ISBN: 978-1-62649-844-0

First edition

September, 2018

Also available in paperback:

ISBN: 978-1-62649-845-7

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Nick Steele just wants a normal life, cliché or not. He had one once, back in Chicago. Before his father died and he took a year off from college to grieve. Now, he’s starting fresh at a prestigious—but tiny—Catholic university. Adjusting to small-town life will be a challenge, along with making friends and keeping his scholarship. All he wants to do is blend in, get his diploma, and go back home.

But Sebastian Prinsen—campus heartthrob and a notorious player—has other plans. He notices Nick right away and makes a bet with his two best friends: Who can kiss the new kid first? Nick seems immune to Sebastian’s charms, and yet genuine chemistry sparks between them. Even worse, real feelings do too. Sebastian falls more and more every time Nick blows him off, but if he comes clean about the bet, Nick will hate him forever.

The last thing Nick wants is to fall in love while he’s still grieving, but Sebastian feels like home to him. Nick wants that so badly he may ignore the warning signs and risk his fragile heart once more.

To Gunslinger, who asked me to write her some fanfic one day and launched a whole career.

About The Academy

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Also by Quinn Anderson

About the Author

More like this

Outside the car window, trees slid by in a green and brown blur. Nick let his eyes go unfocused, mind wandering. Today was the day. Today, he’d have a shot at a fresh start. Today, everything would change, possibly for the worse. His stomach acid churned.

Mr. Steele.

Nick twitched in his seat, making the leather creak. He glanced at the driver: a woman, dressed in a sharp pantsuit, who had even sharper features. Dark-red lipstick, a pointed chin, and skin that was thin and white like paper. She’d introduced herself as Dr. Finn, but Nick had been calling her Jane Austere in his head.

One of her finely penciled eyebrows rose above the top of her black sunglasses. She alternated between glancing at him and watching the road. Are you excited for your first day?

Yes.

She probably wanted him to elaborate, but instead he pulled down the sun visor and checked his appearance. Blue eyes stared back at him, bloodshot from lack of sleep and framed by unkempt strands of blond hair. He’d attempted to make himself look presentable that morning, but there was nothing he could do about the smell of public transportation that clung to his clothes.

Pretending to be absorbed in running fingers through his messy hair, he prayed she’d lose interest in him.

He had no such luck.

Dr. Finn cleared her throat. This is an extraordinary opportunity, you know.

Yeah, I know.

She’d told him as much no fewer than a dozen times over the course of the past few months. Officially, Dr. Finn was part of the admissions board for the Academy of Holy Names—a private Catholic university in Evanston, Illinois—but sometimes she seemed more like the Academy’s PR rep. She’d done nothing but extol its virtues since Nick had first put in a transfer application.

Sorry I couldn’t pick you up sooner, she said, not sounding the least bit sorry. There was so much to do to prepare for the new semester.

It’s fine. Nick meant it. He hadn’t expected someone from the college to pick him up regardless. He was twenty-one. He could have taken a cab. Though his bank account appreciated the gesture, and the delay had given him a chance to say goodbye to all his favorite places in Chicago. His home city. Now his past.

Your first class isn’t for a few hours, so you have time to settle in. When we arrive, I’ll take you to the administration building, where Dr. O’Connor—your student advisor—will be waiting for you. She’ll go over everything you need.

"Student advisor seems like a fancy way of saying guidance counselor for baby adults."

Nick had gotten an email from the Academy—as the university was colloquially known—that’d explained all the same things Dr. Finn was telling him now, but he didn’t mind hearing them again. There had been a lot of new information to absorb about classes, the town, and the college itself. Thankfully, the administrators had held his hand through all of it, probably so he wouldn’t have a breakdown before he’d even arrived.

This car ride alone was proof of that. A higher-up like Dr. Finn had better shit to do on the first morning of a new semester than pick him up, and yet here she was. Judging by the thin line her lips had been pressed into since they’d met, she thought so as well.

Then again, they need me almost as much as I need them.

After a lifetime of being bullied for liking science, Nick had found a way to put his nerdiness to good use. He’d majored in physics at his old college, and the Academy, which focused more on the arts than hard sciences, was trying to bolster their STEM programs. One full-ride scholarship later, Nick had agreed to finish out his degree at the Academy.

