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My hands were clenched into fists during the entire hour. I had my stuff packed before the bell rang and darted out of there. I didn’t bother to wait for Sophia—I’d have to deal with her annoyance later. Besides, I was rather upset with her myself. I checked her texts; she hadn’t so much as asked why I hadn’t answered, or if anything was going on with me. But I realized deep down that I was probably misplacing my anger.
I grabbed a sandwich and marched right out of the cafeteria, heading to the gardens at the back of the school. Though we were in early September, the weather was crappy enough for the wolves to have stayed indoors. Indifferent to the rain, I sat on a bench shaded by a pruned cedar.
The highlight of my day was spotting the black stray cat that sometimes hangs out around there.
The infirmary gave me the week off PE to ensure my wrist heals, but I showed up to class anyway, to show Pierson and the rest of the assholes I’m not afraid.
The rest of the week was spent anticipating the worst, dodging “accidental” hits, and ignoring insults. It took two more days for Sophia to realize something is seriously wrong and corner me as I rushed out of the cafeteria again. I didn’t get into details. I’m too tired to bother.
“The four assholes at the popular table declared me persona non grata. It’s hell.”
“That sucks. You should come to the table, eat with us. They can’t do much in front of everyone, right?”
I lift my brow, vividly remembering the smoothie incident. It wasn’t the worst thing that happened this week—not by a long shot—but they’d had no problem doing it in front of the entire cafeteria, supervisors included.
“I’ll pass.” Just as I turn to leave, I catch his eyes.
Jason.
He’s looked at me every day—not constantly, but half of the times when I find myself checking on the four predators feasting on my misery, he's staring. In another lifetime, I would feel flattered, but I know he’s just amusing himself, trying to see if I’m close to breaking.
Which I’m not.
This petty bullshit sucks, but Ms. Casey was right. I’ll survive the school drama. I just need to keep my eye on the light at the end of the tunnel.
None of the four guys have approached me at all since Rowan’s lewd suggestion on Monday. They don’t need to. They’ve declared open season on me—that’s enough. Most of the senior class rushed to do their bidding.
I had a better opinion of humanity before this week. Even seeing Sophia’s experience, I’d still thought that people were mostly good, assuming that there were only a few jerks in every group. Sophia’s harassed by her sister and a couple of her friends—three of them against two of us. It felt…fair, I suppose. But almost the entire school hates me simply because four overly privileged asses told them to do so. Now, I’m not so sure I believe in us as a species. We’re sheep. I keep my head high, not even checking who’s calling me, knocking against my shoulder, or telling my teachers I’m doing something I’m not supposed to—mostly, drawing. None of the teachers really care, thankfully. The only asshole is Pierson.
Though far from indifferent to the ordeal, I make a good show of hiding any weakness. At least, I think I do.
Friday is better and worse all at once. My stuff was taken from my locker during PE, which sucked. I don’t mind so much about the uniform—I just wear PE clothes in my art class. No one cares in Art. That hour has become a solace in the last week. None of the sheep make it through the doors.
I do, however, care about losing my bag. The leather satchel was a birthday present from Mom. Plus, I'll have to use my hard-earned greenbacks to replace my bag and its contents.
At least I had the sense to keep my phone in my pocket, and my cards and IDs are in its case.
For all that, Friday’s much better because Lucas is back. My cousin has been absent until now, and as usual, his texts are never forthcoming.
I run into his arms and squeeze a little too hard, considering I saw him a week ago. Then I playfully punch his shoulder. “Good of you to show up.”
He makes a show of shielding his face with his forearms, inviting me to take another shot. And I do.
We had boxing lessons together in junior high. Lucas’s been two heads taller than me, and perhaps twice as broad, for the last decade, but I still win against him, because he has some stupid-ass rule about not hitting girls.
After the third lackluster punch, he grabs my wrist and twists it behind my back, moving to get me in a headlock. I laugh as I break out of it.
It’s our usual greeting. I know what he’s doing. Though it’s playful and neither of us are using much strength, he’s being a paranoid, protective guy like his dad, and making sure I haven’t forgotten how to fight, how to get away from an intruder.
I’m just Uncle Lucius’s niece, but he’s made millions, and he comes from a family with a certain reputation. His own work isn’t the safest. Having Astrella blood means I could be in danger someday, and I’ve been prepared for it.
Too bad my uncle didn’t prepare me to fight school bullies as well as potential kidnappers.
“They don’t give a fuck if I’m here as long as Dad keeps the money coming,” Lucas reminded me. Then he smirks. “And I keep raising their average.”
Annoyingly true. Lucas is my opposite, useless at anything remotely creative, but he’s smart. Crazy smart. He’s never needed to work to ace his tests. Rich, brainy, and though it pains me to admit it, attractive, he has it all. I’d hate him if I didn’t love him so much.
He falls into step beside me, and I head toward my locker. He walks with a swagger, casual yet utterly arrogant all at once. More than a few girls—and a couple guys—check him out, freshman whispering and giggling, older students trying to catch his eyes. His hair bounces slightly, the strands dark and wavy, a bit longer on the top. He looks too much like my father and his for me to be affected, but I know what they see.
