Unknown: Heard you were back.
I tilt my head and give it a few seconds. Then I type back.
Me: Yes.
Unknown: Watch out.
I shiver and slam my phone back on the nightstand, facedown. It buzzes again, but I ignore it and crawl into bed. I block out the texts and the hunger, closing my eyes.
Sleep takes a while to come back. Before I know it, my alarm is going off.
Robert intercepts me on my way to the bathroom. “Coffee and breakfast downstairs.” He’s already dressed. “Did Lenora show you the uniform? It’s hanging in the closet. The white shirt and dark skirt or pants.”
I nod, not quite awake enough to speak, and fumble my way to the bathroom. I brush my hair back, braiding it with quick and nimble fingers. And then my face… mascara and concealer to hide the dark circles under my eyes, a shade of pink lip stain on my full lips. I practice smiling in the mirror.
It falls short. I can’t keep the tremble out of my hands.
I add eyeliner.
I get dressed quickly, sliding on my boots, and meet Robert downstairs. He slides a mug of coffee at me, and I smile at him.
“Figured getting up this early is hard enough without caffeine,” he says.
“Thank you.”
“We’ll get your classes squared away first. Hopefully you’ll just miss homeroom, and we’ll get one of the kids to give you a tour.”
I nod. “Okay.”
We eat cereal in silence. We ride to the school in silence. It’s a bigger building down the street from the elementary and middle schools, and it looms like a castle at the end of the road. My stomach is a ball of nerves.
“I figure I’ll be giving you rides every morning,” Robert says. “And we can meet at the car after. If you want to do any sort of sport or after-school activity, that’s fine. Lenora or I can arrange how we want to handle the pickup. But don’t feel restricted, okay?”
“Right.”
I make the mistake of glancing at my phone as we walk up the steps to the front door. There’s the text from last night still sitting on my lock screen, and I don’t even have to open it to read its message.
Unknown: You’ll regret it.
I shiver.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes.” Alarming texts from an anonymous person, hours after my arrival? That’s a fast way to get kicked out of a good home. When things seem too weird, some parents bail.
I don’t blame them. I’d bail, too. In fact, I’d love nothing more than to run home and tuck myself back in bed and throw my phone in the trash. If only I had a home.
Robert shows me to the office and introduces me to one of the guidance counselors.
She looks at me funny, squinting, then waves me into the office. “Margo Wolfe? Come with me.”
I perch on the chair next to her desk, watching her type.
“You have a lot of different schools on your record,” she says in a mild voice. “Why is that?”
“I’m a foster. Some homes didn’t work out.”
“Robert and Lenora are good friends.” She’s still typing, her nails clacking against the keys. “We were a little worried about them taking in a teenager, but…”
My eye twitches.
“You’re going to behave, right?”
I sit perfectly still. “Yes, ma’am.”
She flashes me a smile. “Lovely. Okay, here’s your schedule. I had to put you in a lower math class, but perhaps you can find a tutor.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
The bell rings, and I jump.
“End of homeroom. You’re going to be late.”
My schedule is a mess of numbers and words. My heart beats faster. “I don’t know where to go.”
She sighs. “Right. Follow me.”
We walk out of her office, and her whole body perks up when her eyes land on a boy filling out a form. And then I take a good look at him, and something in my chest loosens.
A familiar face.
His gaze snaps to mine, and his name comes out of my memories.
“Caleb Asher,” the guidance counselor says. “This is Margo—”
“Wolfe,” he supplies, grinning. “We’ve met.”
We’ve met. That’s a poor way to cover our history.
His gaze travels up and down my body, and his lips curl into a smile. There’s something off about it. “I’ll take her to class for you, Ms. Ames.”
“Thank you, Caleb.”
And then it’s just Caleb and me in the office, the clock ticking loudly on the wall.
“Well?” I ask.
He turns and stalks out the door, taking the pink pass with him. I hurry to follow, practically jogging after his quick steps. When we’re out of sight of the office, he pivots toward me. His sudden closeness has me taking a step back, and I stare up into his eyes. My shoulder blades hit the lockers.
“Why did you come back, Margo?”
I narrow my eyes. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”
He laughs, leaning down. He doesn’t touch me, but suddenly I’m ice-cold. His expression could stop my heart if he wanted. “You don’t stand a chance.”
I shake my head, moving to edge around him. His hands slam into the lockers on either side of me, caging me in.
“Margo Wolfe,” he whispers. “Haven’t you heard? I’m the king now.”
He walks away, and I stay frozen against the lockers for a minute. That isn’t the boy I knew. No, he’s been replaced by a monster. And I’m pretty sure he just smelled blood in the water.
2
I open the door. The teacher pauses, glaring at me.
“Sorry.” I pass her the note from the guidance counselor. I found it on the floor after Caleb disappeared.
The teacher, Mrs. Stonewater, scans the note and exhales. “We have a new student. Margo Wolfe.”
There are a few gasps, and the teacher raises her eyes from the note to glare around the room. They lapse back into silence.
“Take a seat,” she says to me.
My gaze catches on Caleb—the bastard left me, and it took me five minutes to figure out where the hell I was going—and the boys around him. There’s an open seat directly in front of Caleb or all the way against the windows. I start to move to the far one, but someone throws their bag on it.
I pause. No more seats.
Slowly, I walk toward Caleb. He raises an eyebrow. I sink down into my seat, my cheeks heating once I register his eyes burning into the back of my head.
When did he get so beautiful? Dark hair and light-gray eyes, muscles packed onto his lean frame. He grew, too. In elementary school, we were the same height. He’s got at least six inches on me now.
And hate.
Where did the hate come from?
“Ms. Wolfe?”
The whole class snickers.
I jerk. “Yes?”
“I was asking if you’d had a chance to read through the syllabus.”
I slink lower. “No, ma’am.”
She frowns, pausing by her desk. “See me after class.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“No, ma’am. Yes, ma’am,” the boy next to me parrots. “Such a fucking saint for a coke-whore’s daughter.”
More laughter.
I sink lower.
Coming back was a mistake. I should’ve insisted on public school. At least that way, the bullies wouldn’t know my history. They would’ve made fun of my secondhand clothes and haircut, but they wouldn’t have picked at my past. My parents.