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“Does it—I mean, is that why the people at school are saying some… awful things about why you were arrested?” I asked, hoping that unlike my mother, Dad would actually give me a proper answer.
“Things?” he asked. His tone shifted. Was that… worry? “What things?”
“Stuff about you buying out properties, making people lose their homes… their businesses—”
“Complete lunacy,” he said immediately. “People always need someone to blame for their bad decision making—”
He cut off. Garbled speaking in the background came through, but I couldn’t actually make out much of it.
“I have to go. I’ll call you again when I can. Keep your heads up, both of you. I’ll be out of this place soon.”
“Dad—”
The call disconnected. Mom never even said a word.
Seven
The call with my father had lasted less than five minutes, but I found myself turning every word over and over in my mind as I drove to school.
What was I supposed to make of any of it? Aside from Dad’s confidence, his blunt reassurance, I had no real answers. His excuse about people just making things up because their choices had been bad didn’t make sense to me. Why would they target a man they didn’t even know if the loss of their homes was their own fault? And how could they have targeted my dad anyway? Who did he think had set him up?
Maybe Dad had gotten involved in some shady deals accidentally. He was ambitious, working twelve or sixteen-hour days for much of my childhood, but I’d always thought he was fair. Whatever aspersions people wanted to cast on men like my father, I believed he was a good man.
Still, questions and doubts plagued my thoughts as I pulled into Slateview’s parking lot.
Like yesterday, all eyes were on me as I stepped out of my car. And like yesterday, I felt anxious and awkward, uncomfortable in my own skin. This time, however, it was partly because of the way I was dressed. I’d chosen one of the ripped pairs of jeans I’d distressed and a cropped top. It felt odd, being so exposed, but I hoped the effect was more chameleon than peacock.
That hope was dashed before I even reached the front doors of the school.
Maybe—maybe—if I’d shown up on my first day dressed like this, driving a different car or no car at all, I might’ve been able to blend in unnoticed. But I should’ve known it was too late to try to change anyone’s mind about me. Everyone at this school had already decided who I was and what I was.
The taunts from yesterday didn’t dissipate. In fact, they got worse. Snide remarks about me attempting to “slum it” mingled with thinly veiled threats about cutting up my body the same way I’d cut up my clothes, taunts and catcalls following me throughout the day. The only good thing was that the redheaded girl, Serena, wasn’t in classes today. She’d apparently chosen to skip and spend the day with her boyfriend, who went to a different school. I didn’t pay much more attention than that; I didn’t need to know the sordid details of her extracurricular activities.
I also didn’t see much of the Lost Boys—at least, not directly. I saw them in the halls between classes. Now that I was hyper-aware of each of the three
boys, I realized I shared a couple classes with one or two of the trio. But they never approached me, never bothered me.
I made sure not to bother them either, and I ate my lunch in a corner of the cafeteria so I couldn’t get trapped outside with them again. But almost against my will, I found my gaze gravitating toward them whenever I was in a classroom or hallway with them—observing them, drawn by the dangerous energy and charisma they all exuded.
And what I saw made me feel certain they hadn’t been lying. They really did own this school.
It was more the little things than the big things that convinced me. It wasn’t like they paraded down the halls on red velvet carpets or anything. But everyone—students and teachers alike—moved out of the way when they walked past. When the three of them walked into a room, everyone shifted toward them unconsciously, as if every single person in this school existed in their orbit.
Whether that was true or just in my mind, I decided the best thing I could do was keep my head down and hope the novelty of the “poor little rich bitch” wore off quickly.
I was actually feeling pretty good when I pushed through the school doors at three o’clock. With Serena gone, her posse had mostly left me alone, and I was getting better at ignoring the taunts and cruel names.
Maybe I can do this. Just until Dad gets—
I stopped dead.
Ice flooded my veins, making me feel numb all over, as I stared at the spot where’d I’d parked my mother’s car in the morning.
The car was still there. But it was totaled.
My stomach clenched, the granola bar I’d brought for lunch sitting like a lump of cement in my gut. The car was old, something my mom wouldn’t have been caught dead driving in our old life—but it had been well taken care of. There hadn’t been a scratch on the sleek black paint when I drove into the parking lot this morning. Now, it was riddled with dents, the glass of almost every window was broken, and the windshield was cracked in a spiderweb pattern. The tires had been slashed, and the entire car had been rolled onto its side.
This hadn’t been just one person with a misplaced grudge; this had been a group effort to beat the life out of my car. And as a finishing touch, someone had spray-painted “rich cunt” across the undercarriage.
