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I'm about to turn away from her, when she adjusts her arm, and I see the tiniest tattoo scrawled on the inside of her wrist.
My eyes widen, and I lean in further. Finally, someone normal.
"What's your name?" she asks, pressing her chin into her palm, a smile still gracing her lips.
"Vera. Yours?"
"Hazel. Where are you from?"
"Fargo," I whisper. "What's up with this place? It's weird."
She nods. "I'd say you'll get used to it, but you never really do. I, uh, I saw you fighting with Malik in the hall. How do you know him?"
I chew on the corner of my lip, hesitating on whether I should tell her my whole story yet. I mean, she could secretly be screwing Malik behind closed doors. She might walk out of here and walk straight to him and tell him everything I say to her.
But something about her makes me know I can trust her. "He's my stepbrother."
Her eyes widen, and she leans back in her seat, her back pressing against the black metal of the chair that digs uncomfortably into your spine.
Her wide eyes lower, and her mouth screws up into a wince. "That seriously sucks."
I nod. "What's his deal?"
She shakes her head. "Don't ask."
I lower my head, tilting closer to her. My fingers curl around the edges of the desk, the wood worn and jagged against my skin.
"I live in his house.My momlives in his house. I have a right to know if there's something wrong with him. If he's… dangerous or something."
She doesn’t even blink. "Heisdangerous. The friends he hangs out with, they're dangerous. His father, their parents, dangerous. But Malik, himself? I don't think there is a good side to him."
A throat clears, and we both look up, seeing the teacher standing beside my desk, staring at the both of us with a heavy frown. "I'm sorry, we haven't met. I'm Sister Marjorie. You are?"
"Vera," I grumble, folding my arms across my chest.
Just like everyone else in this school, she looks at my outfit with a lick of disgust in her gaze. Her mouth opens, like she's about to reprimand me.
"You don't have to say it. Everyone has already bitched about my outfit today."
A ruler comes down, and I can hear the whistling in the air as the wood flies toward my skin. It slaps my knuckles of the fingers that are curled around the edge of the desk.
My mouth flies open, a yelp squeaking out as my fingers uncurl from the desk. I shake them out, rubbing at the red marks along my fingers with my other hand. "What the fuck?"
Her hand snaps out, her long, cold fingers wrapping around my wrist. My eyes widen as I look up at her. Her skin feels so cold, like she's dead. I glance at her face, double-checking to make sure she's really alive.
She presses her hand on my wrist, pinning it to the desk. Her other hand grips the ruler, and brings it down, slapping my already throbbing skin a second time.
"Foul language is not acceptable here. I suggest you don't use it a third time, unless you want your skin to break."
My body starts to shake, and I rip my hand from hers. "You can't do this."
"I just did," she says. Her words are ominous, like a promise of what else is to come. The black veil of her dress cloaks around her face, darkening her pale skin behind the shadows of her clothing.
I grab my bag, ready to book it out of here, when she presses her hand on my shoulder. "What is your name?"
A lashing remark rolls around on my tongue, but I appease her, only because the bones in my fingers feel broken. "Vera."
She nods. "Vera. I'm not sure where you've come from, or what it was like where you lived. But here at Castle Pointe Academy, the students behave and follow the rules. If you feel like straying from your thin line, well, there will be severe consequences."
