Page 84 of Beautiful Sinners

The late afternoon sun warms me as I traverse the quad on my way to the bell tower. There’s a crispness in the breeze that ruffles the loose wisps of my hair and gives hints that fall will soon arrive. The tips of leaves fluttering on the branches of maples and oaks that dot the campus are already starting to change color. The transition from summer green to autumnal reds and golds is subtle, and I can’t wait to see the explosion of color in a few weeks when the fall foliage is at its peak.

I step out of the way of a couple of guys that get too close. I’m suspicious of everyone who walks by me. Are they from families tied to the Society? Are they the enemy? Remembering my past has tainted my view of the present. Walking around campus doesn’t hold the magical appeal it did just last week. Syn looked at this place with hope and amazement, whereas Aoife sees Darlington Founders for what it truly is. There is no blade of grass, no single brick, no molecule of air that isn’t steeped in the stench of the Society’s influence and money.

When I pass the library, there’s a new flicker of recognition when I see the dedication plaque mounted to the side of the red brick:Named in Honor of Julius Wentworth.

I glance around at the other buildings that surround the quad, seeing them with new eyes. A few surnames I had long forgotten now greet me on the front façades of lecture halls, carved into the stone of the triangular pediments. Where are the Amatos, Knights, Ferreiras, and Fitzpatricks, the founding members of the Society? On my walks through campus before classes started, I don’t remember ever coming across buildings named after our families, and it makes me wonder why not. The university runs on Society money and donations, and wealthy, narcissistic megalomaniacs love to see their names plastered everywhere.

When I get to the fountain in the middle of the quad, I stop and take out the new phone Jax set up for me. It’s much nicer than my old phone and untraceable, or so Jax said. Hitting the camera icon, I switch it to front-facing and snap a picture of myself to send to Raquelle. I had memorized her number the first day of classes when she programmed it into my old phone.

Me: Proof of life. I’m back.

Her response is instantaneous.

Raquelle: Ahhh! I’ve missed you! I can’t wait to hear about your trip.

There is no way in hell I can tell her what really happened. Knowing I’m going to have to keep secrets from a girl who I consider a friend makes me second-guess everything all over again. It’s an exhausting perpetual loop of uncertainty.

Me: I missed you, too. Trip was uneventful. Nothing really to tell.

Raquelle: Sure I’m stuck in an art lecture until 6. Want to meet up after? You didn’t miss much in class, but I made copies of my notes for you.

I check the time and see that it’s half past four. My internal clock still thinks it’s three thirty because of the one-hour jump from Texas time to Darlington time.

Me: You are too sweet. Thank you.

Me: I have something I need to do. Rain check? Meet up for breakfast tomorrow morning?

Raquelle: Text me when you get up.

I send her a quick thumbs up, pocket my phone, and force my feet to start walking.

On the almost four-hour flight back to Darlington, I questioned what I was doing a million times, and at one point, I almost demanded the plane be turned around.

“Burn girl!” someone shouts.

My head snaps around to find the source of the voice, and dread pools low in my belly when I see Serena and another woman striding my way. Who the fuck calls someone that, out loud, in public?

I don’t need this right now. Pretending I don’t hear her, I increase my walking speed.

“Hey, burn girl! Wait up!”

The high-pitched volume of her voice ensures everyone in the quad knows she’s talking to me as evidenced by all the heads turning to look in my direction.

I have a feeling that she’ll continue to pursue me, calling me that stupid name, if only to embarrass the hell out of me. I wouldn’t put it past her.

Resigned to give her one minute of my time, I reluctantly pull myself to a stop in the middle of the walkway and turn around. Serena’s light blonde hair is secured in an elegant bun, and her complexion looks much better without all the caked-on makeup. The dress she’s wearing is a simple black A-line, and elegant pearls adorn her ears and around her neck. She looks tasteful and refined, vastly different from the girl Hendrix spent the night with who stumbled half-naked into the kitchen wearing only her lacy underwear the next morning.

The woman with her has long, straight ebony hair, and porcelain skin. She’s tall with a willowy frame and very pretty. Her beauty is dampened by the mean look in her brown eyes, and that hateful look is aimed right at me.

Serena’s overpowering floral perfume arrives before she does, and I wrinkle my nose to stop the sneeze that threatens to escape.

“Your face is fucked up.”

Tactless as ever.

I forgot about the bruising on my face, so it slipped my mind that others would notice. At least the blue shirt Andie gave me to wear has a high collar and covers the hickeys on my neck.

“Ran into a door. I almost didn’t recognize you with your clothes on. How’s life at Kappa Cunt?”

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