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I tapped my fingers on the sidewalk as I waited for the car, suddenly way more anxious about missing my flight than I’d been ten minutes ago. A few minutes must’ve gone by before two cars came rolling into the driveway. I stood up, trying to squint past the windshield glass.
The first rolled right past me, but I made eye contact with the person in the passenger seat. I didn’t recognize her at first, but it didn’t take much connecting the dots to realize Vivian had dyed her hair brown. I hadn’t seen her since the meeting with the Dean.
The second car glided to a stop in front of me and the driver waved. Just as I moved to open the back door, Vivian stepped out of her car.
I pretended to ignore her as I tossed my duffel into the back, but as soon as I closed the door, I kept my gaze glued to her through the window. Just as she walked up the steps, Jason exited the building. They started talking, and Vivian kept throwing glances over her shoulder toward me as my car pulled away.
In the sideview mirror, I caught her throwing up a middle finger.
What a baby.
I didn’t know what kind of punishment she was dealing with, but whatever it was, she deserved every minute of it. I couldn’t bother taking her glares of revenge too personally.
The ride took about fifteen minutes and fortunately the driver didn’t do too much small-talk. I had too much running through my head already.
Ever since we got rid of Vivian, my life had done a complete 360—my former bullies were now my lovers, I’d found two amazing friends in Tara and Kenny, and I’d acquired a better, stronger version of myself. And now, I was going to see my best friend.
Still, I knew that what goes up, must come down. I couldn’t get this thought out of my head. Sooner or later, things wouldn’t be so rosy. If high school had taught me anything, it was to be anything but gullible.
I handed the driver a twenty-dollar bill and told him to keep the change. Thanks to Felix, I wouldn’t be needing to worry about spending too much these next couple days. If the plane ticket wasn’t enough, booking me a hotel room certainly was, and giving me the gift card was just overkill. I never knew that guy could be so … nice.
The line for security took less time than it was supposed to, so for that again I thanked my senses for telling me to ditch Elliot last minute. When it was my turn to pass through the metal detectors, I did so without an issue—but when I went to pick up my bag, an alarm went off, and felt someone tap me on the shoulder. I turned around to find myself face to face with an officer.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” the man said, “but I’m going to need you to come with me.”
I furrowed my brow, trying to think of what I could’ve put in my bag that they were detecting. It wasn’t like I had that many things to begin with, let alone things that I shouldn’t have.
“Sorry, this is probably a mistake,” I said, glancing toward my bag, which sat on a table behind the conveyor belt as it was being pried through by a security guard. “Is it my toothpaste? Maybe I brought too much.”
The security guard working through my bag pulled out a brown paper bag, and narrowed his eyes at me. “Weed,” he said, as if to say, This much? Really?
I wanted to ask myself the same thing.
“I …” I said, and gulped, my mind rifling through the past twenty-four hours for something that would jog my memory. But nothing did. Maybe Elliot threw it in there? Petty revenge for leaving him? No. He wouldn’t do something like that. “I didn’t do that. I mean, that’s not mine … I swear.”
I gave myself a mental slap in the face. That couldn’t have sounded any dumber.
The officer raised an eyebrow. “Where you headed, miss?”
“London,” I answered quickly, realizing just how scared shitless I was. “I swear, it’s not mine. I don’t know how it got into—”
“Marijuana is illegal in England, missy,” the officer replied, taking the bag from the security guard. “But that’s not the problem here.”
All of a sudden, I remembered.
Two nights ago, Tara had me over in her room, where I took my first—and last, I swore to her—toke. It must’ve been more than that, though, because I faintly remembered allowing her to pack some up for me in order to take along. I put it in my duffel while she was helping me pack.
“Not the problem?” I said absently. “What do you mean?”
“This?”
I turned back to the security guard, and my breath got caught in my throat. With a slow, careful movement, he drew out what appeared to be a knife. No. It was a knife.
And along with it, a piece of paper.
The security guard furrowed his brow as he squinted down to read the paper before handing it to me.
“I hope this isn’t yours, either.”
I took the paper from him, my hand slightly shaking. My eyes glossed over the sentences once, then twice, because I didn’t get the fucking joke.
DO I LOOK FAMILIAR TO YOU?
The note was so vague it could’ve been the title to some bullshitted scholarly paper.
Without realizing what I was doing, I moved my eyes to the knife, still held tight in the security guard’s hand. In the sleek metal face of the blade, I locked eyes with my reflection—a slightly warped, uglier version of myself.
LOOKS AREN’T ALWAYS DECEIVING.
