My body feels drained. I don’t know how well-meaning these girls really are. All I want to do is get washed and head to bed for yet another restless and mostly sleepless night, but the girls are refusing to budge.
I feel like I don’t know where I stand with the girls. IthoughtI knew where I stood with the boys — they hated me and wanted me out of Lochkelvin. And then I saw something I shouldn’t. I saw them vulnerable. And the girls? I can’t trust them. I feel my mind being warped. I can’t tell the truth from the pretty words they flatter me with.
It’s more insidious. I think I’d prefer it if they were the kind of girls who did basic mean girl things like cutting off hair or calling other girls sluts.
But girls who are nice to your face and then stab you in the back?
That’sworse.
I’m too tired to figure it all out.
Suddenly my mind flashes back to my detention with Dr. Moncrieff, before the crazy events that followed.
What does a politician need to survive?
I stare at Arabella, my ears tuning out whatever all-knowing, condescending speech she’s giving right now.
A scapegoat.
I’m a scapegoat.