Page 60 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

“They get it,” Riley says. “Eli—”

“Oh, bore.” Ian pretends to fall asleep. “Your first love is a twisted son of a bitch, ain’t that right? Caleb found his tribe and left the rest of us in their wake.”

He stands, dropping the half-eaten apple in my hand on his way out. “We know you like sloppy seconds.”

I grimace, tempted to chuck it at his head, when Sav grabs my hand.

“Don’t,” she whispers. “He has motive to hate Amelie, too, for using him.”

“The people in this school are sick,” Riley says, clutching at her throat. “I thought I knew the extent of it, but I had no idea.”

Savannah crosses her arms. “It’s because the administration is slave to the families who donate. And you can guess who those are: The Ashers, the Blacks, the Fletchers, the Alistairs.”

Caleb, Eli, Ian, Theo.

“What about Liam?” I ask.

She scoffs. “He hides his poor roots well.”

Riley chokes. “That’s not nice, Sav.”

“It is what it is. No one talks about it because he’s a golden boy. But you just watch—he follows the rules a bit closer than his friends, because the school can take his scholarship away like that.”

She snaps her fingers, and we flinch.

“You’d be the same way, Margo. If you were still living with your parents in the back of Caleb’s house.”

I shake my head. “If I was still there, everything would be different.”

Sav rolls her eyes. “Maybe.”

But maybe not. I can hear it in her voice—the doubt. It’s more of a gut feeling on my part, and I don’t bother explaining. If our families hadn’t cracked apart, I don’t know if we’d still be living there. But there wouldn’t be the animosity in Caleb’s eyes.

I know I put it there.

Somehow.

I stand. “Ian’s going to take credit for Amelie’s… accident. Riley and I will go to the game and see how Coach reacts. You act normal at cheer…”

“Great.” Sav takes the apple from me and bites into it.

What is it with these people and stealing my apples?

I gather my things and throw my backpack over my shoulder, walking into the hallway just as the lacrosse coach storms out.

“You,” he barks at me.

I jump.

“With me. Right now.”

“I have to get to class…”

“I’ll write you a fucking note,” he growls, stalking toward the cafeteria.

The bell rings, and students evacuate from the cafeteria.

I do my best to stay right behind him, wondering if this is it—if Coach saw right through the note we put on his desk, and now he’s going to expel me.

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