The secretary sitting behind the front desk looks up at me as I wander in, eyeing my outfit. After seeing how most of the people in the hallway are dressed, I kind of expected that.

Preppy is the word that came to mind when I noted the outfits almost everyone is sporting. Not that I believe everyone is preppy here, but there are an awful lot of Polo shirts and khakis.

Once the secretary is done scrutinizing me, her lips move, but I can’t hear what she’s saying.

Shit. I forgot I had my earbuds in.

I tug one out. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you. Can you repeat that?”

She gives me a wary look, and I wonder if she suspects I’m high as a mothereffer.

“I said, can I help you with something?” she asks with mild tolerance.

I do my best to focus on her and rest my arms on the counter. “Yeah, I’m new here and need to get my schedule.”

She turns toward the computer. “What’s the name?”

“Ravenlee Wilowwynter.”

She starts typing then pauses. “How do you spell the last name?”

I spell it for her, and she types it in, briefly smiling. “That’s a beautiful name. Does it mean anything?”

I could tell her the reason my parents named me after the cursed bird, tell her the prettier part of the name, but nothing about me or my life is pretty anymore, so I answer her with honesty instead. “Yeah, bad luck. Or, well, Raven does, which is what I go by, so …”

She glances up at me with her brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Raven, the bird, represents bad luck,” I say with a shrug. “Which is what people call me.”

She blinks. “Oh.” Then she starts to look back at her computer.

Awesome, Raven. She definitely probably thinks you’re on something.

I’d probably be more worried, but that numbness I love so much has settled me.

Calms me.

Numbs me.

Into.

Nothing.

“They also symbolize wisdom, knowledge, creativity, mysteriousness, and unpredictability,” a guy who looks to be around my age says as he steps up beside me.

I start to turn my head, wondering how the hell this guy knows what ravens symbolize, and then I blink, sure I’m seeing things.

He seriously might be the prettiest guy I’ve ever seen, with chin-length blond hair, long eyelashes, and bright blue eyes. And just by looking at his pretty face, I expect him to be dressed in an outfit that goes with the preppy theme around here. So, I’m surprised he’s wearing a black shirt, matching jeans, and boots. He also has a chain dangling from his belt loop and leather bands covering his wrists.

The strangest part about him is the way he’s smiling at me. I can’t even remember the last time someone smiled at me, let alone some pretty guy with eyelashes so long I swear he could be wearing mascara.

“Are you real?” I ask, blinking again.

His forehead creases, yet the corners of his lips quirk. “Yeah. Are you?”