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“Thank you, Davina. I really appreciate it. I miss her so much.”
“I’m sure she misses you too, honey. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can, okay?”
I nod. “Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”
I end the call, discouraged I didn’t get Belle’s address, but I know Davina will do her best. I suppose that’s all I can hope for right now.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JAZZ
By Monday morning, I’m on emotional overload. Every one of my attempts to contact Belle went unanswered. When Charles returned from his trip, I was expecting another scolding, but what I got instead was complete avoidance, confirming my suspicion he doesn’t really give a fuck about me.
I’m getting to the point where I’ve accepted this is my new reality—a world without my mom or my sister. Living in a mansion filled with the most frigid, superficial people I’ve ever met. I’m surrounded by more people than I ever have been, yet I’ve never felt so lonely.
“Hey, you okay?” Ainsley asks, sliding into her regular parking spot at school. “You’ve been really quiet.”
Since our houses are in the same gated community, she’s been driving me to school every morning. Frank still picks me up most afternoons since she goes straight to ballet, but it’s nice to see her friendly face at the beginning of each day. I especially need it today.
I stare out the window, sucking in my emotions. “I’m good. Just tired. I didn’t sleep very well last night.” At least that last part wasn’t a lie.
We exit her Lamborghini Huracan and meet at the back. Our first classes are in different buildings, so this is where we usually part.
She pulls me into a hug. “You look like you needed one of these.”
I squeeze her back, trying my damnedest not to cry. “I do. Thank you.”
She smiles. “I’ll see you at lunch, okay?”
I nod. “Yep. See you then.”
If I wasn’t so inside my head, maybe I would’ve noticed the looks I was getting when I stepped inside Lincoln Hall. Heard the increased chatter and snickering at my expense. Peyton—who came back home yesterday—steps in front of me, blocking my path.
I raise my eyebrows. “Excuse me.”
She laughs mockingly as Whitney and Imogen flank her. “There’s no excuse for you. What you did was unforgivable.”
Breaking her nose is unforgivable? After she started it? Dramatic much?
I try to step around them, but they shift their bodies, blocking my path. I hitch my backpack higher on my shoulder and cross my arms over my chest. Knowing what a stickler Headmaster Davis is for violence around here, I’m not afraid she’ll try to hit me, but she can make me late for class if she doesn’t move her ass.
“Move, Peyton. You’ve made your point.”
Her icy blue eyes narrow into slits. “I don’t think I have, but I will. Just give me time.”
Before I can say another word, all three girls step aside to allow me through. I walk to my locker, wondering why the hell everyone is still standing around. Shouldn’t they be getting to class? A few people make pathetic attempts to trip me, others fling insults. One guy even grabbed my ass, asking how much I charged for a hand job. I ignore them for the most part, until I reach the crowd gathered around my locker, waiting to witness my humiliation. They part as I approach, and that’s when I see it.
In bright white spray paint, the word whore is written vertically, covering the entire length of the wooden door. I can tell from the shine and strong fumes that it’s still wet which means someone must have just done this. I do my best not to react as I enter my combination and open it. As I’m grabbing my calculator off the top shelf, my hand brushes against a sheet of paper. My jaw drops as I pull it out and see the photo that’s printed on it. Two guys and one girl are engaging in a threesome—or the prelude to it, anyway. My phone dings a moment later, so I dig it out of my bag and see that I have an Instagram alert.
Waiting in my DMs is a video clip and several photos from an obviously fake account. As I read the message that came with it, I feel like I’m going to vomit.
This went out to the entire student body ten minutes ago. Now they all know what a whore you truly are.
I turn around, scanning the area for the people I know are responsible for this. I don’t think once I spot them; I simply charge over there and slam the piece of paper into Kingston’s chest.
“What the fuck is this?” I seethe.
Kingston glances at the photo and flicks it to the ground. “It seems pretty self-explanatory to me.”
