Page 104 of Raise Hell

I feel his gaze burning through my back as I force myself to walk away, instead of run.

It isn’t completely dark outside, the setting sun sending a hazy red light across the sky. There are other students milling around grassy courtyards and walking on the path, and I let out a sigh of relief. I’ve never been someone who minds being alone, but the encounter with Nolan has me shaken.

Something is different about you.

Did he know Olivia before the attack? My sister didn’t have any friends, at least not as far as I can tell. The only contacts in her phone were people that were in her study group or that she’d exchanged numbers with but never actually talked to. I’d skimmed her text messages, and there was nothing in there but discussions of school assignments and other random conversations that were equally innocuous.

Which makes me wonder if some of them might have been deleted.

There isn’t a way for me to get Olivia’s phone records, not when the plan is in my father’s name.

But now that the thought is in my head, I’m having a hard time getting it out.

Anya is in the living room when I get back. She’s watching some crappy reality TV show I immediately recognize, because it’s one of my guilty pleasures. I hate that we have a vice in common, because the girl annoys the hell out of me.

She jumps up so quickly her popcorn spills on the floor. Ignoring the mess, she vaults over the back of the couch and rushes up before I can reach the safety of my room.

“I cannot believe my roommate is dating Drake Van Koch.”

I guess I’m back to being interesting again. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“I can’t decide if I should slap you out of jealousy or just to knock some sense into you.” Her body practically vibrates with barely contained energy. “This is huge. I have to know what he’s like in bed. C’mon spill.”

“There isn’t anything to spill.” I swallow hard. “What makes you think I would even know how he is in bed?”

“Oh, c’mon. I know we weren’t really friends before, but that’s just because I didn’t realize how cool you were.” She keeps pulling on my arm until I give in and let her drag me toward the couch. “Drake doesn’t chase after anybody, and he goes through girls more quickly than toilet paper. You have to tell me how you managed to shackle him.”

Anya doesn’t seem even a bit self-conscious about the fact that she might be considered one of those girls. If anything, Anya just seems genuinely excited to be living vicariously through me.

I hate the stereotypical mean girl archetype. It’s the most antifeminist thing out there. Every girl secretly knows that, but somehow we keep falling for it. We’re so quick to call each other sluts and whores, when it’s really the guys that come in between us that we should be angry at. There isn’t anything wrong with knowing what kind of girl you are and accepting it.

So I wonder if I’ve been a little too hard in my judgment of Anya. Being shallow and boy-obsessed aren’t crimes, and she hasn’t been anything but nice to me.

Maybe it’s time I start making allies, instead of enemies.

“It really isn’t like that,” I assure her. “Drake has made it pretty clear he hates everything about me.”

“Please.” Anya rolls her eyes. “I see the way that boy looks at you, like he wants to tear you apart with his bare hands. But in like a sexy way.”

“I agree with the first part, not so much the second.” I glance at the screen, recognizing one of my favorite shit-starting characters. “Is this the episode where Allegra tells Mitzy that she slept with her husband?”

“Nope. It’s the one where everyone finds out that Cecilia’s daughter went to rehab after what happened during the charity auction.” Anya picks up the remote and turns up the volume. “I love that British people can be just as trashy as we are.”

“I hate how much I like this show.”

“You want to watch?” she asks, reaching for the spilled popcorn. “It’s a marathon.”

I open my mouth to say no, but immediately change my mind. “Sure.”

Four episodes later, and I’m feeling pretty good when I head for bed.

For the last two hours, I’ve actually managed to forget I’m not living a normal life. I’m just another girl making fun of bad reality TV, even though she is definitely in the target demographic.

As soon as I shut the bedroom door and turn on the bedside lamp, something heavy hits the window hard enough to rattle the frame. At first, I think it’s just a disoriented bird flying into glass that was cleaned a bit too well.

Then it happens again.

I pull back the curtain at the same moment that someone steps under the glow of the streetlight directly beneath me.

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