Page 118 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

I need to know that I’ll be safe. Would the academy let just anyone through the door? Because if they don’t have state-of-the-art security and metal detectors and shit like that, then I’m not interested.

But do I really have a choice?Because right now my alternative seems to be dancing—badly—in a sex club every night of my life until my employer thinks I’m toodistractedand tells me to fuck off.

I groan as I throw my arm over my forehead, staring at the featureless ceiling above me. School would be a welcome distraction, that’s for sure. Maybe they even offer a hospitalitycourse. They only listed basic subjects—I’d have to call them to find out more.

Reluctantly, I make a mental note to call Cinderhart Academy in the morning. Just to get more info...and maybe make a few pointed comments about their pathetic attempt at a website.

ThenI’ll decide.

Chapter 9

Nim

Three Weeks Later

“I can’t believe you abandoned me. I miss you already,” Peggy whines through my rental car’s hands-free. I’d have been driving my parents’ beat-up Honda, but Quinton advised me to sell it so I could cover a month’s mortgage. At that stage, I think we were both still pretty sure the insurance payout was imminent.

“It’s been like six hours,” I tell her through a laugh. “And I’msureyou’ll be just fine now that Jackson took over all my shifts.”

“Yeah, that helps alittlebut you’d better video call me like every night.” She sighs. “I wish I was going to college.”

“No you don’t. You hated school.”

“I hatedhighschool. I haven’t had a chance to hate college.”

“I’ll hate it for you,” I tell her, smiling despite myself. “Just promise me you’ll eat at least one proper meal a day.”

“Ugh, yes Mom.”

“I’m heading into the pass,” I tell her. “I’d better concentrate on driving.”

“Oh, yeah.” Peggy sounds apologetic, and I want to be mad at her for that. But she’s my best friend, and it’s not her fault shekeeps freezing up at the slightest mention of my parents. Like whenever I say “car” or “pass” or “accident”… God, the list is endless.

“Love you, Nim! Speak soon.”

“Bye.” I end the call and let out a long breath.

This isn’t Bug Ash Pass, the mountain pass where my parents had their fatal accident. This is the Littlerock Pass, the road leading into the valley-town of Cinderhart.

It’s fucking breathtaking.

Snowy, desolate mountains with dark green birch forests on the less formidable slopes. This pass doesn’t have a river like the one at Bug Ash Pass, and thank God for that, because then there’d be a sheer drop to look at.

Luckily I don’t have to drive through Bug Ash myself. Someone’s coming to pick me up from Cinderhart Square in about two hours. It gives me just enough time to return my rental and grab something to eat.

I follow Google Maps to the rental car drop-off point. Thankfully the Liberation Diner is on Reserve Road, the main street cutting through Cinderhart Square, and less than a ten-minute walk through a very scenic town. The diner is a little too kitsch for my taste with its red vinyl booths and old movie posters on the wall, but they make a damn good cheeseburger, and their milkshake is so thick I have to eat the first bit with a spoon, so I’ll forgive their design faux-pas.

The first twenty minutes or so that I’m inside the place, I’m scanning every face I see, hoping that none of them will resolve into one of the hunters from the woods. But eventually the friendly chatter of the other diners, the old rock ’n roll tunes on the jukebox, and the delicious food lull me into a sense of security.

Probably false, but thankfully I’m not hanging in town for too long. I’m actually kind of glad the academy is so remote. There’sno chance I’ll run into the hunters all the way out there. I mean, I doubt they’d allow hunting in the forests near the Academy.

As I’m waiting for the bill, I check my phone for the time.

“Shit.” I have to meet Juliet in like ten minutes, and I still have to figure out where the bus stop is.

But my panic was unwarranted. I keep forgetting how small Cinderhart is. I’m at the bus stop in under five minutes—and I can still see the roof of the diner through the leaves of an oak tree two streets down.

Juliet pulls up in a Ford truck and stops right beside me, winding down her window to speak to me. “Nim Winters?” she calls out.

---