Page 4 of Wicked Dreams

I stand and crack my back, moving around the room. My clothes are still in bags by the door, the backpack containing my phone charger and toiletries right beside it. Ignoring it for now, I shove aside the curtains and open the window.

A cool breeze drifts in, but it’s not enough. I slide the screen up, leaning halfway out. The house is brick, but there’s nothing to grab on to.

My gaze moves up to the sky, at the smattering of visible stars.

After a long moment, I retreat and close the window, lowering myself to the floor. My phone’s glow illuminates the room, the buzz of a text harsh in the silence. The need to check it—for some sort of connection toanyone—surges up inside me.

I crawl to the bed and grab my cell, scanning the text.

Unknown

Rumors say you’re back in town.

Who is it? The number is entirely blocked—I can’t even see it.

Me

Who is this?

We’ll be watching you, Margo… Rose Hill isn’t how you left it.

I shiver.

What kind of message is that?

They’ll bewatchingme?

I slam my phone back on the nightstand facedown. It buzzes again, but I ignore it and crawl into bed. I block out the eerie message and the hunger gnawing at my stomach.

In the morning, things will be different.

But sleep takes a while to come back, and I don’t think I’ve slept two minutes before my alarm goes off.

The sun has risen, although only pale-gray light comes in through the open window. I sit up and fight my immediate yawn. My eyes burn, and I look around the room in a new light.

I need to make this my home, however temporary.

Quickly, I dump the bags of clothes out on the bed and fold them into piles. What needs to be hung—not much, since I only own a few graphic tees and pullovers—are shoved into drawers. In the closet hangs my school uniform.

I pause and reach for the black fabric. The shirts are white button-downs, the collars stiff, but the black skirts are made of a thick, soft material. Gold stitching in both the shirts and the skirts tie everything back to the school.

Robert intercepts me on my way to the bathroom. He’s already dressed, slacks and a blue dress shirt. A tie, even, although it’s not knotted yet.

“Good morning, Margo! Did you sleep okay?”

I nod, my cheeks heating.

He doesn’t bring up that I didn’t come down for dinner.

“We’ve got breakfast downstairs. Lenora put some shoes options by the door downstairs.” He smiles encouragingly.

“Thanks.” I hurry into the bathroom and lock the door, leaning against it for a single moment.

I’m going to school.

I’ve been in Rose Hill for less than twenty-four hours and I am now about to start… er, restart… my senior year of high school.

With easy, nimble movements, I brush and braid my dark-brown hair. It’s long and thick, and a lot of times a pain in the ass. Once that’s done, I turn my attention to my face.

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