Thank God too, or I’d be fucked.

His thoughts drifted to the circumstances that had led him to transfer, to being unable to pay the tuition at the University of Illinois. But the second they did, his eyes stung in a way that had become embarrassingly familiar this past year.

He slammed a mental door shut on the subject and stared hard out the window again. It was impossible to pick out any individual features as the car sped down the country road, but trying kept his mind off things.

Dr. Finn continued. If you have any trouble adjusting to campus life, there are plenty of resources available to you. The Academy takes the wellness of our student body very seriously. We have counselors, academic advisors, peer mediators, and more. There’s no reason you shouldn’t find your niche.

Despite her reassuring tone, Nick heard a message underneath her words: if you fuck this up, it’s not our fault.

But Nick had no intention of fucking up. Not after the year he’d had. He was going to keep his head down, get a diploma, and graduate at long last. After that . . . Well, he’d figure the rest out when he got there. The way he saw it, he was already a year behind. First, he had to catch up. Then, he could worry about everything else.

Dr. Finn seemed to take his silence as acquiescence. She didn’t prod him for a response. Fifteen minutes later, the trees melted away, and they pulled up to a large, redbrick building with a white stone sign out front: the admissions building. Nick could make out other structures off to the side, but from this angle, the campus didn’t look terribly impressive.

As if reading his mind, Dr. Finn said, The front entrance is much more picturesque, with the stone arch and the famous wrought-iron gate. You looked at the brochures I gave you, right?

I did.

Then it should come as no surprise that the Academy is considered one of the most beautiful campuses in the country. The redbrick edifices date back to the 1800s, and the original buildings are still in use today.

Nick didn’t care if the walls were gold and beer came out of the drinking fountains. But Dr. Finn seemed determined to get him to say something nice about the Academy, so he relented. "The photos in the brochures were stunning. I’m sure the real thing is even more impressive. I can’t wait to see my new school." He plastered a smile onto his face.

She pursed her lips. Your enthusiasm is truly infectious.

I never was much of an actor.

Dr. Finn cut the engine and popped the trunk. Nick took the cue to exit and grab his shabby duffel bag. By the time he’d shut the trunk again, she was waiting for him on the sidewalk, arms crossed over her starched navy suit.

This way, please. Her heels clicked on the brick path leading up to a set of glass doors.

Nick scrambled after her, shouldering his bag. It housed all his worldly possessions: a few sets of clothes, his dinosaur of a laptop, and the MP3 player he’d gotten for Christmas years ago. Dad had scrounged for months to—

His eyes prickled, and he shook that last thought off. He’d done enough blubbering in the past year. Today wasn’t the day for more. Stuffing his free hand into the pocket of his jeans, he fingered his smartphone. The cracked screen nipped at his finger.

Soon as he got through this impromptu orientation, he needed to find his dorm and plug it in. All the outlets at the bus depot had been taken. He hadn’t charged it since he'd left home at the crack of dawn. Or rather, what had once been his home.

What is it about today? I can’t go five minutes without depressing myself. Must be because this whole transition is finally real.

The glass door caught his heel behind him, nearly pulling his sneaker off with it. Dr. Finn led him down a series of carpeted hallways that looked like they could have been transplanted from any administrative building in the world. Same went for the banal artwork on the walls and the fluorescent lights. Eventually, she dropped him off in front of a closed office door that read Dr. O’Connor in black letters.

Here you are. She stood back and gave him a once-over, as if determining if she wanted to change anything before handing him over. Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you have any questions.

All right. Thanks for the ride. It was nice meeting—

But Dr. Finn had already waltzed off, her heels somehow managing to sound sharp even on carpet.

Nick fought the urge to stick his tongue out at her retreating back. So much for caring about the wellness of the students.

Sighing, he hefted his bag—which felt like it weighed twice as much as it had that morning—and rapped his knuckles against the frosted glass.

The door opened immediately, revealing a black woman with a big, pretty smile and even bigger glasses. Her eyes were huge behind the thick frames as they darted across Nick’s face.

