Beyond my own little drama, what happened with the Waltons? I punched Dawson out and kicked him in the nuts, but I didn’t beat him up that badly. And I didn’t even see the Walton girls, so why have they been out?
I can’t tell if people are staring at me as I walk to my first class. My head is crammed with all the new information, but there’s obviously more that I don’t have. I missed the last two months of junior year and the first month of senior year, and I have no idea what happened while I was gone. But knowing Willow Heights, I missed a shitload of drama. Now, it’s like starting over from scratch, trying to figure it out all over again.
I sit in first period, trying to pay attention, but my mind keeps returning to what Colt said. He didn’t seem pissed at me, though he has every reason to be. In fact, he didn’t seem pissed at Preston’s either—not at me, anyway. That day, he was irate at Preston for sleeping with me, and today he seemed more interested in needling the queen bee than anything.
Even if he doesn’t blame me, I feel guilty as fuck. But the blame for that situation doesn’t fall entirely on me. He invited me to his house knowing what he was risking, even if I didn’t. He gave me Mabel’s clothes and told me what happened to her, conveniently leaving out the part about how the twins are still obsessed with her. Maybe everything would have been the same if he hadn’t done that, but maybe not. After all, if Royal hadn’t seen me with Colt, he might have never gone apeshit with jealousy. That was the day he claimed me as his plaything, said I belonged to him.
The day I wore Mabel’s clothes, the twins freaked out. Royal made me change and then took me to the basement to fool around for the first time. After that, he ordered me to go to his game. We hooked up. And everything went from there. If Colt hadn’t invited me over that day, would any of that have happened the way it did?
There’s no use wondering, since he did invite me over. But him holding it against me is like me holding it against him that Royal claimed me. And the truth is, I like Colt, and I could use his friendship, but I won’t risk it if he’s going to be hurt again. I have to feel out the new order, figure out how things have changed now that Royal’s not on the throne.
I walk into second period and see an empty seat next to Josie, the girl in flannel, who’s sitting slouched in her seat with her earbuds in, fiddling with her laptop. I head her way, but a deep voice calls my name, interrupting my progress. The girl looks up, taking me in with a single glance, and then goes back to her computer.
“Yo, Harper,” DeShaun calls again, kicking out a chair for me. “Come sit with us.”
I sigh and relent, joining him at a table with Cotton Montgomery and some Dolce girl whose name I don’t remember. Suddenly, all I remember is that she and another girl giggled as they told me that Duke would give me a “more permanent” mark than a necklace. I think of that ring that he wears, and I shudder. He told me it was to know where he’d been, and he used it on me. Do all the Dolce girls have that same scar?
We really are branded like his cattle.
I feel bile rise to my throat, and I’m not sure I can sit through this class with a girl who thinks that’s cute and a guy who’s known by his own friends as someone to watch out for because he might slip something in your drink. I start to rise, turning to see if the spot next to Josie is open, but just then, Colt drops into it. Of course he’s friends with the cool chick. Of fucking course.
Class starts, and I sit there trying to remember why I fought so hard to be in this group last year. It’s obvious I chose the wrong crowd. I’m haunted by the look this girl I don’t even know gave me when I walked in and was going to sit with her. Josie looked me over and dismissed me in a single glance. She doesn’t know me, doesn’t know I spent all of last year wishing I had designer clothes like everyone else, that I could fit in.
Now I do, and the first person who looks cool and interesting took one look at me and decided I was like every other rich bitch. She saw me with Gloria this morning, after all. She probably thinks I’m one of the mean girls, that I belong with these people. She didn’t know I was heading for her table, that I singled her out because I wanted to be with someone who looks more like… me.
Except the truth is, I don’t look like her anymore. I don’t know where I belong this year. Maybe I don’t belong with girls like Josie or Blue, girls who look like opposite ends of the spectrum of FHS kids. After all, I wear thousand-dollar shoes and drive an Escalade. From the outside, I’m just like Gloria. But under it all, I’m still a girl from the trailer park, no matter how much Preston tries to change me by putting me in fancy clothes and draping me with diamonds.
Maybe, for a few months last year, I did belong in this group. I was Royal’s plaything, and though we never made it official, everyone knew I was his girlfriend. But I only belonged because he said I did. I got invited to their parties, but not their spring break trips. None of that has changed. Just because I have expensive clothes now, Preston’s not going to fund my trips with his enemies and their friends. They’ll call me over in class, sit with me because Royal says I’m good enough, pretend for my sake that they don’t know where I came from and who I really am. But they’ll always know I’m not one of them, and I’ll always know they’re faking it.
I make it through class without freaking out, but I’m only halfway down the hall toward the next one when I see Duke for the first time. Adrenaline spikes through me, and all I want to do is run. Luckily, he’s busy flirting with the pretty blonde freshman from this morning, and he doesn’t even see me.
I hurry past, so busy looking back over my shoulder that I miss what’s right in front of me until I step on something soft. Jerking to a stop, I whip around, barely noticing a few dirty looks cast my way. Under my foot is a smashed carnation, one of hundreds piled on the floor against the lockers. Cards, teddy bears, and handmade signs float in the sea of flowers.
Suddenly, my head swims, and I brace my hand against the locker, fighting for breath as Dixie’s words come back to me.
I’m so sorry about your brother.
I’m here if you need to talk.
I think I’ll be sick. I push off the locker and rush down the hall to the bathroom, slamming my shoulder into the door so hard it flies open. Even though it’s a passing period, the bathroom is strangely deserted, like it was waiting for me. I grip the edges of a sink, closing my eyes and sucking in deep breaths. I’m glad I didn’t eat breakfast, so I have nothing to puke up. My legs are shaking like jelly.
Suddenly, I’m aware of the unyielding rigidity of the brass knuckles binding my fingers, and I yank them off and drop them into the sink and jump back like they might bite me.
Did I kill Dawson?
I’ve heard of someone being hit on the head and dying of an aneurism they didn’t know they had. But isn’t that instantaneous? Or can it happen later, after he falls asleep? Or is that a concussion? Did I hit him hard enough to cause a concussion?
“You better be some idiot freshman who doesn’t know who I am,” says a voice from one of the stalls. The door flies open, and Gloria Walton stands there, looking pissed.
“Gloria,” I say, swallowing hard.
“Oh,” she says, giving me a cool once-over. “It’s you.”
We stand there staring each other down for a minute. This girl was my friend, but as the seconds tick by, I count the ways I’ve wronged her. I didn’t just hurt her brother. I told someone Royal’s secret after swearing to her that I wouldn’t. I betrayed her, and judging by the way Royal talked to her this morning, there were consequences.
Disgusted with myself, I snatch up the rings from the sink and push them back on before turning to face her. There’s no use in putting it off, in hiding from the truth.
“What happened to Dawson?” I ask flatly.