Page 2 of Liar

“Omigod.”

My heart rate kicks up at the words, and I allow myself to be carried by the crowd, my thumbs digging into my bag’s straps, my jaw tense.

The massive cathedral doors are propped open, the frigid air cascading into the stone foyer with biting accuracy. Still, nobody gives their lack of coats a second thought as they push outside and stop just short of the front steps as a sleek, black SUV with tinted windows comes to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.

The students fall into a hush as the passenger door opens. I remember to close my mouth and mentally coax my shoulders down from my ears.

A blazered shoulder emerges first, followed by a dark head of hair and a tall, sinuous body.

My sharp inhale freezes my teeth.

Thorne unfurls from the car, his profile exquisite and defined as he turns and holds out his hand. Delicate white fingers appear out of the shadowed confines only to be swallowed by his chafed, firm grip.

Does her skin tingle against his calluses? Are her cold palms heated by his skin?

Pushing those thoughts out of my head, I focus on the rest of her as she slowly steps out of the car.

Her head’s down, the blonde, beachy waves somehow catching the meager rays of sun leeching out from the dark, gray cloud cover.

Savannah’s dressed in the uniform we all wear, colored in black, green, and gold, yet she stands out from us, from the brittle grass, stone carvings, and somber skies, bright and flushed and…

Beautiful.

Her hand doesn’t leave Thorne’s as she tilts her chin up, the green of her eyes flitting over the gathered crowd, then stopping on me.

Swallowing, I dig my thumbs harder into my straps. I don’t break her stare, but my mind’s in overdrive.

Does she know about me? What has Thorne told her? Are they together?

My heart hurts on that last question, but Thorne and I were never an item, so I shouldn’t have feelings for him. Frankly, they’re perfect for each other.

Light and dark. One can balance the other out. Unlike he and I, consuming each other in the shadows, neither one of us looking toward the light.

Bodies press into mine as I’m shoved sideways. I snap out of my rambling thoughts, glancing at the source of friction, and I’m not surprised to see Aurora jamming herself through the crowd and down the stairs.

Belle and Delaney follow her, both with shorter haircuts to match Aurora’s textured pixie style. Aurora being Aurora eventually shook herself out of her shaved-head depression and turned Thorne’s punishment into a fashion statement. Many of the freshman girls followed suit. A short bob or layered boy cut was the new winter statement, and any who did it received Aurora’s praise and attention, which is a rare coup in a place like this.

My long, white-blonde strands falling past my elbows stuck out even more, Aurora’s greedy gaze simply wishing she could telekinetically shear it off my head … until Savannah.

Her hair length rivals mine. The volume and health of it far surpasses any quick comb-through I manage after a shower.

Savannah blinks and her attention shifts away from me, her expression impassive as she moves on.

I furrow my brows but don’t question what she’s thinking for long. Because my attention’s moved on, too.

Thorne meets my eyes with brief efficiency. Where Savannah was neutral, he is frozen splendor.

He looks at me like he doesn’t know me, like I’m any one of the other students filtering around the entrance, desperate for a glance of Savannah.

While holding my stare, he swoops his arm around Savannah’s shoulders, bringing her close.

My throat works, thickened emotion making it hard to swallow. My eyes grow hot.

Our kiss flashes forward again as if I can feel the heat of his lips right now, his exhale consuming my inhale with suffocating accuracy.

I have no idea what’s happening to my body, but it can’t keep happening. Not in front of him. I swivel around, darting through the doors.

An oof! sounds out beside me, my shoulder smacking against another’s. I lift my head enough to apologize but skip to a stop when I register who it is.

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