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I glance up to her, frowning in confusion.
Other than Sophia, and the couple of outcasts sharing my table at the cafeteria, no one has said a word to me since the first day of school—unless you count insults. Not even Judith or Melina. We might have gotten along in the past, but the kings decreed me persona non grata, and they’re legacies. They stick together.
I’m too stunned to answer, and I’m half waiting for a punchline, but she just keeps walking to join her friends a few rows back.
I don’t remember doing anything to my hair. Did I even brush it? I know I washed it last night, just to have something to do under the shower. I glance at my faded reflection on the window of the bus, and I see that my mane’s gathered on top of my head in a messy bun. There are a few strands falling out of it. Yep, I definitely didn’t brush it. It doesn’t look entirely terrible, so I decide the girl might have been sincere.
This morning is weird.
“Hey, Nadia!” one girl calls in the corridor, shooting me a radiant grin.
What the fuck?I’m fairly certain she tried to trip me last Thursday.
I get to my locker in a weary daze, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but the bizarre farce continues. A boy who I know is acing this class asks me if I need his notes in Calculus. In Italian, after I answer one of the teacher’s questions, some girl asks me if I’ve ever been to Italy. “Your accent is just so amazing!”
I don’t respond to anyone—not the girls complimenting me all of a sudden, not the guys who tell me I’m “looking good, Reyes!” or offering help. I trust this situation as much as I’d trust a cobra poised to strike.
By the time I make my way to AP Lit, I’m tenser than I was at any point last week. The rules have changed, but I’m not dumb enough to think the game’s over.
I’m already seated when I realize I probably should have skipped English. Now would be the perfect time to try to call my parents again.
I walked so fast to escape the bizarre alternative reality I’ve been thrust into, I’m the first in the classroom. I decide to just walk back out.
I only just got to my feet when Melina storms in, heading straight for me.
She grabs my forearm and speaks hurriedly. “You’re here. Good. We don’t have long to talk. Sit.” Though she’s small and dainty, she pulls me down with a force I hadn’t expected. “Last Monday, the boys posted on the school wall, telling everyone to ice you. Today, they lifted the ban—for today only, you hear?” Words are rushing out so fast she could make a career out of auctioneering. “No one’s supposed to tell you. I don’t know what their game is, but I figured you’d want a heads-up.” She glances over her shoulder, hearing footsteps approach, and scampers to her seat.
I blink, taking in her speech.
By "the boys," she must mean Alden and Co., the four jerks. I’d known they were behind this mess, of course, but hearing that they organized my bullying like one would a school event was astonishing. And today, I wasn’t a leper all of a sudden?
My jaw tightens.
I have to put up with this just a little while longer. I can get my parents to transfer me soon. I know it means I have to admit to the bullying, and I don’t like that. They’ll want to know who started it, they’ll want to make a fuss with the school. I don’t want any of that. All that matters is getting out of this hellhole.
I feel when Jason enters the room, although my eyes are glued to the doodle at the corner of my notebook. My entire being is aware of him on an animalistic level—I’m reduced to prey.
My eyes stay low, but I recognize his stride. I’m not surprised he takes the open seat to my right. Cain sits right behind him.
“Morning, doll.”
That name.
“Don’t be like that, Nadia. Your life is so much easier when you play nice, isn’t it?”
My cuticles become fascinating. I’m not going to let him get to me. These are my last few days at Cross. My last few days with him. I can do this. I can do this.
Jason leans to me and pushes a wayward strand of hair behind my earlobe.
I can’t do this.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The teacher isn’t back from his interclass break so I don’t have to justify myself. My notebook in one hand and throwing my bag on my shoulder, I just run out of there.
I don’t have a clear destination in mind at first, but when I reach the entrance of the school, I pull my phone out of my skirt pocket and try to call everyone again.
Uncle Lucius answers on the second ring. “Dia,” he says affectionately. “I got your message and put my phone on ring to catch you when you called again.” Lucius has a perfectly normal New York accent. I don’t know why people assume second-generation immigrants sound any different when they were born here. His voice is warm and calming. “I didn’t want to disturb you during your classes. Anything I can help you with,tesoro?”
