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The guy glowers at me. "Whoa. You're full of yourself, aren't you? No wonder the legacies want to put you in your place, bitch."
"Lashing out after rejection. That'ssoevolved of you." This time, I do roll my eyes. "Move, or I'll make you move, Rob Rob Parry."
In my old school in New York, kids used to be treated like criminals, always suspected, punished at the first infraction. This place couldn't be any more different. The security is tight at the gates, but we're more or less left to our own devices in the school. We're supervised, but from a distance. Our overseers only interfere if a huge fight breaks out, which almost never happens.
Still, when I lift my hand and wave to the short, stout woman in uniform pacing along the room, she can't exactly ignore me.
Watching her walk toward us, Rob Rob gets up and leaves.
I put my headphones back on and eat the rest of my food.
I finish before Sophia arrives.
Digging my phone out of my pocket, I check if she sent me a message. Nothing.
I'm done, and I don't want to loiter with the people gathered here, so I head back to my room.
It's past ten when Sophia texts me to mention her new friend Yuki invited her down the lake for dinner. Which is just fine. I would have preferred an advance warning, as we usually eat together, but there's no point in getting upset. I make a mental note not to take her company for granted in the future, and I try to tell myself this doesn't hurt.
Things have changed between us since the beginning of the year. I don't know if I'm distant because of everything going on with me, or if she's the one who stepped away first. What's clear is that our table should stop calling us the "twinset." We're no longer attached at the hip, that's for sure. Part of me doesn't entirely mind.
The last couple of years, she and I stuck together because I didn't quite fit in with the others around me, and because her sister was causing trouble for her. This year, I don't have the energy to fight her battles, and she doesn't have the time to provide company for me, so I suppose neither of us are getting much from our relationship.
I lock my door behind me and climb into bed with a book. Just as I turn the lamp off a couple of hours later, my eyes catch a flash of light outside of the window. I can't remember the last time I've seen a shooting star. At Cross and Roses, the night sky has always been infinitely clearer than in New York City—we can actually see the stars here.
I'm not superstitious at all. It feels childish, but I don't care. I make a damn wish. I'm that desperate.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I’d like to say things improved for me from there, but my day-to-day life is pretty miserable for the next three weeks. Shooting stars are bullshit. Go figure. Next, someone is going to tell me Santa doesn't exist.
Just as Milena warned, the student body only left me alone for one awkward, paranoia-inducing day. After that, the girls who complimented my hair or my lipstick are back to belittling me, or worse. Sophia's busy with her new legacy friends, so I barely get to see her outside of my Italian class. She rarely eats at our old table. I gradually come to terms with that, though it certainly doesn't help my sense of isolation in this gilded prison.
When I'm restless in the afternoons, after Art and before the swimming club, I run, which is a great way of emptying my mind of concerns. If nothing else, it allows me to stay away from everyone else. And thanks to the exertion, I'm exhausted every night and I can crash despite my shifting anxiety.
When I don't work out hard enough to crash, I lay awake wondering what kind of abuse I can expect the next day. Will it be a rumor about me and some guys? According to current gossip, I've pretty much fucked the entire soccer and basketball teams. The only jocks who haven't made such a claim yet are the members of the football team.
Or maybe they'll suggest I only get straight As in classes taught by men because I suck them off for better grades. Which is majorly gross. The English professor might be relatively young and easy on the eyes, but ew. And don't even get me started on the wrinkly, old, rail-thin art teacher. I heard Brooke say I also fucked someone for my tuition, because how could a cook's daughter afford a place at Cross and Roses?
Then there's the straightforward physical abuse. I've been pushed into a cupboard and locked away until a maintenance guy found me at night. I've been tripped, stolen from, accused of stealing, yelled at, and Martin Lee grabbed my breasts yesterday at lunch. I kneed him in the junk, so hopefully he learned his lesson. I doubt it though. I saw the glint in his eyes—I'm fairly certain that if we hadn't been in the cafeteria, with supervisors and tons of witnesses, he wouldn't have dropped it.
I see Their Majesties every day. They never directly interact with me, letting the rabble do their dirty work for them. Every day,helooks at me, staring at me intently, until he's certain I get his silent message. "You could end this. Yield and you'll be rewarded."
Jason hasn't tried to come to my room—that I know of. The first few days, I expected my door to squeak or rattle, but no one tried the handle. I don't know what game he's playing, but I know I'm not giving in.
The last gasp of summer gives way to fall, my favorite season, especially upstate where I actually get to enjoy the landscape. Three more seasons. I can endure that much in this place. The solitude is bearable, and helps my focus. I've never had better grades. I don't even do half bad in Calculus. That only feeds the rumors about my sleeping my way through my instructors, but it's so ridiculous I'm not even mad about it.
On sunny days, when I'm lucky, I get to hang out with Cat outside the U in the courtyard. I call him Cat because he looks well fed, and only has a nameless collar with a phone number. I'm certain he has an actual name. Choosing another one feels rude.
The second Friday of October, I walk into the cafeteria and the first thing I notice is my cousin.
As Uncle Lucius promised, Lucas came back to school periodically beginning a couple of weeks ago. We've hung out, and we do share three classes, but Lucas has his own life, his own friends—most of whom delight in torturing me when he's not around.
He's seated at the jocks' tables—the one Their Majesties have boycotted for about a year. The other tables in the cafeteria sit six to eight students, but they've put three tables together in order to accommodate the baseball, football, and soccer teams plus their cheerleaders. Lucas plays soccer. He generally makes sure he attends every game, and the coach deals with his frequent absences because he's just that good.
Lucas waves me over when he spots me, but I just sigh quietly. He should know better. I never go into the details of my ostracism with Lucas, but he's aware that most of the school is giving me a hard time, and he's not dumb enough to not realize that that sort of bullshit always starts with the popular crowd, his so-called friends.
At my request, he's left my issue with the rest of the school alone, as far as I can tell. The bullying seems to dampen considerably on days when he attends school, because while not everyone is aware of the fact that we're related, people know we're friends. One sharp glance from him and whoever's about to approach me takes seven steps back. He doesn't try to force people into playing nice with me, thank fuck. If he did, the situation would get out of hand on days when he's not around.
