When your parents told you one night the summer before your senior year they were putting you in boarding school so they could work abroad for a year at their company’s new headquarters in Singapore, you were miserable.

The loneliness of having to go to a school where everyone already knew everyone wasn’t lost on you. You knew nothing about your new school, Langley, except that a) it was rigorous with strict rules to follow and b) Shea Clifton, the son of Howard Clifton—the President of the United States—went there.

You weren’t shocked by that—Shea made international headlines for dying the roots of his hair red, getting visible tattoos and piercings, and, worst of all, having to be bailed out of jail once. While he was a sort of teenage celebrity, parents hated him. Howard Clifton’s political opponents loved Shea, using him to attack an otherwise good leader. No wonder he was sent by his father to one of the strictest schools in the Northeast—it was the least he could do to minimize the bad press.

You arrived at campus late one night before the first day. A gaunt woman shouted a bunch of rules in your ear; basically, you couldn’t do anything but eat, sleep and go to class.

Your head was spinning by the time your dorm’s door clicked behind you. But your jaw drops when you see him amidst heavy metal posters and dirty laundry: tattooed, pierced, shredded, and smoking a joint. The son of the President of the United States. Shea Clifton.

“Oh, hey,” he scoffs, blowing out a puff of smoke—which definitely was forbidden at Langley—as he waved. He glances at the joint, then back at you. “Don’t tell my daddy,” he sneers, “will ya?”