Also, these three are major assholes.
Just saying.
Cranking up the music, I glance down at my tattered jeans. Lucky for me, the hole in the knee looks stylish. What no one will ever know is I got that hole running for my life when the Huong family’s dog decided to hop their fence and chase me. An adventure that ended with me skidding down the sidewalk.
Then there’s my gray tee. Or rather, the gray tee I stole from Scar. It barely comes down over my belly ring. Hopefully, the self-appointed dress code police won’t notice.
A group of girls pass, and we lock eyes. One tosses her head back, cackling while the other two whisper to one another. I’m probably just being paranoid, but I’d swear they’re laughing at me.
The feeling snowballs when I glance back over my shoulder, and all three are staring right back at me, smiling like they know something I don’t.
Whatever, skanks.
Holding the straps of my backpack, I jog quickly up the cement steps, slipping inside the open door after another kid passed through. The volume has picked up considerably, so the ambient noise can be heard over the song blaring in my ears.
And then, reality sinks in.
Everything looks so different from South Cypress. Dark, rich wood has replaced the large, tan tiles that lined the hallways of my old school. The unflattering fluorescent lights are nowhere to be found either. Instead, modest chandeliers are spaced out in a row down the long stretch of ceiling. Paired with the yellow stained-glass windows in the atrium, it feels more like passing through a church sanctuary than a school, but the hallways with classrooms aren’t nearly as formal, although the mahogany carries throughout.
I pass a pair of giggling freshmen this time—or at least they’re small enough to be freshman—but I know I’m not going crazy. There’s a sheet of paper in their hands, and when they peer up and see me, their eyes widen like they’ve seen a ghost.
Don’t freak out. It’s probably nothing. Just go to your locker, then go to class. You’ve got this.
I intend to stick to this plan, keeping my head down to avoid trouble, but I suddenly realize trouble has found me.
A group of boys at the end of the hallway stand out like giants, their shoulders rising above the heads of nearly everyone they pass. But it isn’t only the Golden boys. There are others, an entire squad moving through the halls as a unit, with West front and center.
It isn’t a surprise that he’s already spotted me. Those piercingly green eyes can be seen even from this distance, and so can the fury within them. Passing one another is unavoidable, but I refuse to let him think I’m intimidated, because I’m not.
He hikes the single strap of his backpack higher on his shoulder and his bicep flexes with the movement. We’re nearly at one another’s feet now, but I step aside at the last second, narrowly avoiding a full-on collision since it’s clear he’s perfectly content bulldozing over me. My shoulder brushes his arm and he stares down on me with that devilish half-smile.
“Welcome back, Southside,” he grumbles low and menacing, getting the words out as we pass.
I say nothing in return.
The whole thing is over quickly and I’m grateful for it. But the second I turn down the hallway to access my locker, my heart sinks.
Almost every single pair of eyes is locked on me. Those that aren’t, are focused on the sheets of paper in their hands. The same sheets of paper plastered all over the lockers like wallpaper. Only, instead of a printed floral array or some stupid duck pattern, it’s an article. Copy upon copy of the same article, actually.
Whatever didn’t get posted on the wall looks like it’s just been tossed into the air and has landed on the floor. I stoop to take one, and instantly feel the wind get knocked right out of me.
The copies are the newspaper’s full account of Hunter’s crime, every gory detail that paints him as the monster he was discovered to be. Then, below the text, the responsible party took it upon themselves to add my school pic from last year, just to make sure no one misses the connection.
To make sure no one misses that I’m the sister of a murderer.
“Oh my gosh! Is it really her?”
“I bet she knew and helped him cover it up.”
“Psycho probably runs in the family.”
The ugly whispers hit me from all directions, but I don’t bother trying to pinpoint who said what. It doesn’t really matter. Everyone’s thinking the same thing. I can feel it.
My eyes sting with tears, but they’re not steeped in sadness. These are angry tears.
Practically panting, I pull down the pages I can reach, but there are so, so many. Hundreds, maybe a thousand or more. There’s no doubt in my mind who’s behind this, and I can’t help but to think of all the trouble he’d gone through just to humiliate me.
The research to discover who my brother is and what he’d done, the work of spreading the info he found to the masses.
When the onlooker’s gazes suddenly shift toward the end of the corridor, my head whips that way, too, finding the Golden boys standing there, so satisfied with what they’ve done. They’ve doubled back just to witness this moment. I mean, of course they’d want to see the fruits of their labor, right?
Before I can think about what I’ll do when I get to them, I’m already storming in their direction. West doesn’t flinch, just smiles at me like he’s proud of this. Proud he’s just let the entire school in on my deepest, darkest secret.
This blight had been the fuel that lit the fire, which eventually led to the fight that nearly cost me my chance of admission here. The wrong girl said the wrong thing about this situation, and I lost it.
Completely.
My consolation prize for beating her bloody was a fractured knuckle and a late-term expulsion.
No one knows better than me that my family is screwed up, but that doesn’t give people the right to point that shit out.
Or … create an entire exposé, for the express purpose of humiliating me today.
I’m nearly to him now, and I have every intention to wipe that smug grin clean off him, but a familiar face pokes her head out of the counselling office, creating a barrier between West and me.
“Ms. Riley? My office, please.” Her timing is impeccable, but then I wonder if that isn’t the point. Perhaps Dr. Pryor is trying to save me from myself.
I halt, taking longer to do as she’s asked, but I remind myself why I’m here, why I’m letting this pissant get away with this crap.
If doing it for yourself isn’t enough, do it for Scar.
“Ms. Riley?” Dr. Pryor steps out of the doorframe completely, volleying a look between me and the guys, then stares me down as she crosses both arms over her chest. The glare she shoots me next is stern, and I know she isn’t playing.
Casting West a look that could kill, I brush by Dr. Pryor rougher than I mean to, and pass through the small waiting area before dropping down in the seat across from her desk. She rounds the corner of it, still giving me a look, and then takes her seat, too.
She pushes the length of dark dreadlocks over the shoulder of her gray blazer. She’s always super stern, but has also made more than one exception for me, so I like her well enough.
Rage burns through my veins at warp speed, which is precisely the reason my knee is bouncing like crazy. More than anything, I want to tear West’s eyes right out of the sockets. That’s about the only thing that will settle me.