Page 46 of Wicked Little Secret

“You’re one to talk, Miss Supermodel.”

She laughs, her string of licorice dangling from betweenher teeth. “Really? Because supermodels are known to be classy.”

“Are you saying I’m classy?” I smirk at her from over the tip of my shoulder.

“I’m saying…” she pauses to choose her words carefully. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Nyssie. But I’m saying you’ve got a stick up your ass sometimes. Even by Heather’s standards. And she’s Queen Stick Up The Ass. Maybe that’s why you’re best friends.”

Are we?

“Heather’s best friend is Katelyn. Haven’t they known each other the longest?”

Macey snorts again as if I’ve told a joke, then lays back on my bed to busy herself with her phone.

“What’s up between them anyway?” I ask. “Heather’s been icing out Katie.”

“Damned if I know. I’ve got my own shit going on. You know my pill-popping mother’s threatening to divorce my father? Like she’s going anywhere. He’ll just cut off the credit cards.”

As is so often the case in this world, around these people, I pretend I’m listening. Really, I’m studying my outfit and making sure my hair and makeup are on point.

I’m thinking about what’s to come tonight at this party.

It’s the annual Halloween party the fraternity throws at their house. Every year they do, some kind of scandal emerges. An almost fatal case of alcohol poisoning or a drug overdose. Some poor girl making date rape allegations. Some younger fraternity brother coming forward about extreme hazing and violence.

This is my third year at Castlebury, yet it’s the first year I’ll be attending. I wouldn’t if I didn’t think I could work the situation to my advantage.

Make my next strategic move.

I screw back on the cap to my lip gloss and take one last look at myself.

Macey’s right—I’ve gone the thotty route. My legs look long and shapely, my plaid mini skirt several inches shorter than I like. The same can be said for the tight button-up shirt I’m wearing that emphasizes my bust and the suspenders that only draw attention to the area. I’ve got a pair of what the costume store called ‘nerdy’ glasses on and platform Maryjane heels that give me five extra inches.

I make for a convincing naughty schoolgirl.

There’s a honk outside my apartment’s bedroom window. Macey scrambles over first.

“It’s Claude! Ready?”

“Ready,” I answer, nodding. Though my insides churn like I’m onboard a ship at sea.

I follow Macey downstairs. Along the way, she turns back toward me to check if I’m really okay.

“You know Claude’s cool with Lucas, right?”

“Why would I care?”

“Lucas and Samson are practically brothers.”

I shrug, pretending I’m distracted by my reflection in the elevator’s chrome finish. Macey gets the hint and drops the subject altogether.

Claude greets both of us with a mellow, raspy toned, “What’s up?”

Mom messages me as I’m buckling my seatbelt in the back row of his Jeep Wrangler. She means well, but sometimes I have to remind her I’m fine on my own. I don’t need her worryingabout me.

I’ll call you tomorrow.

For a second I even consider turning off my phone, or at least my geotag location, then I decide against it.

I’ve thought about tonight from every possible angle. Now’s not the time to start throwing myself off.

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