Page 157 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

No. No more tears. I’mdonewith that shit.

I threw a pity party and no one even bothered attending. So now, now it’s time for action.

Weirdly, I don’t get the sense I’m being followed as I get on with my day. I have one more class—English lit, thank God—but that’s later this afternoon.

I check my room, but Romi isn’t there. Making a mental note to grab her phone number the next time I see her, I go and draw myself a bath. I’m just about to doze off in the tub when I hear the bedroom door open.

“Romi? Can I speak to you?” I stand, water rushing down my body like a waterfall, and then pause. Why isn’t she answering me? “Romi?”

Oh my God...what if it isn’t her? I snatch a towel from the handrail and quickly wrap it around my body, staring at the door like a snake could slither under it at any second.

“Romi?”

My heart starts pounding even harder. Shit, I have nothing to defend myself with in here unless I can wedge the cover off the toilet’s water tank. I’ve seen bad guys being taken down like that in more than one movie. There’s gotta be at least a sprinkle of truth to that, right?

I never realized before, but there’s no lock on the bathroom door. This seems to be a massive oversight, but I guess it’s too late to complain. So what do I do? Wait for them to come inside, or open the door and end this now?

The longer I stand and try to figure out what to do, the harder my heart pounds. I’m pretty sure I’m seconds away from a heart attack.

Fuck this.

Action, not reaction.

I rush over to the door, grab the handle, and pull it open. I fully expect to see the Serpents outside—Knox on my bed, casual with one leg up as he flips through the notebook where I wrote down all the things I could remember about the murder. Silas leaning against the wall, looking pissed off that I made them wait. And Mason in the middle of the floor, tossing a football up and down because that’s what footballers do when they’re bored, right?

Instead, I see Romi lying on her bed, a romance book in one hand and a popsicle in the other.

She’s wearing her earbuds, which explains everything. And she’s so into her book that I walk right up to her and tug an earbud from her ear before she looks at me.

“What?” she asks, brown eyes wide.

“What are you thinking, skulking around like that? You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry for living,” she mutters, and then gives me a double take as she’s about to go back to her reading. “Have you been crying?”

I turn my back on her, going back into the bathroom to fetch my things. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I didn’t mean anything?—”

“Forget about it.” I dress in my school uniform again and perch at the foot of my bed as I start brushing my hair. Now that I have to do this every day, it’s actually become easier. Not that I’ll ever admit that out loud, especially to Romi. I’ll never forget her expression when she tried to brush my hair for the first time: part horror, part amazement.

“So...I have to tell you something,” I say.

Romi frowns, marking her place in the book with a finger. “Sounds serious.”

“It is. And...you’re probably not going to believe me.” I wince as my brush snags on a tangle. How did it even get there?

“So why tell me?”

“Because I have to tell someone before I lose my fucking mind. And...I need your help.”

“I’m not a psychology major,” she says, her uneasy smile a testament to how uncomfortable this conversation is making her.

Wait for it, Romi. It’s only getting worse.

“So…my parents aren’t alive anymore.”

Romi’s eyes go wide, but I hold up a hand before she can say anything.

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