Free Hero Complex by Margaux Froley Page A

“The Dreadlocked Duo. They are gonna hate that.”
    Cleo shrugged. “Haters gonna hate. What can you do?” She brought her head closer to Devon’s and jutted her chin out in Grant’s direction. “Wait a sec. Who’s the fresh blood sitting with Grant?”
    Devon turned to see a perfect stranger plunking his tray down by Grant. Needless to say, a perfect stranger appearing mid-year at Keaton was newsworthy, especially someone who looked like
this
. Blond hair in an almost buzz cut, dark eyebrows, and deep brown eyes. Devon couldn’t help but stare. Neither could Cleo, of course. Grant leaned over and whispered something. Fresh Blood looked up from his burger and saluted Devon and Cleo.
    “Ladies,” he said in a loud, confident voice with an accent Devon couldn’t place. “Good evening.”
    Devon whipped around to face Cleo, whose cheeks were pink.
    “They must have pulled someone off the wait-list mid-year,” Cleo muttered, smiling in spite of herself. “Man, someone’s parents must have wanted him to get a Keaton education. Starting mid-year has to seriously suck.” She started typing something into her phone.
    “What are you doing?” Devon asked.
    “Texting a friend at St. Matthews in the city. Wait-listers usually come locally. The international kids have too many visa hoops to jump through to make last-minute decisions. We gotta get the intel on our newbie because you know how it goes; girls are gonna be all over that like the summer sale at Barneys.”
    Devon sneaked another peek in his direction, and Fresh Blood smiled back, clearly enjoying the attention. This time she noticed something else: two perfect dimples, one on each cheek. He was almost
too
perfect looking. Her heart clenched for a moment as she turned back to her food, her appetite gone. Had this guy taken the spot in their class that had been freed by Hutch’s death?
    “You see that smile? Unbelievable,” Cleo said, as if cursing the people who created him. She went back to her phone, fingers moving faster than before. “This is total trouble. Dev, you know better than anyone, I’m a sucker for a guy with dimples. Way more than dreads.”

CHAPTER 8
    Devon still had a few homework questions to finish before first-period chemistry, so she made sure to get to the classroom early to work in silence, far away from the bustle of her dorm. Just her luck—the chem lab doors were locked. She made do sitting in the deserted hallway. Usually Mr. Denny was in his classroom at this hour, slugging coffee from a thermos and prepping for that day’s lesson. So apparently even guys like Mr. Denny had a hard time moving first thing Monday morning. It was reassuring somehow. Teachers and faculty members were human beings, too, after all—including geniuses, Dr. Hsu among them.
    The linoleum floor felt cold on the back of Devon’s legs, even through her jeans. She opened her laptop and tried to concentrate. The door at the end of the hall opened with a
clang
, and Scott Jacoby appeared in his usual Keaton pajama pants and oversizedbackpack. A day student with nothing else going on outside of Keaton, he’d no doubt answered the questions by Friday afternoon and done the extra credit work, too. He threw off the grading curve in most of his classes. On the other hand, maybe if she flirted just a little bit, he might be inclined to let her copy the final few answers from his work. She stood up to greet Scott when a classroom door opened down the hall.
    Devon froze. It was C.C. Tran, dressed in a white pencil skirt with matching blazer and clutching a Starbucks cup. She exited the room with Mr. Denny. She had a few books tucked under her arm. Devon recognized the blue cover of her own current chemistry textbook.
Maya’s mom is collecting homework. That means Maya is still enrolled
. They may have given up Maya’s room, but presumably she was trying to keep up with the school year. Maya was somewhere doing her homework. Before Devon could fully formulate