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And he answered it.
7
I’ve never really given a lot of thought to the families of accused murderers. The news reports always focus on the murderer themselves, or the victim, so I never quite considered how much something like this totally upends the life of everyone connected to the accused.
My mom is innocent.
I fucking know it, and I’d know it even if I hadn’t seen the actual murderer with my own two eyes.
But no one at my school knows that, and most of them probably wouldn’t even care to learn the actual truth. With my mom in jail and me walking the halls, they’ve got everything they could possibly need right in front of them.
They’ve got an explanation for Iris’s death—some way to process the senseless brutality of life and how it can be stolen away so quickly.
And they have someone to direct their anger toward.
Iris was a bitch to me, but she was popular at this school, and absence makes the heart grow infinitely fonder. Even people who didn’t like her all that much when she was alive hate me now, just for being the daughter of the woman who supposedly killed her.
On Monday, I walk into the girls’ bathroom on the second floor only to find writing all over the walls and mirrors. Slurs and insults about both me and my mom are spelled out in dripping red paint.
It’s stupid. It’s nothing—just words.
But my heart lurches in my chest anyway, and I rush out of the bathroom, shaking with shock and rage. I f
ind another bathroom on the far side of the building, but when I push the door open, slashes of red paint scream at me from the walls in here too.
Whoever did this is a fucking overachiever. They hit every ladies’ room in the school, and because there are no security cameras in the bathrooms, the school admins can’t even find and punish whoever it is.
Maybe that’s why Principal Osterhaut goes so hard on the girl who shoves me into a bank of lockers later that day—to make an example of her. I find out on Tuesday that the girl was suspended for the rest of the week, and I notice flyers go up on several bulletin boards around the school detailing what the punishment will be for harassment and bullying.
I notice there’s nothing on the flyers asking students to just be decent fucking human beings. Instead, it’s all about what will happen to them if they break the rules, what the punishment will be, up to and including expulsion.
And what do you know? It works.
The janitors clean up the bathrooms by Tuesday afternoon, and by Wednesday, the worst of the bullying has stopped. Which is a relief, because if it went on any longer, Lincoln, River, Dax, and Chase were definitely gonna get themselves expelled trying to go after each of my attackers.
That doesn’t mean school becomes pleasant though. I’m still buried under a mountain of homework, still obsessing over how to find the man in black, and still hated by half the student population. And just because they’re not actively targeting me doesn’t mean they’ve welcomed me back into their good graces with open arms.
It’s like someone turned the thermostat in the entire school down to negative fifty.
I’ve started riding to and from campus with Linc again, and the kings meet me in the hall between classes when they can. There are at least four people at this school who don’t hate me, but there are way, way more than that who do.
It’s draining in a way I wouldn’t have expected.
By Friday, I can’t take it anymore. I’m dying for the fucking weekend to get here already, and I just need some time alone, so I skip lunch and head to my favorite spot under the bleachers.
It never did snow, but it’s gray and cold today, with a wind that seems to change direction every few minutes so I can never quite brace myself against it.
I slip under the scaffolding of the bleachers and drop my backpack on the ground before grabbing a seat. I dig into the side pocket of my bag for the half-smoked joint in a little plastic baggie, but before I can light it, movement in my periphery makes me turn my head.
Dax and Chase grin at me, heads ducked to peer under the metal structure.
“Jesus.” I shake my head, but a smile spreads across my face before I can stop it. “Do you guys have a tripwire set up on the path over here or something? How the fuck do you always know when I’m out here?”
“Sorry, Low. Can’t say.” Chase chuckles, maneuvering his wide shoulders through the obstacle course of metal bars as he makes his way toward me. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”
“Oh, you’re a magician now?”
“Are you impressed?”
