Page 7 of Spiteful Lies

“No, I’m not talking about this.” I hesitate a beat. “I gave someone the answers to the econ midterm.”

I don’t dare look up, but I can see Bryce and Pierce’s reactions from the corner of my eye.

Pierce starts to pace the floor. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

“Hey, don’t talk to her like that,” Wyatt jumps off the couch, jostling Bryce.

Pierce narrows his eyes. “Oh, she’s got you trained, son.”

“Fuck you,” replies Wyatt, “and don’t talk to her like that again.”

Bryce’s voice shows little emotion. “Astrid, who did you give the answers to?”

“Gillian. She was going to be booted off the team, and then she wouldn’t have made it into college,” My voice picks up speed. “She’s the only one I gave them to. I swear.”

Bryce scrubs his face with his hand. “The whole team has them by now. We’re going to have to talk to her first.”

My eyes widen. “I told her not to tell.”

Bryce eyes me coldly. “That’s not going to be enough. We have to shut it down.”

“What does that even mean?” I ask nervously, “Aren’t you going to tell me?”

There’s a soft, timid knock on the door, and we stare around the room. Whoever it is, they knock again. I’m up and moving. I’d rather deal with that than this. Before Justin can grab my arm and pull me back, I unlock the door. I don’t open it more than a crack as I peer out. Roni stares back at me with wide eyes. I open it enough to let her in.

“What is it?” I ask.

Her eyes dart around the room as the boys stare back at her. “I know I’m not supposed to like her, but I’m concerned about Charlotte. She looks off.”

My body tenses. Trouble comes in threes. Did Howland die? “What’s wrong with her?” I ask.

Roni shrugs. “She’s talking shit. And she almost walked into a tree. I don’t know, but something is wrong. Someone should go talk with her.”

I eye the boys. “Don’t do a fucking thing until I get back.” I don’t get a response, but they don’t look like they’re moving as I slip out of the room.

Chapter 7

Charlotte

Earlier that day

In the morning, I’m late returning to school, and I really don’t give a fuck-all. I barely slept last night after packing all my worldly possessions into suitcases, cardboard boxes, and shopping bags. Silently, Mrs. Donahue anxiously folded my clothes and placed them tidily into my LV suitcases. Her gaze never left her hands as she muttered to herself the whole time. She couldn’t look at me without crying. Was I supposed to feel sorry for her?

I’ll miss Mrs. Donahue. She was good to me, but I just can’t care about anyone else right now. My feelings are going numb. Why would I care if my clothes are wrinkle-free when I’m living on the streets? Not yet. No one needs to know but me how fucked I am just yet.

A man in a thick puffer coat pushes a smartphone in my face, asking me inane questions about Prof. Getz as I climb out of the Uber. Howland kept my car.

I fight my way through the crowd of obnoxious reporters blocking the stone gate. Why the fuck are they here today? I don’t bother with the news unless it’s on BuzzFeed, but it’s hard to miss the trouble Stonehaven is in lately because of Prof. Getz. I never liked him anyway. He thought he was better than us, looking down his nose at me because I didn’t understand the scribbles on the board. Well, why should I care when I’m going to marry a rich husband?

A sob slips out of my throat as I walk up the path. It’s not my fault that I’m not his. I should’ve argued with Daddy…Mr. Howland. I should’ve demanded to see the paper saying I wasn’t his. Maybe it’s a test. Perhaps he’s testing me to see how loyal I am. Perhaps he wanted to see how I’d react. But deep inside, I know it’s true. There’s no stone on my mother’s grave. I sob again as the path blurs into shiny swirls of gray.

I close my eyes tight and will the hurt in. If anyone sees me cry, I’m so screwed here. I’d rather be a homeless bastard than have these bitches see me cry. My eyes fly open when someone grips my forearm with urgent force. Fuck, it’s that girl, Roni.

“What are you doing?” I explode. “Why are you touching me?”

Her eyes widen behind her glasses, making them look even rounder. “You looked like you were about to walk into that tree.”

An oak tree is inches from my face, and I reach out, pressing my fingertips into the rough bark and steadying my shaky legs. “I must’ve wandered off the path.”

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