“Well, they wanted the best-of-the-best,” I remark, leaning against the end of my bed, “I guess we’re the cream of the crop; a group of thieves, sex fiends, liars, and cheats.”
He rubs his chin with his thumb. “Sounds about right, actually.”
My voice is soft and sounds as tired as I feel, “You have to let up on me a little, Em.”
There’s a long moment of silence where Emory does nothing but stare at my discarded shoes. “I’m not sure I know how to,” he says, and I can see this strange, wild fear in his eyes. Sometimes I forget that, in a single moment, Emory almost lost his sister and best friend. Sometimes I’m too caught up in my own phantom grief to remember his own. Without warning, he reaches out and pulls me into a tight hug, mashing my face up against his chest. “But I promise I’ll try. And you can tell me if you need help, okay?”
I sigh into his chest, squeezing him back. “I’m done with it, promise.”
He must be convinced, because he releases me and exits the room without another word. I wait a beat before going to the bathroom and locking the door behind me. I open the tiny drawer on the jewelry box and pull out the pouch, hooking a shaky finger around one of the pills.
Reyn had been right about the secret. This business of reestablishing the secret society at Preston Prep is no small matter. It proves that the roots grow deeper than I ever realized, and an exposé would be earth-shattering to the entire institution. What I didn’t know was that I’d have to reveal my own secrets to be involved, which means when I write my story, I’ll open myself and my family up to scrutiny.
But I can see the whole picture with crystal clarity now. The Devils are bigger than just one person—bigger even than a group of people, or the ones behind the curtain, orchestrating it from the shadows. The Devils are a body—mind, heart, and twisted soul—and it breathes in all of us. Reyn, Emory, and I all have our own share of the blame, but the guys only stole that car because that’s the kind of thing you do when you’re being courted by the Devils. And the more I think about it, the more I can see a little bit of the red and black behind each of those bitter confessions.
The Devils’ strongest legacy lives in all of us. It’s a long, multi-generational string of pains and hurts that will just keep growing and spreading. I think of the look on Reyn’s face that night, in the hospital. I think of the wild fear I’d just seen in my brother’s eyes. I think of the other initiates, quiet and solemn during their confessions. I think that thrusting my family into the fray by exposing it all is a bitter pill to swallow.
I smile brokenly at the white oval in my hand, before popping it into my mouth.
Well.
I’m pretty good at that, anyway.
If someone told me that being part of a club, a sorority, or secret society would change my entire perception of school, I would’ve called bullshit.
But now I see that it’s true.
I mean, on the outside, nothing has changed. I still listen to Sydney, wearing her cheer uniform, as she discusses the rumors flying around her that day; someone posting a photo of her measuring the length of her skirt compared to the other girls. It’s all, she tells me, very tragic and desperate. While she goes on about this, I s
till notice everyone giving me a wide berth as I walk past. I still register the looks of pity and disinterest. From their perspective, I’m still just Vandy Hall, the broken girl with the hot older brother.
Except…
I make eye contact with Sebastian Wilcox, who’s propped up against the statue in the quad. It’s brief and fleeting, and I know when others look at him, they might see a rough, disinterested goon with cold eyes and a hard expression. But I can see the flatness of regret now, something haunted and aged looking back at me. He gives me the smallest nod, an almost imperceptible dip of his chin, and there’s an understanding there. I know exactly where he got those scrapes on his knuckles.
It’s a surprising weight, knowing the deepest, darkest secrets of the most popular people in school. It’s more than just a responsibility, but also an odd, patchwork union.
“Hold on a sec,” Sydney says, grabbing my arm. “Afton!”
Afton turns. Her long hair has been styled stick-straight, a red and black hair bow jacked-up three perfect inches from her hairline. Her gaze darts from Sydney to me and lingers a bit longer than it should. There’s no doubt what we’re thinking simultaneously:
You’re fucking your dad’s best friend.
You’re a junkie.
“Yeah?” She focuses back on Syd.
“What time are we meeting tonight? I need to run home after school.”
Afton snorts, something caustic in the curve of her mouth. “Why? To hike that skirt up another inch?”
Sydney rolls her eyes. “Oh, you saw that, huh? For the record, I do not make my skirts shorter. My legs are just that long.”
“Uh huh.” Afton looks away, already seeming bored by her. “Bus leaves at five.”
“Are you riding the bus?” Sydney asks once we walk away.
My eyebrows pull together. “Why would I ride the bus?”