“Get out!” Aunt Beth snaps. “And I’m not giving you any lunch money. You’ll have to use your own.”
“I’m not stupid enough to believe otherwise.” I reach for the door handle.
Her lips curl into a sneer. “That’s very debatable.”
I push open the door. “So is Dixie May’s IQ.”
“Dixie May isn’t stupid.” She rotates around in the seat to glare at me. “She just prefers fashion and guys over schoolwork. That’s not that uncommon for a teenage girl. You’re the anomaly, Raven.”
I give a shrug. “I wasn’t trying to argue that I wasn’t an anomaly. I was merely pointing out that, if you think I’m unintelligent, then you must think your daughter is an idiot.”
“Dixie May isn’t an idiot,” she scoffs. “She just gets distracted because she has a life.” She flashes me a smirk. “Unlike you.”
“I may be a social outcast, but at least I’m not an idiot. And when this last year of hell is all over and I graduate, I’m going to take my good grades, go off to college, and make something of myself, while Dixie May probably ends up having a shotgun wedding because she can’t keep her legs closed.”
Her nostrils flare. “You little shit—”
I hop out of the car and slam the door shut.
She starts to roll the window down as I hurry toward the sidewalk that leads to the front doors, knowing she won’t make a scene. It’s not her style. No, her style is to tell my uncle, who’s going to either be annoyed with her that she’s being a tattletale or pissed off at me, depending on his mood. Either way, there’s going to be shouting in the house when my uncle Don gets home tonight.
“You can get your own ass home, Ravenlee Wilowwynter!” she shouts from the car. “I won’t be picking you up!”
I cringe as the handful of students walking around glance in my direction.
Awesome. What a great way to start my first day at a new school. Then again, if Dixie May has her way, it’ll be a shitty day for me anyway. And now I have the walk home to look forward to. It’s my own damn fault for riling my aunt up. I just get so sick of her shit sometimes.
Letting out a slow exhale, I continue toward the school with people eyeballing me, eyeballing my outfit, eyeballing my crazy hair. Then the whispering begins. Finally, I can’t take it anymore, so I stick my hand into my pocket and dig out my phone. Then I grab my earbuds, pop them in, and crank up some classic rock, the same music my dad used to listen to.
I’ve been entering school this way for as long as I can remember. Music helps block out everything, including my own annoying thoughts. Though I made a promise to myself not to do that today, to try a fresh start, I guess old habits die hard.
I don’t want to listen to the whispering. Don’t want to listen to the name calling. Don’t want to listen to everyone talk about all the made-up stories Dixie May has spread about me.
“She’s a slut.”
“She’s a satanic freak.”
“I once saw her kill a puppy just for fun.”
“She slept with a teacher.”
“Slut.”
“Freak.”
“Murderer.”
I yank myself away from the memories, telling myself that I don’t need to rehash the lies she told about me.
Well, almost all of them were lies.
One carries some truth to it.
Murderer.
Three
Raven
I decide to take a little detour before I enter the school and sneak out by the dumpsters to take a few hits. It’s a risky move, for sure, since I’m not familiar with how this school works, but I need my calm.
I smoke until my mind is hazy. I smoke until I can’t feel anything but sedation—numbness. I smoke until I can’t think about much of anything.
Emptiness. Just how I like it.
Once I’m good and blazed, I spray some perfume on, put some eye drops in, and then head inside the school.
Last night, my aunt told me that I’m supposed to stop by the office this morning to pick up my schedule. I expect to see Dixie May in there and plan on giving her the stupid sparkly case then, but by the time I enter the office, she’s either already picked up her schedule or she decided to spend the morning trying to find a clique she can dictate.
The secretary sitting behind the front desk looks up at me as I wander in, eyeing my outfit over. 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 khaki pants.
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 mother effer.
“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 would be more worried, but that numbness I love so much settles me.
Calms me.
Calm.
“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. 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, the corners of his lips quirking. “Yeah, are you?”