“Same,” I admit, my voice hoarse. Talking to her is like fraternizing with the enemy.
Dangerous.
“Oh, don’t look so shocked. I don’t care about what your mother did with my father.” She waves a hand, effectively dismissing all the lurid stories about our parents. “Our mother was hellbent on making our father’s life as miserable as she could throughout their marriage. This was his only way out.”
“You really believe that?” I ask her incredulously. It’s as if it doesn’t matter to her, whereas her brother treated me like a common prostitute when we were just kids. Barely teenagers.
I think of what the girls said about him, and how he likes to choke girls when he kisses them. Despite the depravity, I’m intrigued. I wouldn’t mind knowing what it felt like, to have Whit’s large, warm hand closing around my throat, pinning me to a wall as he tormented me with his mouth?
God, I’m sick. Seriously.
“I lived with them my entire life. A witness to the disaster they called marriage. Yes, I believe that,” she says solemnly. “My older brother thinks your mother is the devil incarnate, and he puts all the blame on her. Our baby sister believes our father is the one who wrecked everything, and used to battle with him on the daily over the frail condition of mother dearest before she found her way out.”
“And what do you think?” I ask.
“They’re all responsible for their actions, are they not? They’re adults. Was anyone thinking of the children? No. But when do any of them think of the children?” She doesn’t give me a chance to answer. “They’re all selfish. Wrapped up in their own little worlds. Why do you think there’s a boarding school with our family name on it? So they can shove us all out here and forget we exist.”
Sylvie explains all of this in such a logical manner that it makes complete sense. I’m sure she’s right. When do they ever think of the children?
Never. My parents neglected me and Yates when it mattered the most. Why else was he so brazen in how he pursued me? He knew he’d get away with it.
Well, I showed him.
“Does your brother know I’m here?” I ask her, hoping my voice sounds casual.
“No. Yes? I’m not sure. We haven’t discussed you, and your name has never passed his lips to me. Though Whit and I don’t talk much. He finds me a nuisance,” she says. She doesn’t sound the least bit offended.
“How did you find out so much information about me?”
“I hacked into the school’s files.” She grins while I gape at her. “It’s an archaic system. My grandma could hack into it, and she’s been dead for two years.”
I can’t help but start to laugh. “Does anyone know you hack into the school’s computer system?”
“Only a select few. You being one of them now.” Her smile is small, her eyes sparkling. “You ever have a grade issue in class, let me know. I can fix it for you.” She snaps her fingers.
“I get good grades,” I reassure her.
“Now.” She smiles, her expression never faltering, while my smile slowly fades.
I’m sure she’s seen my entire file from Billington and read over every little detail greedily, soaking up all of those suspensions with barely repressed glee. Drugs and backtalk and sex on campus. I was a nightmare. The first two years of high school were difficult. I was acting out. It was a cry for help. I wanted attention, whether it was good or bad.
But no one listened. Worse, they were ready to send me far, far away, to military school, as if that would fix me.
I suppose getting away from Yates would’ve fixed everything, but I didn’t want to do it like that. One of the last nights we were all together as a family, long after everyone went to bed, he held me close afterward and told me how much he would miss me once I was gone. I realized then he believed I didn’t want to leave because we would be kept apart.
And that wasn’t the case. Not even close.
At least, that wasn’t the case for me.
“You seem like someone with a lot of secrets,” Sylvie says, interrupting my thoughts.
I blink her into focus, to find she’s watching me with narrowed eyes. “I’m an open book,” I lie.
She says nothing. She doesn’t have to.
Because she doesn’t believe me. She shouldn’t. I have all sorts of secrets.
And every single one of them is awful.
I hurry into American Government just before the final bell rings, sending an apologetic look toward the teacher sitting behind his desk. I lingered too long in the library, enjoying my conversation with Sylvie, feeling guilty the entire time because of my connection with her brother. I never brought it up. She never brought him up. Only that one time.
And I preferred it that way.
The classroom is full, every desk occupied, save for a couple in the very back of the room. I scurry toward them, not paying attention to where I’m going when I trip over a backpack directly in my path, sending myself sprawling to the ground.
It feels like the entire classroom witnesses my fall from grace and erupts into laughter.
I lie there for a moment, my cheek resting against the cool floor, knees throbbing from my hard landing. Cool air brushes against the back of my thighs and I realize my skirt flipped up, exposing my black booty shorts that I am so damn grateful I wore instead of just my underwear.
The teacher rushes forward. I can hear his squeaky footsteps on the floor. “Are you all right?” he asks me.
My audience has calmed some, but I still hear laughter. Furious whispering, all of them talking about me. A boy asks straight out, “Who the fuck is she?”
I gather myself up quickly, rising to my knees, smoothing my hair out of my face. I hear someone suck in mouthfuls of air, as if in shock, and when I glance to my left, I realize I’m literally face to face with the fallen angel of my dreams.
The devil of my nightmares.
Whit Lancaster. Who’s staring at me as if he’s seen a ghost.
Gripping my backpack strap tightly, I stand, averting my head and sitting in the closest empty chair.
Directly behind Whit.
Fuck.
The teacher sends everyone a stern look, effectively shutting them up before he starts speaking, but I have no clue what he’s saying. I can’t hear anything thanks to the rapid beat of my heart. It roars in my ears, through my blood, and I try to hold my breath. Until I can’t take it anymore and exhale in a stream of mint, thanks to the gum I chewed in the library.
God, I hope he doesn’t notice.
I glance down at the floor in front of me, grimacing. I tripped over Whit’s goddamn backpack. Of course I did. I sit there as if in a trance, my entire body shaking, my knees stinging from the fall. I stare at my desk, scared to lift my head, afraid I’ll find him watching me. When I finally dare to glance up…
I’m looking at the back of his head.
As another shaky breath leaves me, I pull out my binder and notebook, along with my favorite mechanical pencil, my hands still shaking. Fully prepared to take notes, though the teacher is leaning against the front of his desk, his arms crossed as he talks about himself and what he expects from us this year.
He passes out a syllabus and my heart threatens to fly out of my body. Whit will have to turn around to pass me the syllabus. I wait, my hands clammy, my legs knocking together, and when my row starts passing the copies of the syllabus back, I watch as the small stack reaches Whit.