Page 86 of Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals 1)

“Doesn’t matter what you told her, man,” he answers. “You’re going to find out what she wants and escort her the fuck back out of Rose Hill.”

Yeah. Because it’s that easy.

If she finds out about Margo…

Game over.

21

My social worker, Angela, is in the kitchen when I come down the stairs.

I freeze for a second, eyes widening, before I force myself to keep moving. My head hurts, my stomach is rolling, but all in all—it could probably be a lot worse.

“Good morning,” Angela says to me.

I smile at her. “Been here long? You could’ve woken me.”

She cocks a brow. “I heard you had a late night. Stumbling in after curfew with a boy, drunk…”

The blood rushes away from my face. “Did they call you to take me away? It was one mistake—”

“No one is taking you away.” Angela rises from her chair and comes closer. “This visit was scheduled with them since last week. Okay? Calm down.”

I exhale.

“But…”

“Angela—”

“We’re concerned,” she says. “What’s up with this behavior, Margo? Does it have to do with your d—”

“No!” I pass her and open the cabinet, searching for a mug. Once I’ve poured and doctored a cup of coffee, I take a seat at the table.

She joins me, watching me with concerned eyes.

“Where are the Jenkinses?” I mumble.

“They elected to give us some privacy,” she says. “It’s just you and me. How are you doing?”

I heave a sigh. “Good, I think. It’s weird being back at school, with people I used to know…” I shake my head. Now’s not the time to get sidetracked by thoughts of Caleb. “I’m still getting used to the Jenkinses being so nice.”

Angela laughs. “From what I’ve heard, they think the world of you.”

“Probably not after last night.” I focus my gaze out the window.

“They know teenagers make mistakes.” She touches my wrist. “Apologize, and things will be fine. Don’t slip again.”

“I won’t,” I promise. I shift. “I do have a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“Claire’s phone disconnected. I haven’t been able to reach her. Could you give her my number if I wrote it down?”

Claire, Hanna, and I were together at my last foster home. Claire is sixteen, and Hanna is twelve. They’re real siblings, which means… well, there was a higher chance that they wouldn’t get separated. The foster system wants them to stay together.

We knew, toward the end, that I would not be going to the same new home as them. There was no way. Two teenage girls are one thing—three are nearly impossible to place together.

Angela’s lips thin. “I can’t make any promises, Margo. But yes, if you write down how to get in touch with you, I can try to pass it along.”

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