Page 12 of Wicked Dreams

I blow my nose in tissue and drop it in the toilet. “In here. Hang on.”

After a long moment, I straighten and unlock the door.

Riley stands in the middle of the bathroom, her back to the mirrors. Her expression is sympathetic. “Are you okay? That was…”

“A lot?”

“Well…” She sighs. “Maybe he just wanted to send a message. He could leave you alone after this.”

I wince. Somehow, I don’t think that’s possible.

“The golden boys of Emery-Rose are nothing but nasty to their enemies.” She leans against the wall. “Sorry to break it to you. I’ve been the target of Eli’s fury for years.”

“They can’t just get away with it.”

“They can and they will.” Riley makes a face. “Their families are the richest of the rich. My parents are well-off, and I’m…” She shakes her head. “I’m the lowlife around here.”

“You’re not.” I brush off invisible dust from my skirt. “I’ll take that honor, thank you very much.”

It gets a laugh from her. Enough that I’m able to mirror it with a small smile.

She hands me a wad of toilet paper, and I take a second to clean up my face. My eyes are bloodshot, eyelids a little puffy, but otherwise, I look normal.

I don’tfeelnormal, though.

The bell rings, echoing in the bathroom.

I meet her gaze in the mirror. “Maybe we should skip.”

“The rest of the day?” Riley glances around. “On your first day?—?”

Ugh.

“Okay, fine. Guess I’ll just take the detention for being late.”

We exit the bathroom, and she guides me toward my next class. I can’t get a grasp on the layout of the school, and after everything, it seems like that’s the least of my worries and also one of the biggest.

“If you want, we can meet tomorrow before school,” she offers. “Everyone hangs out in the side courtyard since they don’t let us in until the first bell.”

Gratitude that she didn’t cut and run floods through me. “Safety in numbers?”

“Something like that.” She double-checks my schedule, then points to one of the open doorways. “There’s your room.”

For a split second, I envy the way she can shake off everything. It sticks to my skin like glue: the negativity, Caleb’s fury. In the class, I hand the teacher my schedule. I don’t bother with an excuse about being late.

She clears her throat, motioning for me to take my seat without a word. I’m grateful that no one I know is in this class… until one of Caleb’s friends walks in.

The teacher doesn’t even stop talking or spare him a glance.

He stops right next to me, staring down, and says, “Nice show, little lamb.”

I keep my gaze on the desk and spend the lesson counting down time. I have four months until I turn eighteen, and eight to graduate.

If I can make it that long.

Chapter 3

Margo

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