Page 8 of Snake

Nim

Romi is busy cramming for a test, so I’m left to get lunch alone. I decide to skip lunch, but like an idiot, I walk past the cafeteria instead of heading through the courtyard.

The smells draw me in.

Burgers, frying bacon, onions. God, I’m practically drowning in saliva by the time I reach the buffet line. I grab a burger and fries, and go sit at an empty bench like the Queen of Cinderhart motherfucking Academy.

But I’m no queen.

From the looks I receive, I’m not even fit to lick the boots of a passing peasant. But I ignore everyone and choke down some food before I’m interrupted by the Witch of the Wicked West.

Eliza takes a seat at my bench like we’ve been BFFs since kindergarten. I barely stifle my shock, but before I can get my ass up and out of harm’s way, her cronies box me in on either side.

She sets down her tray and calmly opens up a bottle of mineral water...the only thing on there. The crack of its safety seal is like a lynched man’s bones snapping in his neck.

“My...” she drones. “Don’t you look horrid, peasant?”

My stomach coils uneasily. I know she can’t read minds, but how the hell else can I explain it? “You don’t look so hot yourself,” I manage weakly.

There’s the tiniest flash of surprise in her eyes before she flicks her hair over her shoulder as if dismissing my challenge. “I guess you’re all kinds of excited for the dance on Friday, aren’t you, Winters?”

I give her a shrug, trying my best to see where the hell her convoluted mind is heading with this shit.

“As the senior Student Council member involved in the party planning committee, I get to say who can attend the Feast of Ashes dance.”

Ah. There it is.

She points at me. “You are not invited.”

You shouldn’t poke bears—even plank-shaped ones like Eliza Jackson. I’m sure her toned arms can slam my head into the table at break-nose speed. But I’m getting a weird rush out of defying all these fuckers who think they can walk right on over me without so much as a howdy-do. So I stare Jackson straight in her crazy eyes and I say, “That’s strange. Three of the most eligible bachelors in school just invited me. I guess they didn’t get the memo...but imagine what their parents will say if they hear you uninvited me.”

I’m not sure if eligible bachelors is pushing the definition to breaking point or just an outright lie. But I’m definitely sure that I’m notin asane frame of mind right now.

Theonly way to beat crazy is...well, it’s with more crazy.

Eliza scoffs, but there’s the tiniest flinch in her eyes that makes me think that she’s not as sure about all of this shit as she was a second ago when she sat down to harass me.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me. I was just leaving.”

“You were just nothing, Winters,” Eliza snaps, her brown eyes narrowing spitefully. “I haven’t excused you yet.”

Whateverspark of defiance I had fizzles out. Eliza is different. It’s not like it is with the Serpents, where there’s something behind their malice. I almost want to say I understand why Knox, Silas, and Mason treat me the way they do. They have to scare me, because there’s a desperate need for them to keep me under their thumbs.

But Eliza?

She’s hellbent on making my life miserable for her own mysterious reasons.

That finger points right between my eyes. If it had been closer, I might have snatched it, twisted it, tried to break it...but she’s wisely keeping to her side of the table. “I know you’re not the brightest, Winters, but do yourself a fucking favor for once in your life. Friday night you stay here, or you shack up with someone in town, but you stay the fuck away from the dance. If I see your low-born, inbred face anywhere near my dance, you’ll regret it. Do I make myself clear, or do you need me to make a picture book someone can read to you tonight before bedsies?”

She’s fucking bristling. And did I just hear her say “my” dance? Why is she doing this? Is this all because of Mason? She warned me to stay away from him, but for fuck’s sake, back then I didn’t have a choice.

Maybe it’s time to clear the air.

“Look, Eliza.” I put on my most reassuring face, but quickly drop the expression when Eliza recoils with a deep frown of suspicion. “This thing between us, it’s become super petty. I mean...all this hate, this anger...because of Mason? We’re better than this.”

Her lip curls into a sneer. “Mason?” Her dry, brittle laugh reminds me of fall leaves as a gust of wind rattles them over the sidewalk.

She leans in, her thin hands curled into white-knuckled fists on the table. “If you think this is about him, then you’re a bigger dipshit than I thought.” She drags a perfectly manicured fingernail over the tablecloth. “This thing between us is me settling a score. You’re just a pawn, Nim.” Her haughty stare takes in every split end, every too-large pore and stray eyebrow hair.

“A pawn is all you’ll ever be.”

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