Page 135 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

“Wait, I thought there was an explosion?”

She glances at me, her face unreadable. “Let’s leave conspiracy theories for the next lesson.”

Conspiracy theories? The woman who drove me here from Cinderhart made it sound like fact. Maybe I’d misheard.

“Anyway, they voted on that, and they voted to have Cinderhart Academy built so their kids didn’t have to go out of town for college. Other stuff too, but those were the biggies.”

“Do you like living in Cinderhart?”

“Yeah, it’s cool,” Romi goes to her closet, her door squeaking as she opens it. “I mean, it’s not Europe, but at least everyone knows their place.”

Even the Serpents, as much as she despises it. I want to ask her how long her family has been in Cinderhart, but I have a feeling that’s a very rude question around here. I’ll definitely have to go to the library tomorrow and see if they have any local history books. Maybe I can even dig up newspapers from around the time I was here last, see if there’s any mention of a dead body turning up in the woods.

“Is it safe here? I mean, don’t serial killers love small towns like this?”

“Serial killers?” Romi snorts. “Nope. Not anymore.”

“Notanymore? As in, you had one in the past?” I watch as she hangs up her blazer and takes off her bow and folds it up. Apussycatbow, is that what Knox called it? Usually if a guy started spouting shit like that I’d automatically assume he was gay. But Knox is…well…he’s too masculine to be gay. Maybe bi if there were drugs involved or something. Then again…he does seem pretty close with his posse.

She yawns, waves away my question. “Enough, Nim. Aren’t you tired?”

“My food hasn’t even digested,” I grumble.

I’m too fucking curious to go to sleep. I know I’m just going to lie awake thinking all night. “Then go for a walk.”

“Won’t I get expelled?” I pluck at my faded white and red polka dot sleeping shirt. “I’m not in uniform.”

She snort-laughs at that and heads into the bathroom, popping her head out a second later as she puts toothpaste on her electric toothbrush. “If you stay inside the dorm, you’ll be fine. Just be back before curfew.”

“Which is?”

“Ten.”

I glance over at the clock on our wall. Forty minutes or so. “Okay, see you later.” I grab my silk robe and tie it around my waist before slipping barefoot out of the room.

One or two of the other rooms are open, and I walk past a few girls in various stages of transition between uniforms and pajamas. Suddenly, the dark decor and gothic architecture don’t feel as menacing as the first time I walked this hallway. Girls in pink bunny slippers and green peel-off face masks tend to tone down the drama a bit.

I saunter through the girls’ dorm, soaking up the surreal atmosphere. Stiff, formal portraits of former students or professors take up a lot of wall space. I glance at the plaques under the frames, but I don’t recognize any of the names on this level. The tapestries give me the creeps, so I avoid looking at them. The top three floors of this building are all apartments, but the first floor is a common room with a big lounge, a few reading nooks, and a coffee station.

I’m surprised at how many students are down here this time of night. As soon as I clear the stairs, most of the girls who aren’t glued to whatever reality show is playing on the large flat-screen television on the other side of the room turn to look at me.

I freeze, and my cheeks immediately start heating up. I have no idea how many of them were in the cafeteria and of those, who were close enough that they would recognize me. But judging from the lack of sympathy on their faces and the few instances of outright curiosity, I’d guess more than half.

One of them—a slim, blond with brown eyes—seems particularly interested in me. My first instinct is to leave in a hurry, butI muster up every shred of confidence I have and force myself to go to the coffee station on the other side of the room. There’s one open seat by the television. Maybe I can have a hot chocolate or something with the other girls before going back to my room. Or I’ll probably wuss out and head straight upstairs with my tail between my legs.

I’m busy stirring my hot chocolate when floral-scented lotion hits my nose.

“That was you in the cafeteria.”

When I turn, I see it’s the blond. I give her a wary look. “Better watch out. I might just have rabies,” I tell her in a stiff voice.

She looks at me for a second and then cracks a small smile. “I’m Eliza Jackson,” she says, sticking out her hand.

“Nim.” When she keeps holding my hand, an expectant gleam in her eyes, I add, “Winters.” Guess that’s what you do around here—you don’t give your name, you hand over credentials.

Wait...Jackson? Wasn’t that...?

“You’re one of the First Five,” I say.

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