Page 279 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

$250,000.

I let out a low laugh, pressing my eyes closed with my fingertips. I didn’t even have to negotiate with her. Maybe if I let her stew longer, she’ll end up settling for a few bucks and a goddamn confession.

Indi

My head feels like the teacup ride at an amusement park.

I don’t fucking know.

Yeah, right, you fucking psychopath.

It’s so easy for them to turn off emotion—because they’re only pretending at it. I got to see the real Briar today. It was a spectacular revelation, and he played his part to perfection.

I don’t fucking know.

I let out a bitter laugh as I push open the school door. First bell must have just rung, because there are only a handful of students hurrying down the hall.

Except one.

He’s not hurrying.

Marcus ambles over to me like he has all the time in the world.

Instead of speeding up, my body slows like I’m trudging through a snowdrift.

He stops walking.

And so do I.

We’re only a few feet away from each other, still his hatred washes over me like an icy wave.

HeknowsI know.

He saw me last night.

He’s going to?—

Marcus stares straight at me until I hear the door whoosh open again behind me, then his eyes dart past me. “There you are,” he says, before his eyes are on me again.

“Here I am,” Briar says. He walks right past me, even knocking my arm with his as if he’s suddenly gone blind in one eye.

Marcus’s gaze dashes back to me, but then Briar has his arm around his shoulder, swiveling him around.

“You’re stoned,” Marcus says, frowning at Briar.

They could have been brothers with their long legs and narrow waists.

Bloodbrothers.

Goosebumps break out on my arms, I turn and hurry the other way. If I’m fast enough, I can make it to homeroom before Briar and avoid seeing Marcus again. Avoid his aura of penetrating evil from touching me.

I’m still reeling when I arrive at Ms. Parson’s class. I slip into my seat by the door and draw out a notebook, flipping it to a random page. I put my head down and start doodling like my life depends on it, desperate to untangle the spaghetti-mess of thoughts clumped in my head.

I don’t get very far.

My phone starts vibrating with an incoming call. When I see the name on the screen, my fingertips start tingling.

Addy.

---