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DELILAH
It’s the first day of school; only everybody else already knows each other, and I have to catch up on what they’ve been studying all semester.
Oh, and everybody hates me.
Maybe I’m being too harsh, but that’s very much how it feels. I’m sure word has gotten around—I wouldn’t get so many suspicious looks otherwise. I wonder how much they know about me.
Like the unexpected, freezing vacation I spent thanks to the great Q, as they call him. They treat him like a king around here. I remember that much from hearing Nash talk about him.
That’s why I’m getting all the nasty looks as I walk into math class. Everybody’s heard about me, but they only know his side of the story. I’m the bad guy. They all treated Aspen like shit back when she first got here, but somehow, I’m the asshole.
“Hey. You’re Delilah, right?”
I brace myself for an attack when a guy with dark hair and glasses takes the desk next to mine. I chose the back corner for a reason. I’m not trying to attract attention, and I certainly don’t want to make friends with anyone.
“Hello.” He waves a hand close to my face. “Nobody said you were hearing impaired.”
“I’m not.” I turn to him but don’t bother trying to be nice. I don’t have it in me to be nice when I’m too busy worrying about who will stick a knife in my back first.
“So why didn’t you answer? That’s rude.”
“What do you want?” I whisper. “Just say something mean and get it over with.” Class is going to start any minute now. Hopefully, once it does, there’ll be fewer chances of this dude fucking with me.
“Who said I was trying to be mean?” He holds out his hand again, only this time, it looks like he wants to shake. “Sorry. We got off on the wrong foot. My name’s Marcel. I was friends with Matteo and Nash.”
My heart clenches at the sound of his name. How long will it be before that stops happening? “They never mentioned being friends with you.”
“Let’s be fair. I never heard of your existence, either. Not until recently.” He has a point. I’m sure my brother never spoke of me. Why would he when I hardly existed in his world?
“Nice to meet you,” I mumble while shaking his hand. And it is nice. At least somebody seems like they’re on my side. He’s not judging me like so many other people want to, with their knowing stares and the way they whisper things to each other loud enough for me to hear.
Especially the girls. “Traitor,” one of them mutters as she takes a seat a few desks ahead of me. “Who lets that kind of shit happen to another girl?”
“It’d be a shame if it happened to her, huh?” another girl asks with a snicker. “She’d find out what it feels like.”
Charming.I make a point of ignoring them, focusing my attention on Marcel. “I’m nobody’s favorite person, and none of them have ever actually met me.”
“People are stupid.” He eyes the girls, shaking his head. “Especially the ones who believe everything they hear without using any critical thinking. But then, not everybody’s capable of that, either.” It’s obvious from the disgust dripping from his voice that he doesn’t like them. It gives me a little confidence.
Turning back to me, he lowers his voice and leans in a little. “How are you holding up?”
“Fine.” It’s an honest answer. I can’t exactly complain. Sure, I have no freedom, but I’m comfortable, mostly fed and all that. It’s a step up from the way things were not long ago. Still a captive, but one with better accommodations.
“Good. I’m glad I got the chance to talk with you. I’ve been wondering.”
“I can’t believe there’s anybody around here who actually gives a shit about me,” I admit with a tiny laugh.
“There is. There are people who care. Just keep your head down, and you’ll be fine.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“Is that why I haven’t seen you around before now?” When I lift an eyebrow, he shrugs it off. “Word gets around pretty fast, you know. I heard days ago you were here. I was just waiting until you showed your face.”
“Yeah, that wasn’t exactly my choice.” If I had my choice, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now, even if it’s nice to meet somebody who doesn’t look at me like I’m some evil monster.
The instructor walks into the room, and most of the chatter fades to silence. Marcel, though, leans in a little closer. “I hate that motherfucker for what he did.”
I glance at him from the corner of my eye. “Q?” I mouth the single letter.
