Page 7 of Pretty Girls Never Lie (St. Mary’s)

My phone is blowing up, but it’s doing nothing to help distract me from the chaos I feel. What are the fucking odds that Isla is here? Is it karma? Is it fate fucking with me?

I grip my phone hard and try to focus on the texts.

Isaiah: Gem and I are going out to eat if you guys want to come.

Isaiah: She’s going to drive, so there’s a good chance we won’t even make it, though.

Gemma: Rude.

Shiner: Avoid stone walls.

Cade: I bet Brantley wishes you’d hit the school so he could have an excuse to dip out of there.

Shiner: Poor Brantley. Stuck in summer school. Should have focused on his studies a little more.

I growl, but there’s a hint of humor behind my anger.

Me: Sorry, I was too busy saving everyone’s girlfriends to focus on the fucking quadratic formula.

Shiner: Don’t get angry with me! I don’t have a girlfriend. I’m single and ready to mingle at college, babyyyyy.

Collectively, we all text the same thing at the same time.

Me: Shut up.

Cade: Shut up.

Isaiah: Shut up.

Gemma is the only one who gives Shiner a sweet response, but that’s just how she is. How she ever turned out the way she did, after her shitshow of a life, is beyond me. I was raised by a psycho, and I can feel him in my veins from time to time–and I know it's the same for my friends and their upbringings too.

I put my phone down and start pacing again.

St. Mary’s is lonely without the Rebels here. Our senior year was filled with so much mayhem that my body doesn’t know how to react without it. Nerves eat away at me, and my brain keeps attaching itself to the one thing that’s sending my days into a disarray. Isla is taunting me, even if she doesn’t realize it.

I throw my phone to the side and stomp over to my door. It takes me no more than a few seconds to walk over to the girls’ hallway. During the regular school year, it’s loud. There’s usually girly chatter behind a cloud of hairspray, but now that everyone is gone, besides a handful of students, it’s quiet.

I stand in front of her door. I could knock, but I use the element of surprise instead. I twist the doorknob and scoff when I realize the door is slightly ajar. Tell me you lived a cushy life in WITSEC without actually telling me. Only someone who hasn’t had to watch their back every day of their life would leave their door unlocked in a place as expansive as St. Mary’s.

Isla’s sweet scent wraps around me when I search the room for her. I come up empty-handed and ignore the pang of disappointment that settles to the floor.

Fine, I’ll wait.

I walk in farther and prepare myself for another spar because I know for a fact, she’s going to be irate when she finds me in her bedroom. Anger skims the surface when I think about the last encounter we had. Red filled my vision when she mentioned that night in front of other people. What was she thinking? Is shethatstupid? Doesn’t she know that my father would kill her on sight if he knew she was alive and could ID him at a moment’s notice?

Sure, he’s in prison now, but she should have stayed hidden.

My father doesn’t realize, or maybe he doesn’t care, but I know he’s putting a target on every last string that’s tying him to more years behind bars. The Rebels and I have already discussed the logistics of our fathers’ brains. We know how they tick, andwe know they require silence in order to survive and be up for parole one day.

Apparently, Isla isn’t as smart as I’d hoped if she’s willing to make mention of that night.

My fingers brush over her pillow with the small indent from her head. I grind my teeth and shake the image of her lying on her bed from my thoughts. Her scent is even stronger the closer I get to her belongings, which aren’t much.

I’ll admit that I’ve thought of her over the years and wondered where she was, but that was only because I never thought I’d see her again. I allowed myself to revisit the vague memory of our quiet moments, hiding behind her bedroom door in an attempt to keep her from eavesdropping because Iknewthings would get hairy and she’d get caught in the crossfire.

I shake the memory away and walk over to her math book to pull out the Polaroid photo sticking out in between the pages.

I lose my breath with the blast to the past.

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