Page 6 of Raise Hell

My long blonde hair is pulled up into a high ponytail that cascades over my shoulder and down almost to my waist. The platinum and honey highlights were teeth-grindingly expensive, but trust-fund babies can sniff out drugstore hair dye like sharks scenting blood.

Their gazes linger on my high heels and short dress. My back itches as their attention lingers on the words I spray painted in iridescent pink on my black leather jacket.

Raise Hell.

It’s a promise.

I don’t have to hear their whispers to know what words those lips are forming.

Olivia Pratt.

Olivia Pratt?

Olivia Pratt!

They can whisper and point, study me for weaknesses that can be exploited. Until this moment, I was a cautionary tale. The moral of the story girls whisper to each other about what happens when you end up in a place you don’t belong. Even if the attack wasn’t my fault, I should have known better.

Olivia Pratt is the girl who got what she was asking for.

And now she has the absolute nerve to come back, as if nothing ever happened.

That’s right, bitches. I’m back, and I’m not going anywhere.

The crowd parts as I stroll to the office, as if no one wants to get too close even though they can’t tear their gazes away. I keep my legs moving and my eyes staring straight ahead. I don’t know what they might see in the glassy depths of my blue eyes, so I keep my attention trained above their heads as if none of them exist.

If our gazes meet, they might see the secrets I’m trying to hide.

My fingers toy with the skull-shaped rosary beads in my pocket, their surfaces worn smooth from frequent handling.

If there has ever been such a thing as a righteous God, then I know I have him on my side.

I’m here on a mission, and I will move heaven and hell to see it done.

A pleasantly plump woman with dyed black hair and cat-eye glasses blinks in obvious confusion as I step up to the desk.

“Olivia Pratt?”

She says the name after a moment of hesitation, like she can’t quite believe the evidence cooly staring her down.

“I’m checking in.”

“Yes, we got the call that you were re-enrolling last week. It was a bit of a surprise.” She shuffles some papers around, waiting a beat for the explanation that will not be forthcoming. “Here is your class schedule and room assignment. Welcome back.”

I allow myself a brief smile, because she almost sounds like she means it. “Thank you.”

Her gaze follows me until the office door slams shut behind me, with eyes I know are wide and staring. Even the staff here couldn’t have thought Olivia Pratt would be back, not after the embarrassment. The only thing waiting here for a girl like that is ridicule and social ostracism.

This is the girl responsible for bringing the police to St. Bart’s because she couldn’t handle herself.

The girl who disappeared after that without finishing out the year. She wasn’t even brave enough to face everyone after what happened. Never bothered to provide answers to all the questions.

So the rumor mill did it for her.

I’ve seen the posts on social media, all guesswork and fear mongering. Whether Olivia Pratt is a true victim or just an embarrassed slut seems to be anyone’s guess.

No one seems to actually know the whole truth.

All the gory details couldn’t have filtered to the faculty, but I’m sure the school administration heard enough.

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