Page 189 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

She’s holding a pine needle between her fingers. “While you live under my roof, you will do as I say, young lady.” Her eyes bore into me, merciless.

My stomach twists. “I’m sorry, Gran?—”

“Marigold,” she snaps. “Now get to your room. We’ll talk about your lack of respect in the morning.”

She strides down the hallway, bristling.

Uh, gran, I was assaulted and damn near murdered in the woods? No? Not interested?

I slink into my room and press the door closed behind me. Eyes shut, I lean my forehead against the smooth wood. Hot tears press against my lids, but I will them back as I head for my bed.

All of this shit, I brought it on myself. I deserve nothing less. I should just have let that guy do whatever the fuck he wanted with me out there in the woods.

If I’d been at home last Saturday and not out partying, then Mom would still be alive. Or we’d both be dead. Either way, my life would have been so much better than the pig-shit swamp I’m wading through right now.

My backpack is beside the dresser, my two sets ofjustas ill-fitting clothes as the ones I’m wearing neatly stacked on top.

So I guess I don’t have any privacy anymore, either? I have a feeling tomorrow’s talk is going to involve a set of rules as long as my arm. And a nearly exhaustive list of the penalties I’ll face for breaking any of them.

I head to my backpack, and spend a few seconds rummaging around inside. I’m far from the naive, idealistic innocent I was. My eyes have been opened these past few days. Opening up ahidden pocket inside my backpack for what I consider valuable seemed as good an idea at the time as buying that switchblade.

I’ve lost my knife, but thank God I haven’t lost the flat, velvet-lined box I hid inside my bag.

After a quick glance over my shoulder, I hurry to my door to turn the lock.

Obviously, it doesn’t have one.

So I grab the chair from the dresser and ram it under the handle. Not a sure-fire way to keep someone out if any of the hundred horror movies I’ve watched are anything to go by, but at least I’ll have enough time to stash away my secrets before Marigold can come inside.

I perch on the foot of the bed and rub my thumb over the soft velvet case in my hands. It’s a champagne gold color, and almost too heavy in my palms.

Bringing it up to my nose, I inhale deep.

Before long, it won’t smell like her perfume anymore. But for now it still does, and I can’t get enough of it.

Tears prick my eyes as the comforting smell of vanilla and sandalwood fills my nose. I lever open the lid and stare down at my Mom’s favorite necklace. The heart-shaped sapphire seems to shift and dance as light falls on it. Through it.

I adjust the delicate chain so it hangs just right, a sad smile tugging at my lips. Then I snap the case closed and squeeze shut my eyes, refusing to let a single tear slip out.

It takes a great effort of will to stand and put the case back into my secret hiding place, but I make myself do it.

I was wearing this the night Mom died. I’d stolen it from her cupboard because I wanted to impress my friends.

Now it’s all I have left of her. A constant reminder of her beauty. A never-ending testament to my betrayal.

You know what? Karma’s a fucking bitch.

Briar

I’m driving too fast, but I can’t make myself slow down. Fuck it, I don’twantto slow down. Baker’s house is five minutes from mine. Three if I floor it.

I slam down on my Mustang’s brakes a few yards before I reach Marcus’s gates. The Baker mansion is on a decent spit of land—several acres in each direction, their backyard disappearing into the tangled mess that goes up the side of the mountain. That’s how we met, back in the day. We ran into each other in the woods, and been mates ever since.

Jumping out of my car, I leg it the rest of the way to Marcus’s gates. I don’t bother with the intercom—I assume his dad’s home, and I definitely don’t want to land myself on that guy’s radar.

Instead, I climb the fence, and haul myself over using the thick branch of an oak tree. His dad’s got cameras all over this place. After that stint of violent robberies last year, everyone in Lavish does, even after police charged a suspect. But Marcus knows where they are.

Which meansIknow where they are.

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