Page 64 of Queen Rose

At this point, I seriously question whether or not I should make a dash to the bathroom because my stomach is gurgling in disgust and fear and dread. Life goes on? She’s got to be straight-up delusional—that or so overmedicated she’s numb—because someone who is grieving doesn’t act like this. I draw in a cleansing breath so I can read the last few texts that have just come in, because apparently, I like to torture myself.

Mom:You can hide out with your friends all you want this week.

Mom:But I’m going to need you here early Friday to pick out which dress to wear.

Me:You’re psycho.

Mom:Grow up, Aria.

Mom:Six. Be here.

I suppress a whimper. I’ve always thought she was crazy. Insisting I go to school this week was bad enough. But making me go through with this party is complete over-the-top insanity. Her sister-in-law is dead. My dad’s sister. My aunt. Do neither of my parents feel anything? I want to ask her what Conner thinks, but the mere idea of mentioning him by name sends me into a spiral of what-ifs that I can’t even contemplate. I’ve got a rather tenuous control of my emotions and can’t afford to let myself go to those dark places.

At the end of the class period, with my army of friends surrounding me, I quietly walk to the lunchroom. Much like Nate sticking by me all weekend, my friends have taken shifts or some shit like that the entire first half of the day to make sure I’m not alone.

I don’t know what my crew has said or done to keep everyone else at bay, but I’ve heard zero talk about me. I keep looking around, rather defiantly, waiting for any of the asshats at this school to start whispering about me or my trashy boyfriend or my dead aunt or the party happening at my murder house this weekend, but there’s just nothing.

After I’ve finished my lunch, I stand up and gather my tray, gesturing to the door. “I’m going to hit the ladies’ room before class.” Eight pairs of eyes are immediately on me, probably assessing whether or not they should let me out of their sight.

Finally, Lyla voices the question that they are all wondering. “You okay on your own?” Her brows draw together.

“I’ll be fine. Finish your lunch.” If I can’t pee on my own, I’ve really got trouble. I draw myself up and saunter toward the door, acting like the girl they expect me to be, unwilling to let any of these people think I’m an easy target. As I pass the center table, my eyes flick up momentarily, but no one is paying any attention.

Out in the hallway, I’m about to extend my arm to push the bathroom door open when it gets yanked inward. Giving an awkward laugh, I look up to give an apologetic smile to whomever I almost rammed the door into.

Unfortunately for me, it’s Farrah who walks out, along with a few other girls from the cheerleading squad, including Danica. She winces when our gazes connect. I don’t know why she subjects herself to Farrah’s nastiness, except maybe she enjoys the easy ride on her coattails.

I automatically back up to let them pass, but instead of skirting around me, Farrah takes two steps forward and gets right in my face, so close I get a big whiff of her cloying perfume.

“I heard you spent a lot of time with your garbageman over break. What did Daddy Warrington think of you taking him to the fancy new lake house? And you’ve been hanging out at his run-down house, too? Ew. Gross.”

Blood boiling, I stand tall and make every attempt to keep my voice steady. I stare down my nose at her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I feel like we’ve had this conversation over and over again. In case I wasn’t clear the last five times you’ve brought this up: I don’t fucking care what you think. It’s getting old.”

Farrah throws her head back in a full cackle. “Wait, I have more questions. Does it feel good, finally showing everyone how far you’ve sunk? What’s it like to spend time in a dump, Aria? And, last question—will Nate be at the party on Friday night? Please say yes. I can’t wait to see what your parents’ reaction is when they find out you’re still slumming it with that loser.”

Holy. Shit.My big takeaway from Farrah’s incessant chatter is that my mother somehow invited her to my birthday party. Oh, fuckfuckfuck. Why didn’t I look at the invitation list with her when she asked?

“Oh yeah. I can see from the shock on your face that you didn’t know I’d be there. I’m curious enough that I wouldn’t miss it. Not only do we have the Nate stuff going on, but there was an actual murder committed in your house. Is your mother insane or what?”

The lunchroom doors slam open, and Lyla, Daphne, and Scarlett march through them. Their gazes fix on me, and the Oh fuck, what the hell? is pretty clear on their faces. I give them a grim smile as they join me.

“Oh look, your little scholarship friends have all come out to play. That’s cute.” Farrah glances at her minions, winking at them with a laugh.

What’s really funny to me is that none of Farrah’s so-called friends are laughing with her. They must be smarter than she is, or at least don’t want to cause trouble for themselves. They’re quiet. Meek. Exactly the kind of people you don’t want on your side in battle.

I blink, my head slowly turning to catch the eye of each of these girls standing here with me. And I could almost cry. These girls are hands down who I’d choose to stand with me in any situation. Even though I still haven’t quite processed it in my head, I know they’ll fight with me until the bitter end. It’s simply who they are. Loyal to a fault. And definitely not willing to let the bad guy—or girl—win.

Scarlett stands to my left, crossing her arms over her chest. “We heard your loud-ass mouth all the way in the cafeteria, Farrah.”

Lyla and Daphne stand on my other side. Daphne shakes her head. “It’s a miracle you’re not a total pariah. You’re a sneaky, selfish backstabber and your desperate, shitty behavior is pathetic.”

Farrah aims her glare at Daphne. “Whatever. I call them like I see them, and your girl Aria is a trash-loving whore from a crazy family.”

I roll my eyes, not willing to give Farrah more ammunition or put any of my feelings about what she’s said on display for her. On the inside, though, I’m crumbling. Get me the fuck away from this bitch. I blink, tuning back into the ugly conversation.

“What, nothing to say, Aria?” Farrah chuckles, and looks down, examining her manicure. “It figures.”

I feel Lyla bristle at my side. “You are such a bitch, Farrah. Her aunt just died,” she hisses. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

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