Nickolas Steele? She didn’t wait for an answer before opening the door wider. You’re right on time. Come in.

Thanks. Nick walked through the door and took in his surroundings. His suspicions that Dr. O’Connor was secretly a grown-up guidance counselor seemed confirmed by the inspirational cat posters on the walls and the dog bobbleheads lining her desk.

Better than Dr. Finn, though. No contest.

He set his bag on one of the patterned chairs across from the desk and threw himself into the other. As Dr. O’Connor settled behind her desk, Nick studied her as discreetly as he could. There was something about her that made him relax. Something that felt parental, which was funny, considering he had only the vaguest memories of his mom from when he was little. Before they’d lost her. Though he supposed there was no they anymore.

Keep it together, Nick. Crying in front of the guidance counselor on your first day won’t make the best impression.

So, Nick. Dr. O’Connor turned to her sleek computer and tapped on the keyboard. In case no one has said it yet, welcome to the Academy. We’re very pleased to have you.

Thank you.

Do you go by Nick, or would you prefer Nickolas?

Nick is fine.

And you’re coming into the fall semester as a junior, correct?

Yes. Is this necessary? She obviously knows who I am.

Dr. O’Connor hit a few more keys, and the printer next to her sprang to life. She reached for the pages the moment they’d been spat out. Here’s a map of campus and a copy of your schedule. You can review it at any time using the online student portal, which I’m sure you’re familiar with by now.

She selected a pink highlighter from a mug shaped like a cat head and marked several buildings on the map. The dorm you signed up for is here: Powell Hall. She held up the map and pointed with the tip of the highlighter before moving it to another section. And your first class is here. You can pick up your student ID in this building, three doors down, on the left. Use that to check into your dorm, get your room assignment, and settle in before class. Any questions?

No. Nick reached for the paper in her hand, but when he tugged on it, she tightened her grip.

No questions at all? Her large eyes searched his face. "I realize you’ve had all summer to prepare for this transition, but surely there’s something you’d like to know. It doesn’t have to be about the Academy. Maybe you’d like to hear about Evanston? What there is to do for fun around here? Anything?"

Nick suppressed a sigh. All people did these days was ask him questions. How was he doing? Was he holding up okay? Irritating as it could be, they meant well, and considering Dr. O’Connor’s vocation, she likely did as well.

His eyes skimmed over the dog figures on her desk. Cooperate, and she’ll let you go.

He let his hand drop. Actually, I do have a question.

She smiled, perking up like a sunflower at dawn. Yes?

This is a Catholic school, right?

It is. She gave him a quizzical look. Is that your question? Because Dr. Finn should have given you brochures explaining the history of the Academy, and—

Oh, she gave me brochures all right. If I never see another tri-folded paper. I was wondering if I’m going to have to attend Mass or anything? There was nothing in the brochures about that, and when I googled the Academy, I couldn’t find anything on your site. Besides enough pictures to start a school Instagram account.

Dr. O’Connor nodded. The Academy is a Catholic university in the sense that a large portion of the students are Catholic. Notre Dame is the same way, along with a few other big-name schools. But no, you’re not required to attend Mass, and you won’t be considered strange for abstaining. Students of other faiths are welcome here, so long as they conduct themselves respectfully.

Okay, good. Nick grimaced. I mean, thanks for clarifying. Thank fuck, because I’m about as Catholic as a sock monkey. And queer to boot.

You’re welcome. She eyed him in a way that made him feel transparent. Well, if that’s your only question, I suppose I should let you go. You have lots of preparing to do before your first class. Remember, you’re here on a full scholarship, so you must—

—maintain a high GPA, especially within the Physics Department, or I’ll lose my scholarship, be unable to afford the tuition, and get tossed out on my ass. Yeah, I know.

Nick regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. You’re supposed to be keeping your head down, jackass, not pissing off the administration.

He braced himself for her reaction. Anger, he could handle. Or being reprimanded for his language. But unfortunately, when Dr. O’Connor looked at him, it wasn’t with annoyance. It was with something much worse. Pity.

I’m sorry, Nick. She sounded like she meant it. You’re under an extreme amount of pressure right now, not that you need me to tell you that. Rest assured, everyone here at the Academy wants you to succeed, and not just because more students majoring in STEM fields means more funding.

