Page 8 of Violet

With her on her Iris version of good behavior, which will have to do, I search the crowd. Jade’s in green, her rich auburn hair dotted with sparkling green gems, her dress flowing and beautiful. We used to be friends in school. Same with Samantha Li, the pretty girl with the shining black hair shimmering with pearls. But they both look at me, lean in and cover their mouths, and giggle.

Heat shoots through every pore.

Dahlia’s standing off to one side, making sure Rue’s reined in. Which is an impossible task. As I get closer to them, ignoring the boys who catcall any girl passing, boys who aren’t yet ready for their Season, I make my way to the big, welcoming oak. And I take a moment to bask in the shade.

“Look.” Rue’s suddenly beside me, thrusting her phone at me.

The animated, sexy bee—if anthropomorphized animals can be sexy—slinks across her screen, pulling a banner behind her.

On it is a picture of a monarch butterfly with a board behind it, a board with girls pinned like insects to it.

“Oh, good god,” I say. “Anyone know if the Monarch’s seen this?”

“We’re trying to catch a glimpse of her, but she’s supposedly over there, in that cabana.” Rue points at the fanciest looking tent that’s set up. “All the QB says is?—”

“QB?”

“Queen Bee.” Dahlia rushes overs, out of breath. “It’s Rue’s new nickname for her, one she hasn’t shut up about since we got here.”

“Notmynickname,” Rue says. “I didn’t come up with it. But everyone’s using it on Stitch.”

I look at her. “What does the QB herself say?”

Rue holds the phone closer to her face to read. “‘Bee-siness not as usual. The Monarch herself is cocooned at the picnic. Is she going to emerge as something even better after her Season’s trip to her dermatologist? Or just pick her chosen girls? Honey pots in a row. Staytuned.’”

“So nothing,” I say.

“Everything,” Rue squeals. “Do you think the Queen Bee is the Monarch in disguise?”

Both Dahlia and I turn to her. “No.”

“Fine.” Rue turns and races off, hair flying, toward a friend in a matching pair of flowery jeans and summer tank.

I sigh and lean against the tree, gazing out. There’s Heath in the distance. He’s munching on a finger sandwich among a copse of trees and rose bushes that lead down a path to one of the mazes. I can’t see who he’s talking to. A guy, one who’s at least as tall as Heath.

But though I’m drawn to find out, I make myself look away and try to center myself before having to make polite conversation with any potential mates.

“I wish Rue had put on a dress,” I say.

Dahlia, who’s wearing a long flowing dress with line-drawn flowers, shrugs. “She’s fourteen. Jeans for fifteen and under is allowed.”

I bite my lip, hating myself for being the watchdog, when all I want is for everyone to be happy, our family shining the way Mom wants it to.

“You don’t look like you want to mingle, Violet. You could sneak home.”

“I can’t do that to Mom. Besides, it’s my Season. I’m supposed to be getting a look at the eligible Alphas.”

“And the competition,” she says, as more Omegas pass with their families, all dressed up in their pastel colors and matching hair accessories.

“Mom—”

“Had hers.”

I turn to her and shake my head. “Mom wants what’sbest for us, and so do I. And this is making her more like herself. After Dad’s death, I want that, don’t you?”

She nods.

“Besides…” I put on my brightest smile. “It’d be nice to finally have a mate who cares for me. Maybe make a pack of my own with lots of children.” It’s the perfect thing to say, something I’ve rehearsed in my head since it was decided this summer would be my Season.

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