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I wrinkle my nose as I shake my head and Rachelle simply nods as she drives.

Why can’t I be a normal girl?

I almost ask to skip another day of school, but force myself to get dressed instead. I’m worried I’ll fall too far behind, and I already need to pick up my missed work from the front office today.

Elijah mentioned looking into virtual accommodations for when I’m not able to go to school. I can work through the hangover stage. I don’t think it’s a bad idea. Anything to be able to function, right?

Hurrying through the hallway, I avoid everyone as I weave in between the different groups of people. They continually whisper as I pass, probably because my hair is so short, yet I know they can’t say anything I haven’t already thought to myself.

I ruffle my hair with my hand since I can’t toss it over my shoulder anymore, and it’s hard to get used to the loss of its weight.

Opening the front office door, I present myself to the receptionist. Rachelle already asked them to get together my missed work, so I’m hoping I won’t have any issues. She’s only working at the school in the afternoon. I’m on my own this morning.

“Miss Agassi, I see you’re blessing us with your presence today,” a student croons from behind the desk. The usual receptionist isn’t around, and I curse my luck. “It must be really nice to be able to miss so much school.”

“Yes, my migraines are a real treat,” I reply. “Do you have my makeup work or will I need to come back?”

“I have a note here about that,” she mutters, looking around. For a moment, I wonder if the ‘note’ is an excuse to flick me off, but she pulls off a sticky note to read it. “Your work will be emailed later today. The teachers thought that would be easiest.”

“Great. Thank you,” I say, turning back toward the door to leave.

“Did you get into a fight with a lawnmower?” she giggles.

Expecting this commentary, I don’t respond and walk out of the office. Maybe I should have looked into wig options. I’m going to have to curate a thick skin for all of this bullshit. My hair has always been a point of pride and joy.

Sleeping on it pretty much deflated the flips and volume Roxy gave me with her blow out, leaving me with flat, short hair. No amount of fluffing is helping it.

“Hey, Noor,” Alexa says, falling into step with me as I walk.

“Hi,” I say dully. She gives me the worst vibes, and I’m just not a fan of her. It feels like she’s up to something simply by speaking to me.

“Your hair is cute! What made you decide to have it cut?” she asks.

“You don’t know?” I ask, huffing out a laugh.

“Ah, no. You’re not the center of the universe, Noor. I have no idea what possessed you to cut all of your hair off,” Alexa says, rolling her eyes. “I know I said it was cute, but I lied.”

“Hmm,” I mutter. “My hair had an incident with a knife, and the knife won. Someone came out to my house to fix it, but⁠—”

“Was it my cousin? Roxy mentioned she went out to fix a rich bitch’s hair,” Alexa says nonchalantly.

I feel a rush of fire climb up my spine and force myself to breathe naturally. It’s difficult because it’s been a rough week, but Alexa continues to prattle on about how Roxy was run off the property at gunpoint.

“Roxy seems a little high strung,” I rasp. My voice sounds strained, but there’s nothing I can do about that. “I’m not rich, so I doubt she’s talking about me.”

If I need to gaslight Alexa to protect my foster family, then that’s what I intend to do. I’m very concerned that they’re related to each other. It’s making my anxiety spike as I think about all of the possibilities of why Roxy came out to do my hair. Was she randomly chosen or did she put herself somehow in front of my foster parents’ path?

Fuck, is it hot in here?

“I hate to cut this short, but I need Noor for a moment,” Alastair says, his arm linking in mine as he forces me to keep up with him. The size difference between us is laughable, and my legs practically trip over each other as I half run, half walk alongside him.

“What do you want?” I hiss, yelping as he yanks me into an empty classroom.

“I want you,” he growls, locking the door and pressing me against the cool wall of white boards. “You haven’t responded to my messages, and you’re not coming to school. I want to fucking know why.”

He’s leaning down, crowding my space, and it’s pissing me off. There are too many unknown variables surrounding me, so I do the only thing I can.

I slap him.