Page 19 of Tricky Girls

A want for a better life, that’s how.

But instead the old one’s returned.

I scrub a hand over my face, a harsh sigh going unheard under the bassy music.

They’re all smiling down there. Alcohol makes a caricature of everyone. It’s not true happiness. Wouldn’t have to drink if it was.

Giving into the thing I’ve been resisting all night, I let my eyes bounce from face to face.

Don’t even know which one I’m searching for. There’re snakes everywhere. Slithering in the undergrowth. Ready to strike. I’m hardly safe hiding up here.

A whole year and I never saw her at Vipers. Now I’m seeing her in the face of every brunette I see.

Tilda, then.

She’s the snake I seek tonight.

The lesser of two evils, or the greater?

It all started with her, after all.

If not for her childish lies, none of the rest would’ve come to fruition.

I’d still be happy. Safe. Unsullied.

I shift against the railing, another breath escaping me.

A heavy restlessness infuses my body along with the alcohol. After a half-hearted scan for Haz and Elly, I make my way back downstairs.

A hand grabs my wrist as I weave through the throng, and I vaguely recognise the eyes that meet mine.

But I’m not here anymore, my mind fixed on one thing only.

I pull on the black hoodie I’ve wrapped around my waist, flipping the hood against the rain.

That, and so no one can see me wind my way towards the halls of residences.

I slow as I come up to the first building. They all look the bloody same, all red-bricked with white trim. Far newer than the castle, but older than the lodges. Built in the 1700s, I think. No wonder they’re falling apart. And considering who they house, no wonder there’s not much upkeep.

I’m as ignorant as the rest of them, but even I see the discrepancies between those who bought their way in and the scholarship lot.

I suppose after everything, Tilda’s mum couldn’t scrape her way to the top again.

These paved roads are as busy as the forest, students walking along them in packs. Headed to Vipers no doubt, or maybe a shindig in the woods. Little rain wouldn’t stop that.

In the courtyards of each house are large signs denoting their names. I pass Ludwig, Saxilby, Archer, until I come up to Portia House.

Half the lampposts are out, empty pasta pots from the campus shop collecting rain on the grass, cider bottles lined up on one of the benches.

Haz and Elly and their big mouths. Because of them, I know more than I ever care to about that traitor, including where she lives.

The lack of light goes in my favour. With that and my hood up, I’m able to scour the edges of the courtyard in complete anonymity. Even the people passing don’t glance my way. Just a spectre on the way to its haunt.

I steer clear of the front doors. Someone would let me in, but I don’t want to be that close. I prefer the rain and the cold. Clutched around the bottle in my pocket, my hand turns numb. I pay it no mind, gaze high on the windows of Portia House. Something tells me Tilda will be on the top floor, a choice I’d make too.

I take another turn around the courtyard, watching shadows move in the windows. There’s a flat party on the second floor; a girl hugs a man on the third—a doting parent visiting.

I take a break in the shadows of an evergreen, leaning against its trunk. Rain pelts down harder. I remove the bottle and take a swig. Half down already. Another half and I’ll be making decisions I don’t want to. I flick my eyes around as fast as those red LED lasers until—

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