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I push open the door. “So is Dixie May’s IQ.”
“Dixie May isn’t stupid.” She rotates around in the seat to glare at me. “She just prefers fashion and guys over schoolwork. That’s not that uncommon for a teenage girl. You’re the anomaly, Raven.”
I give a shrug. “I wasn’t trying to argue that I wasn’t an anomaly. I was merely pointing out that, if you think I’m unintelligent, then you must think your daughter is an idiot.”
“Dixie May isn’t an idiot,” she scoffs. “She just gets distracted because she has a life.” She flashes me a smirk. “Unlike you.”
“I may be a social outcast, but at least I’m not an idiot. And when this last year of hell is all over and I graduate, I’m going to take my good grades, go off to college, and make something of myself, while Dixie May probably ends up having a shotgun wedding because she can’t keep her legs closed.”
Her nostrils flare. “You little shit—”
I hop out of the car and slam the door shut.
She starts to roll the window down as I hurry toward the sidewalk that leads to the front doors, knowing she won’t make a scene. It’s not her style. No, her style is to tell my uncle, who’s going to either be annoyed with her that she’s being a tattletale or pissed off at me, depending on his mood. Either way, there’s going to be shouting in the house when my uncle Don gets home tonight.
“You can get your own ass home, Ravenlee Wilowwynter!” she shouts from the car. “I won’t be picking you up!”
I cringe as the handful of students walking around glance in my direction.
Awesome. What a great way to start my first day at a new school. Then again, if Dixie May has her way, it’ll be a shitty day for me anyway. And now I have the walk home to look forward to. It’s my own damn fault for riling my aunt up. I just get so sick of her shit sometimes.
Letting out a slow exhale, I continue toward the school with people eyeballing me, eyeballing my outfit, eyeballing my crazy hair. Then the whispering begins. Finally, I can’t take it anymore, so I stick my hand into my pocket and dig out my phone. Then I grab my earbuds, pop them in, and crank up some classic rock, the same music my dad used to listen to.
I’ve been entering school this way for as long as I can remember. Music helps block out everything, including my own annoying thoughts. Though I made a promise to myself not to do that today, to try a fresh start, I guess old habits die hard.
I don’t want to listen to the whispering. Don’t want to listen to the name calling. Don’t want to listen to everyone talk about all the made-up stories Dixie May has spread about me.
“She’s a slut.”
“She’s a satanic freak.”
“I once saw her kill a puppy just for fun.”
“She slept with a teacher.”
“Slut.”
“Freak.”
“Murderer.”
I yank myself away from the memories, telling myself that I don’t need to rehash the lies she told about me.
Well, almost all of them were lies.
One carries a drop of truth to it.
Murderer.
Because, in a way, their deaths were my fault.
3
Hunter
I’m havingthe shittiest morning ever, mostly because one of the first people I see is my stepmother from hell. I despise the woman. Hate her. Just seeing her makes my skin crawl, which is why I try to avoid her at all costs.
I don’t live with her or my father, having rented a house with my two best friends, Jax and Zay, the day I turned eighteen. We made a pact to do so when we were twelve, to move away from the shitholes that were supposed to be our homes but, really, were just houses, with roofs and walls that offered shelter. Nothing more. And yeah, I know that’s more than what some people have.
