“Why are you doing this?” I whisper.
He leans down, grabbing my arm and hauling me back up. “Why? You don’t really know anything, do you?” He sneers. “You’re a sheep in a wolf’s clothing. No threat at all.”
Do not fucking cry.
“Run along now, little sheep.”
He releases me, and I move, too startled to walk straight. My shoulder hits one of his friends, and it’s like hitting a truck. It sends me off-kilter. Once I have my bearings, I push through the crowd.
It’s only when I find a bathroom, ducking into it, that the tears break loose. I didn’t do anything to deserve this. Hell, all I’ve done today is walk into a firestorm—one that my apparent departure seven years ago created.
“Margo?”
I sniff, wiping my nose on my arm. “In here.”
Riley pushes open the stall, staring down at me. “That was…”
“A lot?”
“A drop in the bucket.”
I wince. “Really?”
“The golden boys of Emery-Rose are nothing but nasty to their minions.” She leans against the wall. “Sorry to break it to you. I’ve been the target of Eli’s fury for years.”
“Well, they can’t get away with it.”
“They can and they will.” Riley sighs. “Their families are the richest of the rich. My parents are well-off, and I’m…” She shakes her head. “I’m the lowlife around here.”
“You’re not.” I lift myself up, brushing off invisible dust from my skirt.
She hands me a wad of toilet paper, and I take a second to clean up my face. My eyes are bloodshot, eyelids a little puffy, but otherwise, I look normal. The bell rings, echoing in the bathroom. “Maybe we should skip.”
“The rest of the day?” Riley glances around. “It’s your first day—”
Ugh. “Okay, fine. Guess I’ll just take the detention for being late.”
We head back into the hallway; it’s a ghost town.
She cracks a smile. “If you want, we can meet tomorrow before school. Everyone hangs out in the courtyard, and they don’t let us inside till the first bell.”
I return her smile, grateful that she didn’t cut and run. “Safety in numbers?”
“Something like that.” She glances at my schedule and steers me in the right direction. She drops me off, then jogs away.
For a second, I envy the way she can shake off everything. It sticks to my skin like glue: the negativity, Caleb’s fury. I hand the teacher my schedule, and she clears her throat, motioning for me to take my seat without a word. I’m grateful that no one I know is in this class… until Liam walks in.
The teacher doesn’t even stop talking, or spare him a glance.
He stops right next to me, staring down, and says, “Nice little show, Sheep.”
I keep my gaze on the desk.
If I was wondering about nicknames, I guess we’ve found mine. A sheep in a wolf’s clothing. Ha, ha.
Eleven months till freedom—but only nine until I graduate. I’ve made it through worse. I can survive this.
3
On Saturday, Riley arrives at the Jenkins house early. Early enough to interrupt brunch, which is apparently a tradition. She charms Lenora and Robert, sitting and helping herself to a pancake.
“I was hoping to take Margo to the mall,” she says, smiling at both of them. “Is that okay?”
“Oh, that would be excellent.” Lenora pats my hand.
She’s fond of that.
“I’ll get you some cash. You can pick out some new clothes if you want.”
I manage to smile.
On Friday, after a week of staring at me from afar, Caleb approached. I was sitting on the bench, tying my running shoes on for gym class. My boots and bag were next to me.
It wasn’t fair that he looks perfect in a form-fitting t-shirt and shorts. I felt like a bag of marshmallows beside him.
He lifted my boot, grimacing. “Did they give you these as compensation?” he asked.
I raised my eyebrow, choosing not to answer. Choosing not to start anything. Who knows what he’s talking about, anyway.
But apparently that was the wrong thing to do, because he dug his fingers into my boot and nearly ripped the bottom half of the tread off. I wore my sneakers for the rest of the day, soaked from the rain we were running in.
So, yeah. New boots are in order. But I don’t tell Lenora that. I tossed my boots in the dumpster in the school parking lot, and Robert didn’t notice my disgustingly old sneakers when I met him by the car. He doesn’t seem to notice much.
I wonder if he hears the rumors about me. He works in the art department. More specifically, painting and film. He teaches four different classes of various difficulty, and he likes to discuss what his students are doing over dinner.
Several times this week I’ve had to take a step back and evaluate how far I’ve come. I’m back in my hometown after seven years. I’m going to a fancy school that has classes like Art and the Media and Film in a Digital Age. My foster parents handed me two hundred bucks to go shopping.
Rose Hill is unlike any other place I’ve lived. Just three streets over, I used to live in the guest house of a mansion with my parents. Dad went to work like a normal person, and Mom was the family’s personal chef. Things were normal. I ran with the other kids, got into the prep school on scholarship, loved life. Had friends.
And then things disintegrated.
What started as a dream childhood turned into a nightmare. One I couldn’t wake up from.
Robert catches Riley and I before we leave. “Margo. Would you mind picking up a few paints? And a roll of film.” He hands me a piece of paper with the details.
I tuck it into my pocket. It’s the least I can do for him.
We pile into her car, and I look around it.
“Damn, Riley,” I murmur. “You’ve been hiding your wealth on me.”
She snorts. “No more than you’ve been hiding the Jenkins’ wealth.”
“What’s theirs is not mine,” I say.
She backs out of the driveway, and I turn up the radio. “It’s always been that way.”
“Eh, they seem pretty eager to share. But anyway, the mall is the place to be. Forgive me if you already know that. I know you used to live here, but—”
“It was a long time ago,” I finish. Some streets look familiar, like I used to drive them in a dream. Others… Well, things change, I guess. I’m getting a weird sense of déjà vu. “So, who goes to the mall on Saturday?”
“The most elite of Emery-Rose Elite,” she says, lifting her chin. “And us.”
“We’re on a mission,” I remind her. After a week of subtle threats—the nickname Sheep is sticking like Velcro, unfortunately—and a spike in the number of times my knees have hit the floor, I’m ready for some normalcy.
She turns onto the mall driveway, up a steep hill, and pulls into a parking space near a side entrance. “I need a birthday present for my mom. Something classy. Dad gave me his credit card.”
I shake my head. Imagine a world where someone handed me a credit card and said, Pick something nice out for your mother. We link arms and walk into the mall, and we’re greeted with loud pop music and a lot more people than I was expecting.