Page 25 of The Pawn

I could return it to her, but that would do me little good. In fact, she'd probably just accuse me of stealing it.

Alternatively, I could give it to Holly and have her pass it on to Georgia. I guess that would make me look good to her—and she is the leader of the Rosalinds, after all. But somehow I doubt she'd take my side against Georgia if she found out what happened here today. Those rich girls were telling the truth when they said that a girl like Holly will pick them over me; that's just the way the world works.

There's something else I could do with it, something that makes my heart beat faster, fills me with adrenaline.

Tucking the card between my palm and my phone, I sneak out into the hallway and rush down to the room, slipping my ID out and barely managing to unlock the door before a crowd of girls comes around the corner, all of them most decidedly wearing clothes.

Holly is in the bathroom when I get in, her hair dryer turned on high, so I have the chance to get my clothes on. Staring at the card, I debate my options.

The doorknob to the bathroom turns.

And in a split second, I make a choice.

I slide Georgia Johnson's dropped credit card into my back pocket. What Holly Schneider doesn't know can't hurt her—or get me expelled.

There's only one thing I want to do with that card: buy my way into looking as good as Georgia so that I can compete with her.

Not just her, but the other girls here. Even Chrissy, who doesn't seem to be popular with the upper echelon, has nice hair, nails, and skin.

Those things cost money.

Money Georgia Johnson's family won't even notice missing when they cancel her stolen card.

While I'll finally get what I've wanted for months: to infiltrate the rich kids at this school, find out the truth about what happened to my brother, and have the opportunity to expose whoeverreallyraped that anonymous girl.

No one will tell Brenna Cooke, trailer trash, anything important.

But horny boys will spill their secrets to a made-over Brenna Cooke, with a matte black card to help her.

* * *

By the time I fall asleep I have plans of revenge dancing in my head, brutal and quick, clever and untraceable.

In my dream I see Silas's face. I see him smile, whole and healthy. He reaches out to take my hand—then takes a step back, suddenly frightened, his eyes staring at my feet.

I look down, wondering what made my brother, my twin, look at me so.

Almost a thousand snakes twine around my ankles, pressing their cold-blooded bodies against my warm one, their gleaming scales flashing.

Looking back up, I stare into Silas’s face, like staring into a mirror of my soul. He shakes his head slowly, deliberately, twice. Clouds gather overhead, heavy with rain, and the wind lashes his dark hair, but his eyes never leave mine. The disapproving expression on his face never clears.

Rain pours down until the air is full of nothing but the storm and the darkness. I reach out towards Silas, but he steps back again, and I feel the snakes slither up my body. There are more and more of them, tightening around my knees and my ankles, stretching up to sink their fangs into my hands.

Still, I reach for Silas.

Still, he refuses me.

Back and back he moves, further and further from me until he disappears in the darkness, swallowed whole by it.

Leaving me with nothing but the thousands of cold, darkly gleaming snakes wrapping around my very heart and soul, their smooth scales like storm water on my skin.

Chapter 13

In the morning at breakfast, which is held at Rosalind Hall, Chrissy waves me down. "Brenna! There you are." She practically skips over to me, holding an apple in one hand. "I was looking for you. I saved you a seat."

She pulls me behind her enthusiastically, apparently not noticing that I'm not exactly a morning person. I feel like I've been yanked along in the wake of a particularly strong storm.

Chrissy shows me where the food is lined out. Other than a waffle station, which the carb-allergic girls of Rosalind have mostly ignored, there's fruit, pastries, oatmeal, bacon, and of course cold cereal. I grab the bacon and a blueberry muffin. I've never been much of a cereal kind of girl, and I hate coffee—it tastes terrible and does nothing worth dealing with the bitterness, as far as I'm concerned.

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