Page 89 of Pretty Savage: Defy

I step toward them, pulling every insult they spewed close like armor.

Maybe some of what they said is true. That doesn’t make it theirs to use against me.

They called me weak. Insulted my heritage. Discussed my murder as if deciding what to order for dinner.

Carrson told me to establish my dominance.

So that’s what I’m going to do.

I approach the girls like a gathering storm.

“Hey,” I chirp, making my voice loud and clear.

It’s their turn to be shocked. All three stare at me as though they conjured me by speaking my name.

“I’m Laurel.” I offer my hand and hold it steady, daring them to refuse.

Like most cowards who whisper behind other people’s backs, they’re less brave when I stand right in front of them. They accept it one by one, their grips delicate and brief. When I reach Gillian, I have the sudden urge to squeeze until the bones grind together.

I don’t, obviously. That would be wrong.

I still think about it.

“So.” I paste on a smile. “Whatcha doing?”

They look at one another, eyes unfocused and pupils constricted. Confusion gives way to panic. Up close, I can smell DD on their breath, the same strange sweetness I noticed on Jackson more than once before Silas gave it a name.

“Uh,” Steff says. “Nothing. Just, you know, girl talk.”

I clap my hands together hard enough that all three flinch.

“Oh, good. I love girl talk.” I sling an arm around Gillian’s shoulders and pretend not to notice how rigid she becomes. “Who are we discussing?”

Now I know Carrson is getting to me because I’m starting to have fun. To bask in their discomfort. I’m being a mean girl by pretending to be a nice girl, and the contradiction makes me want to giggle.

“Um, our friend…Lauren,” Steff says.

I put my hand on her arm and squeeze harder than necessary. “She sounds wonderful. Tell me all about her.”

And they do.

For the next several minutes, the three of them construct an imaginary Lauren who volunteers at hospitals, remembers every birthday, and has never entertained an unkind thought in her life. Each lie becomes more elaborate than the last, but I keep smiling and asking questions, forcing them to praise a woman who sounds suspiciously like me with one letter changed.

By the time they declare Lauren the sweetest person they’ve ever met, Gillian is visibly sweating.

I tilt my head. “And is she pretty?”

The three of them exchange panicked looks.

I give Gillian’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Well?”

“She’s pretty,” she mutters.

“Sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

Her nostrils flare. “She’s beautiful.”

“That’s what I thought you said.”