Page 48 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

This is such bullshit.

I go back to my room and flop down on my bed. When the bell rings for breakfast, I lay there for a few seconds before my brain wills my body into action.

Self-preservation in action.

I drag off my old dress and slip into the new one. Ireallyneed a shower, but I’ll wait until tonight. In the meantime, the smell of washing powder on this dress will have to do.

The fabric is baggy around my boobs and too tight around my hips. It’s so uncomfortable that I stand for a good minute seriously considering wearing the old, scratchy dress. At least it was baggy all over.

When I get down to the dining hall, everyone’s already seated. Sister Miriam is stalking down the aisles, head poking forward like she’s making sure no one’s thinking dirty thoughts.

Or is she looking for me?

I hurry over to the tray table and grab the lone tray sitting there. As soon as I turn around, I spot Jasper.

Because he was watching me with a concerned look on his face.

Holy crap, was Ithatrude to him? Or does he know I got into a heap of trouble with Miriam? That latter seems more likely, especially since he moves aside and beckons me over with a flick of his wrist.

“Thanks,” I mumble as I slide onto the bench beside him.

He studies me for a moment and then shrugs. “Nice dress.”

“Fuck off.”

His eyebrows go to his hairline, but he doesn’t reply. Perry’s sitting opposite us on the bench, but he doesn’t even look up from his tray.

I hear Sister Miriam approach from the other side of the room.

Clomp, clomp.

Grimacing faintly, I peel the plastic wrap off the tray. “Ew,” I murmur, using my spoon to poke at the beige gruel slopped in my tray.

Normally, there’s something different in each of the little hollows—a piece of toast, scrambled eggs, oatmeal.

Not today.

Today it’s all oatmeal. And it looks gross enough to be from last week’s batch.

“Running low on donations or something?” I mutter, glancing over at Jasper’s plate.

My spoon sags.

Jasper’s tray is full of the usual—in fact, it looks like he even got a fucking breakfast sausage.

What the hell?

“Maybe they ran out?” Jasper whispers.

Clomp, clomp.

I heap some of the disgusting oatmeal onto my spoon and toy with it for effect as Miriam comes up behind me. There’s a tug on the back of my dress, and suddenly my boobs fill the bodice.

“We’ll need to take more measurements,” Miriam says, as if I’m not surrounded by a table full of boys. “Come see me this afternoon.”

I’m blushing so hard I don’t even hear her walking away.

“Here,” Jasper says.

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