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She might be right. I do have a reputation for getting suspended. Most of the time, it’s because I get into a fight, either from someone else starting it or I take the first swing after someone repeatedly called me names. I’ve had to go to anger management classes a couple times that, honestly, I’m not sure they helped.
It’s not like I’m angry all the time. Most of the time, I can pull off indifference pretty damn well. But there’s a particular name that really gets under my skin and, annoyingly, it’s one of the words scarring my flesh beneath my clothes.
As my chest pressurizes at the memories of how the scars got there, I tear my gaze off the mirror, collect my bag, and then stick my hand underneath the mattress to grab a joint from my stash.
I have quite the collection under there. Most of it comes from my uncle. Remember how I said he does a lot of sketchy stuff? Well, bringing drugs home after he’s done a bust is one of those things. He’s been doing it for years, stealing a bit here and there then reporting that a less amount was found during a raid. How do I know this? Because I overheard a phone conversation once between him and one of his buddies. He didn’t know I was home. I wasn’t supposed to be, but I’d decided to ditch after a group of guys and girls jumped me and kicked my ass. I fought back, of course—my dad taught me how to protect myself at a young age—and I even got in a few good swings, but I was completely outnumbered. In the end, I gave someone a black eye and someone else a fat lip, while my face looked like a freakin’ lumpy blueberry.
Anyway, I left school, went home, and hid up in my bedroom. My uncle had come home for lunch and, as I was sneaking around, trying to stay hidden, I noticed him empty some bags out of his pockets, stuffing them into the attic crawlspace. Then he called someone and informed them of what he had managed to bring home that day.
“I got a lot today,” he said then paused. “Yeah, I know. I want you to push it as fast as you can.”
Before my parents died, I’d been raised in a questionable neighborhood and knew enough about the drug world to understand what that meant.
When he left, I snuck up to the crawlspace andjackpot. I didn’t take it all, just enough that he wouldn’t notice. After that, it became a routine. Usually, I’d find only weed in there, but on a couple of occasions, I found some ecstasy or coke.
I’m a little worried about how things are going to work now that we’ve moved and he has a new job. I guess I’ll find out. It’s going to suck if he stops stealing drugs and stashing them in the house. Not that I’m addicted, but getting high often calms me, and I need help with that whenever I can.
“Raven! For the love of God, get down here!” Aunt Beth shouts furiously.
Sighing, I put the joint in my bag then head down the stairs to start what I’m sure is going to be a hellish first day of school.
2
Raven
I endup crossing paths with my uncle on my way out. He’s in the kitchen, sitting at the table, eating breakfast and reading a newspaper. He doesn’t look a lot like my dad—shorter and stockier with a bald spot on his head—which I’m grateful for. He’s also dressed in his uniform.
I try to pass by the kitchen without being noticed and hurry toward the front door, but he glances up before I can make a quick exit.
His gaze sweeps across me, and then he frowns. “You’re really going to go to school dressed like that?”
I bite back a rude remark and shrug while tugging on the sleeve of my jacket, mostly to keep the pendant hidden. It’s the one I found in the remains of the fire, and I know it might be risky wearing it, but for some reason, I feel connected to it. Or maybe it’s just that it’s something nice, and it’s been a while since I’ve had something nice.
He eyes me over again, making my skin crawl. “You look like a slut.”
My anger ticks, and I want nothing more than to walk up and clock him in the face. But I fight the urge and turn for the door, preparing to walk out.
“You better not get into trouble today,” he calls after me. “If you do, you’ll be punished. I mean it, Ravenlee. You’ll learn to obey, even if I have to—”
I rush out the front door and close it behind me, cutting off whatever threat he was about to throw my way. I might pay for the move later, but right now, all I want to worry about is getting through school, so I keep my head low and climb into the back seat of my aunt’s car.
“God, it took you long enough. You can move so slow sometimes, Ravenlee,” my aunt gripes as she drives down the driveway, heading for the main road.
I shrug and stare out the window, too tired to get into it with her right now.
I really need some coffee. And breakfast. Why did my uncle have to be in the kitchen this morning?
I zone out for most of the ride to school while Dixie May babbles about some reality TV show she’s been watching. Aunt Beth occasionally joins in on the conversation, but Dixie May is usually the one to fill up the silence. The girl could probably break the world record with her ability to talk and talk and talk, especially about reality TV.
As soon as my aunt pulls up to the school, Dixie May’s focus switches.
“This is seriously the school we have to go to?” She crinkles her nose at the brick building. “It’s so small. And where the hell is student parking?”
“I’m sure it’s around here somewhere,” Aunt Beth tells her as she stops in the student drop-off area at the front. “Maybe at the back of the school.”
Dixie May glares at her mother. “Well, they better have it, because there’s no way in hell I’m parking Cutie in this tiny parking lot when it arrives.”
Cutie is Dixie May’s BMW that she got for her sixteenth birthday. Her parents didn’t want her racking up miles on it when we moved, so they had it shipped over. It hasn’t arrived yet, something Dixie complains about every day.
