Page 27 of Cruel Riches

“Yeah. It’s just a bit stuffy in here,” I said, wishing my body would stop trembling.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s because of all those assholes over there,” she whispered, pointing to the table Nate had just come from. “Half of them think it’s a good idea to marinate in cologne before they arrive for the day. Makes my eyes water.”

I smiled. Laurel was a little abrasive, but I liked her bluntness. “Yeah, that must be it.”

“Don’t worry. We aren’t sitting near them,” she said, ushering me all the way past the tables and into another area.

The new spot was small and quiet—a wood-trimmed octagonal space with a big wooden desk and four chairs.

“We’re in one of the turrets,” Laurel said, gesturing to the odd shape of the room. “For some reason, hardly anyone comes over here. It’s the perfect place for us to study without being bothered by anyone else.”

I smiled. “Thanks for showing it to me.”

She started pulling books and notepads out of her black bag. “Let’s get started.”

After half an hour of quiet study, with the two of us poring over the same pages of her textbook, Laurel yawned, put her pen down, and looked over at me. “Where are you from?” she asked, stretching her arms above her head.

“I moved to the island eight months ago, but I grew up in California,” I replied.

“Me too. I lived there until I was fourteen. Then my family moved to Connecticut,” she said. “Whereabouts in California did you live?”

I twisted my lips. I hated telling people specifics about my life. Even my new life with my new name. It was because I was so used to hiding everything about myself that I couldn’t stop, even when I didn’t need to.

“San Diego,” I ended up saying, even though I’d lived much farther north.

Laurel raised her brows. “Me too. Where exactly?”

Shit. I hadn’t expected her to probe any deeper than her first question.

I racked my brain for what I knew of the San Diego neighborhoods. “Mira Mesa,” I said, hoping I was pronouncing it right. I’d never even been there.

“Wow, that’s exactly where I lived before we moved!” Laurel said. “Which street?”

I didn’t know a single street in that area. I would just have to make one up. “Kingsway Place,” I said, wishing I’d said LA instead of San Diego.

Laurel’s forehead creased. “Never heard of it. But it’s a huge area, I guess,” she said. “I lived over on Westmore, near the mall.”

I nodded. “Oh, yeah, I know the place.”

She looked at me with a curious expression, and for a moment I worried that she knew I was lying about where I was from. Maybe she somehow knew everything about me—the real me—and that was the reason she’d taken me under her wing today; so she could probe me for every bit of information I had about my so-called killer father.

I tugged at my coat collar, suddenly feeling like I couldn’t breathe.

I hated feeling like this—like everything my father had been accused of had settled over me like a permanent fog, lingering over my shoulders and weighing me down. I was so young when it all happened that I became the Blackthorne Butcher’s daughter before I got to be anything else, and sometimes, even with my new identity, it felt like that was all I’d ever be.

“You said you moved here a while ago,” Laurel finally said. “Does that mean you took a gap year after school? Or did you transfer to a school here halfway through senior year?”

“I took a gap year,” I said, grateful for the change in subject. “It feels a bit weird being nineteen—almost twenty, actually—in all these classes packed with people straight out of high school. I know they’re only a year younger, but some of them look like kids to me.”

Laurel nodded. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. I’m the same age as you,”

“You took a gap year too?”

She paused for a beat. “No. This is my second year here.”

“Oh. No wonder you know all the best spots in the library,” I replied. I tilted my head slightly to one side. “How come you’re doing freshman classes if this is your second year?”

Laurel’s gaze dropped to the table, and I realized I’d struck a nerve. She lifted her eyes to me again a moment later, brows drawn together. “Promise you won’t tell anyone about this?” she said in a hushed tone.

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