Why then? Nick blurted out before he could consider the wisdom of such a question. There are hundreds of students at this school. What’s it matter if I succeed or not?

I’m getting myself a muzzle as soon as this is over.

Dr. O’Connor looked off into space for a moment before she answered. "I’ve seen your file. I know what you’ve been through in the past year. Losing one parent is bad enough, but to have your father die so many years later . . . It can’t be easy. Especially when the law considers you an adult and expects you to magically have all the answers. For what it’s worth, if you ever need to, you can talk to me."

Nick glanced down at his lap and didn’t respond.

Dr. O’Connor cleared her throat. I also saw in your file that your grades were phenomenal before you took your bereavement leave. You should have no trouble getting back into the swing of things and maintaining your GPA. If you find yourself struggling, here’s my contact information. She plucked a business card out of a ceramic holder shaped like a weiner dog and slid it across the desk.

Nick took it and stuffed it into his pocket without looking at it, face burning. Thank you. I’ll keep your offer in mind.

Please do. She stood up from her desk and held out a hand. I’ll let you get going so you can find your dorm and settle in. It’s been lovely meeting you, Nick. I’m certain we’ll see each other again soon.

That was probably intended to be comforting, but to him it sounded ominous. He rose to his feet and shook her hand regardless. Thanks for taking the time to meet with me.

With that, he left her office and pulled out his map. It looked like his dorm was located near the center of campus, which was fine with him. He liked to sleep in, and this way, he could roll out of bed five minutes before class and still make it on time.

He started to head that way, but then remembered what Dr. O’Connor had said about picking up his student ID. Navigating down the hall, he followed her instructions to the correct room.

Inside, a bored-looking guy sat at a folding table with a smattering of student IDs lined up in front of him. After showing him his driver’s license, Nick was given a blue plastic card that had his name, student number, and the photo he’d submitted printed on it.

Nick stowed the card in his wallet and exited back into the hall. Instead of heading to the front of the building again, he followed the hallway down the other way to an exit.

Pushing it open, he stepped outside and was given his first real look at the Academy of Holy Names. The campus was small—especially considering he was used to UIC, one of the biggest colleges in the state—but what it lacked in size, it made up for in aesthetic.

The buildings were all redbrick, like the admissions building, with white stone columns and eaves. A number of them had ivy growing across their faces and stained-glass windows. They looked old too, but not in a dilapidated sort of way. Seeing them made Nick self-conscious about how little time he’d been on this earth.

People milled down the stone paths that sliced through the manicured grass. They looked more or less like proverbial college students. Even on the first day of a new year, they all had tired eyes and backs that were hunched from carrying textbooks.

Nick took a deep breath. You’re going to be fine. No one knows you here. You can be whoever you want, or no one at all. Once you make some friends and get into a routine, everything else will fall into place.

His internal monologue did nothing to calm the razor-winged butterflies in his stomach. Taking another breath, he consulted his map. According to it, the music building and the gymnasium were the big, fancy-looking buildings to his right. Beyond them, there was the science building—where Nick would attend most of his classes—and the dining hall, in which he hoped to spend a lot of time.

To his left lay classrooms, the arts building, an auditorium that housed both classes and student plays, and then two dorm houses. At the center of it all was the quadrangle in which he now stood. Mossy willow trees cast shade on the many picnic tables dotting the grass, and there were flowers planted everywhere. Nick imagined he’d spend a good bit of time hanging out quad-side, eating lunch and talking to his friends, once he had some.

For now, however, he headed in the direction of his dorm to unload. His shoulder was starting to ache from carrying his bag. He kept his head down as he trotted along the path he’d selected. He wasn’t interested in meeting anyone until he’d had a chance to find a mirror. His hair had a tendency to turn into a straw Gordian knot at the slightest provocation, and he always looked exhausted these days. When was the last time he’d slept through the night? Probably a year ago.

Halfway down the path, the smell of roasted coffee beans stopped him dead in his tracks. Off to the side, at the base of a tree, was a sight so beautiful it had to be a mirage: a food cart. He’d kill for a good cup of coffee right now. The shit at the bus station had been no better than murky water.

