Page 18 of Brutal Prince

My doctor said I could expect bouts of depression, anger…you know, all seven of those ugly fucking dwarves of mourning? Guess I’m back in the depression phase. Last night? Anger, of course.

Hang on, Indi — there’s a long, bleak stretch coming up.

Marigold left a key fob and a printed map with directions to Lavish Prep on my dresser. The fact that she knows how to use Google Maps and a printer, but doesn’t own a television confounds me. My grandmother is nowhere in sight when I thump downstairs, and I don’t bother going into the kitchen to find food to take with to school. I’ve still got a little cash on me. It’s all I’ve got until Mom’s life insurance policy pays out. On Friday, when I’d phoned the insurance company to find out how far the process was, they told me the claim was with their investigation department. Because, apparently, being brutally murdered and raped gives them a reason to delay the payout to make sure there’s no foul play.

I reverse out of the garage and start down the road. The key fob opens the old, creaking gates leading out of the property. Lavish is as pretty as it was last night. The sun’s barely out, but everything gleams.

In fact, it’s almost a little too shiny. Like how fake gold has to shine that much brighter to make up for the fact that it’s as real as unicorn poop.

Yeah, I’m in a screwed up headspace this morning. I blame Marigold, of course. And then I spend a few minutes blaming Mom. Then I pull over and thump my hands against the steering wheel until the urge to burst into tears subsides.

I have no one to blame but myself.

I reach Lavish Prep a few minutes later and park as far away from the front of the school as I can without looking like a weirdo. I check to see if anyone’s in sight before I slip out of the car. A breeze slides over my bare legs, and I shiver a little. In my old school, we could wear whatever we wanted. I would sometimes wear a dress or a skirt, but nothing this revealing. Mom made sure I never looked like a whore when I left the house.

Her words, not mine.

I always wondered why she was so conservative, but after meeting Marigold, it all makes sense.

Right, now to get in without attracting attention. I guess, in that respect, the uniform helps a fuck load. I can just blend in with all the other kids.

I’m a ghost.

Just another shadow on the—

“You new here?”

I close my eyes, take a breath, and turn.

A girl with sleek blond hair fanning down her chest stands a yard or so away from me. Her backpack matches her neon-pink acrylic nails, and the tiny diamonds in her ears seem to have been chosen to accentuate the rhinestones glittering on her nail tips.

She sashays over and sticks out said glittering hand, jaw bunching as she chews on a piece of gum. “Addy.”

I stare at her hand, and then back up at her. “Indi.”

She turns with me and together we head for the school. It’s all one big building with multiple floors. Despite the fluted pillars out front and the rigorously trimmed hedges, it looks more like a white-collar prison than a school.

I guess that’s exactly what it is, and I’m just as guilty of being young and stupid as everyone else in this place.

“Where you from, Indi?”

“Not here,” I mutter. Gees, what the hell do I have to do to get this girl to leave me alone? No way I’m walking into school unnoticed with her next to me. I bet the International Space Station can see her glittery nails from up there.

“Well, duh,” she says through a laugh. “So where?”

“Look, Annie,” I say, turning on my heel to face her.

She stops abruptly, her hair shifting like silk. “Addy.” She shows me her teeth, and I feel like punching her because they’re so damn perfect.

“Addy,” I amend, starting to talk through my teeth in an attempt to remain civil. “I’m more of a loner kind of person, so if you could just—”

“Don’t be such a fucking grouch,” Addy says, rolling her eyes. She rummages in the pocket of her gold-trimmed blazer and pulls out a joint. “Not a lot of people around here smoke, and you kinda look like you might, so—”

I lift my hand, and she stops talking. “Addy? I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

* * *

“You’re obviously nota morning person, are ya?” Addy says, her words punctuated with puffs of smoke.

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