Page 30 of The Vipers and Their Vendetta

“Shit, I’m so sorry. No wonder you were so upset. And it being the Vipers who caused her death, too.”

My cheeks warm. “Well, no one actually knows the truth, do they?”

Angelica shrugs. “I guess not, but there’s a phrase that goes ‘where there’s smoke, there’s fire.’”

I nod and glance down, twisting my fingers in my lap. There’s still a knot in my chest at the thought of her being dead. Will I ever know the truth about what happened to my sister? If the Vipers weren’t behind what happened to her, then who or what was? Maybe she was just depressed. Did she even leave a note?

“I just wish I’d had the chance to see her again. We hadn’t seen each other in years. I didn’t even know what she looked like as an adult.”

The girls share another glance, and, for a second, I think I’ve made a mistake, and they’ll question why I wouldn’t have seen any recent photographs.

“We have photos,” Angelica says.

I blink at her. “You do?”

“Sure. We knew her.”

This is news to me. “You did? How well?”

“We weren’t like B-F-Fs or anything, but we hung out every now and then.” She takes out her phone. “Oh, can I get my charger? I left it here last night.”

I remember that had been the reason for me finding her waiting outside of my room. “Yeah, of course. Sorry I ran off before giving it to you yesterday.”

“Hey, no worries. You obviously had far more important things going on. I could see you were really upset.”

I give her the charger, and she plugs in her phone, and then scrolls through her pictures until she gets to what she’s looking for.

“Here you go.”

They look pretty cozy in the photo, the three of them, and a frail-looking, pale, blonde girl in the middle, their arms slung around each other’s shoulders.

I experience a strange wave of dizziness, like something has shifted. It’s as though I’ve removed Reagan from the picture and inserted myself instead.

I stare at the girl, my breath trapped in my lungs, and use two fingers on the screen to zoom in on her face. With a sinking feeling, I realize Reagan was nothing like me, looks-wise. Where I’m dark and curvy, she’s skinny and pale. I search her features for any familiarities. Do I see my mother in the plumpness of her lower lip, and the slight upturn of her nose? Maybe. But I’m guessing Jarl Olsen’s genetics were stronger than my mother’s.

My mental version of her was completely wrong, and I wonder what else I’m wrong about.

I’m disappointed, but I guess this is also the reason no one has linked me to her. If she’d been the spitting image of me, perhaps people would have guessed what my connection to her was.

“Can you send me that?” I ask Angelica, handing her back her phone. “I’d love a copy.”

“Yes, of course.”

Her thumbs fly across the screen, and a moment later, my phone buzzes. I check it to see that I have the photo now. I planto crop out the other girls, and just have a picture of Reagan, but I won’t tell them that.

Angelica checks the time. “Shit, we’re going to be late for class. Are you going to go? Or are you giving yourself a day off?”

“I’d better go. I don’t want to give Dean Rossi any more reasons to be pissed at me.” She frowns in confusion, and I realize she doesn’t know about me stealing the folder. I clear my throat. “For causing a scene with the crash, I mean. The last thing he needs is his students riding out in the middle of the night.”

“Yeah, I get you. He can be a real ball breaker, too.

“His son is hot, though.” Jarena gives me a wink.

“But taken,” Faith points out. “Very, very taken.”

Jarena sighs. “Shame.”

“You’re taken too,” Angelica points out.

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