The girl operating the cart saw him staring and flashed an amiable smile. What can I get you?

Um. He scanned the small menu board. There were six options, and none of the drinks had prices. Not that it mattered, considering his wallet currently contained his IDs, a debit card with a zero balance, and a colorful assortment of lint. How much is a regular cup of coffee?

Two dollars. Got your student card on you?

He pulled out his wallet and tried to slide the ID out of its new home. It stuck, of course, and took an embarrassingly long time to pry free. Sorry. It’s hot off the press. Here.

Thanks. It was out of his hand and into hers faster than he could blink. She swiped it through a machine and then handed it back with a smile. It looks like you have the meal plan. The cost of the coffee will come out of that. Since your ID is new, I figure you are too. Are you a freshman?

Not exactly. Though he was certainly acting like it. His last university had used student IDs for multiple functions as well. Had he been away from school for so long he’d honestly forgotten how things worked? He’d known his scholarship came with a meal plan. Bet that would have come rushing back to him the moment his stomach gurgled.

The girl smiled kindly at him as she snapped a plastic lid onto a steaming cup of coffee. Well, welcome to the Academy anyway. Need any milk or sugar?

No, thanks. Nick took the coffee, shoved his ID into a back pocket, and scuttled off. As he walked, he took a sip and immediately scalded his tongue. Fuck. Off to an excellent start.

He stopped in the shade of a willow tree, popped the lid off his coffee, and blew on it until he felt confident taking a second, albeit more tentative sip. His tongue stung, but the rest of his mouth—and his exhausted psyche—welcomed the warm liquid.

Digging in his pocket, he pulled out his phone and checked the time. He still had two hours before his first class. If unpacking went quickly—which it should, considering how little he’d brought with him—he might have time to see what the food here was like. Judging by the greener-than-green lawns and well-kept buildings, he was expecting more than the usual cafeteria slop.

While he pondered his plan of attack, his eyes drifted across campus. There were a dozen or so students within sight, scattered around the quad. Compared to his last school, the place was a dead zone. But then, he’d read in one of the dreaded brochures that the Academy only had about nine hundred students. His high school had been bigger than that.

He’d never experienced life outside of a big city before, but he’d watched enough TV to know what to expect. Everyone here probably knew everyone else, and word traveled fast. He’d do best to avoid attracting attention to himself, lest he end up in the rumor mill.

Right as he thought this, his eyes landed on a group of guys sitting at a picnic table beneath a nearby tree. They weren’t doing anything to catch his notice, but all three of them were attractive. Like, teen-TV-drama attractive.

One had dyed-red hair and skin that could give Snow White a run for her money. The guy next to him was black with prominent, symmetrical features. He was what Nick would have called Instagrammable. Beautiful in a classic way that was destined to go viral.

The last guy was sitting on the table with his feet propped on the bench. Messy dark hair like a stray brushstroke topped his aristocratic face. Between his Roman nose and pink cheeks, he might’ve climbed out of an old oil painting. Gangly and lean to the point of looking underfed, he was the farthest from Nick’s type of the three.

So why was Nick staring at him like he had winning lottery numbers scrawled across his face?

Nick, he scolded himself, you can’t check out boys on your first day at a Catholic college. The religious types tend to frown on that. Save the gay shit for another day.

He ordered himself to look away, but his eyes disobeyed. He frowned. What the hell was his problem? The guy was cute, sure, but so what? His friends were cuter, and he was far from the first attractive man Nick had ever seen. Why couldn’t Nick move on?

As if sensing Nick’s stare, the guy looked dead at him.

Shit. Turn away!

But Nick didn’t. He met the other student’s gaze unflinchingly. Close as he was to the table, he was able to make out his eye color. Gray. Deep gray, like storm clouds or rain water.

Damn. There was a word to describe eyes like that. Something Nick had read in a poem once. What was it? He scrambled to remember, but the best he could come up with was that he thought it started with an L. His thoughts were so scattered, he couldn’t smash them together well enough to remember.

Does he . . . remind me of something? Yeah, I think that’s it. But what?

Three of the longest seconds of Nick’s life passed before