Page 300 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

“Sure. Second cupboard on the right.” As if he’s coming out of a trance, my father waves his hand at me and leaves the vault.

As soon as I’m out, he pushes the door closed. “Leave everything as you found it,” he says, heading for the study door. “And make sure to lock up.”

“Dad, wait.”

“What is it?” He turns back, and it’s as if I’m talking to a different person. He looks rushed and almost irritated, as if I’m wasting his time.

But I promised.

“Uh, I’m sure it’s okay, but I just wanted to let you know that Marcus is gonna be staying here for a little while.”

My dad remains motionless.

“You know, so we can study and stuff,” I add lamely.

Still nothing. If anything, it looks like my father’s thinking about his upcoming meeting, not what I’m telling him.

“We’ve got enough room, so?—”

“Marcus?” Dad snaps. “MarcusBaker?”

“Uh…yeah.” I shake my head, and let out a soft laugh. “My friend Marcus.”

“You’re still friends with that delinquent? I told you to stop seeing him years ago.”

My head moves back an inch. “Delinquent?”

“Have you let him into my house?” Father hurries forward, head moving to the side so he can study me from the corner of his eye.

“He’s my fucking friend. Why wouldn’t I?—?”

“No.” Dad shakes his head. “No. That boy willnotset foot in my house. Not now, not ever!”

“What the?—?”

But my father flicks his wrist and grimaces at his watch. “I have to leave.” When he looks up, his blue eyes are ice. “This isn’t up for discussion. That boy doesn’t come anywhere near this house, understand?”

My mouth is still open. I want to yell at him, to demand to know what the fuck he’s on about, but all I do is nod mutely.

He must take it as acceptance, because then he’s gone and I’m left with one of his precious trinkets in hand and a mind whirling like a spinning top.

Chapter Thirty

Indi

I’m late getting to school, and for the first time since arriving at Lavish Prep, it’s because of Marigold.

We had breakfast together. It was weird, and awkward, and I don’t think I’ve ever been that aware of the sound of my own chewing before in my life, but it felt like a step. I’m not saying we’re BFF’s, but something happened in that hallway last night that made us realize that there’s a possibility that maybe—justmaybe—we’re not enemies. I guess that’s what happens when you find something in common with another human being. In this case, it was Marigold Davis.

Denard looks pointedly at his watch as I slip through the main entrance at one-minute to first bell, and then closes the door soon as I’m through. It locks behind me with such finality that I can’t help but glance over my shoulder. Denard follows me, and I decide not to risk stopping at my locker—I can always get my shit out after homeroom.

But as soon as I turn to head up the stairs, Denard’s voice calls after me.

“Where do you think you’re going, Miss Virgo?”

I pause, my hand on the railing, and frown back at him. “Homeroom?”

“It’s Friday.” Denard slows a little, turning his head to the side as if waiting for me to realize what that means.

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