And even though she’s looking right at me, eager for some kind of reaction, some kind of acknowledgment that I’ve received her message loud and clear, I’ve no intention of giving her the satisfaction. No intention of listening to any more than I already have.
Between her pathetic, revenge-driven manifesto, Stacia’s usual mean-spirited inner commentary, Mr. Borden’s silent lament how yet again, another year of his life will be wasted on a fresh supply of ungrateful, incurious students—an embarrassing collection of bad haircuts and worse clothing, completely indistinguishable from those who came and went before—between all of that and everyone else’s private dramas and angst—the din is too great.
Too depressing.
And totally depleting.
So I tune it all out in favor of a little cross-campus telepathy with Damen.
Sixth-period physics and so far so good, you? I think, preparing to raise my hand when my name is called for roll, used to being one of the first on the alphabetical list with a last name like Bloom.
Art. Great way to end the day—gives me something to look forward to. Wish the whole day could be one long art class. Oh, and Ms. Machado is thrilled to have me back. Told me so herself. Never before has she seen such talent, such a natural gift in someone so young. She even wants to set aside a time to speak to me about my future and which art schools I’m applying to.
What about me? Did she pass on a greeting to the most untalented, ungifted student she’s ever seen? Or has she purposely blocked me from memory?
Don’t be so hard on yourself—your replica of van Gogh was incredibly unique.
If by unique you mean gawd awful, then yep, so true! Just make sure you tell her that I won’t be back for round two. I need to keep my confidence up, to stay strong both mentally and physically, which means I can’t take the risk of what another semester of horribly gloppy stick figures will do to my psyche. So, what’s your first project? Another Picasso—your own rendition of van Gogh?
He scoffs. Impressionism is so last year. I thought I’d go really ambitious and maybe do a mural of some sort. Re-create the Sistine Chapel. You know, cover the walls and the ceiling and really spruce up the classroom a bit—what do you think?
I think that’s a great way to keep that low profile you’re always going on about! I laugh, unaware that I actually laughed out loud until Stacia Miller peers at me, rolls her eyes, and sings, “Looo—ser!” under her breath.
And I immediately sign off. Knowing that if Mr. Borden’s frowning face is any indication, I’ve just unwittingly put myself on his watch list. Having been pegged within the first five minutes on the first day of class as one of the more particularly ungrateful troublemakers.
“Something funny, Miss—” He bows his head to peer at the seating chart he’s in the process of making. “—Bloom? Something you’d like to share with the rest of the class?”
I steal a quick intake of breath and shake my head. Avoiding Stacia’s baleful glare, the amused quirk of Honor’s brow, and the bored sighs from the rest of my classmates who’ve grown all too used to the always embarrassing display that is me.
Opening my new textbook, and reaching into my bag for some paper and a pen only to find it chock full of tulips instead. Like a love letter from Damen, those red, waxy petals serving as a reminder to hang in there, promising that no matter what happens, our undying love is the real deal—the only thing that matters in the midst of everything else.
I trace my finger along the stem, taking a moment to send him a silent thanks, before manifesting the supplies that I need. Closing my bag, confident that nobody saw, until I catch Honor studying me closely, intently, just like she did that day on the beach.
A deeply knowing kind of stare that leaves me wondering just how much she knows about me.
And I’m just about to delve further, to peer into her mind and get to the bottom of it, when she turns away, Mr. Borden calls on me to read, and I slip into the role of ambitious student trying to get my bearings on my very first day.
“Hey, Ever, wait up!”
The sound comes from behind me, but I just keep going, following my first instinct to ignore it.
But when she calls out again, I decide to stop and turn. Not the least bit surprised to find Honor running to catch up, though it’s always odd to see her on her own without Stacia. Like she’s suddenly missing an arm or a leg or some other essential part of herself.
“She’s in the bathroom,” she says, her brown eyes searching my face, answering the question she finds in my gaze. “Either reapplying her makeup, purging the fruit smoothie she slurped down at lunch, or thinking up new ways to blackmail the cheerleading squad—or heck, who knows, maybe all three.” She shrugs, cradling a stack of books in her arms, calmly looking me over from my long blond hair to my pink polished toes.
“Which makes me wonder why you even bother?” I ask, doing the same. Taking in her long dark hair with the recent addition of red streaks, her black denim leggings, knee-high flat black boots, and the sheer knit cardigan that clings to the tank top beneath. “I mean, if you hate her so much, why go to all the planning and bother? Why not just let it go and move on with your life?”
“So you can read my mind.” She smiles, keeping her voice so soft and low, it’s almost as though she’s speaking to herself instead of me. “Maybe someday you’ll teach me how to do that.”
“Doubtful.” I sigh, veering this close to peering into her mind to see what this is really about, then reminding myself that it’s wrong, that I need to be patient and let it unfold on its own.
“Then maybe Jude will.” She lifts a brow, gazing at me as though it’s a test—or maybe even some kind of thinly veiled threat.
But I just press my lips together and peer toward my locker, eager to dump all of the books I’ve already “read” and make my way toward Damen, who’s waiting for me in his car. “Don’t count on it,” I say, preferring not to think about Jude in any way, shape, or form. Other than the odd text message here and there, just to check in and make sure he’s still okay, still alive, and that Haven still hasn’t gotten to him, we haven’t really spoken since the night he killed Roman.
Since the night I was put in the awkward position of having no choice but to protect the one person I’m so angry with, I’m tempted to kill him myself.
“Last I checked, that wasn’t really one of his gifts,” I add, shifting my bag to my other shoulder and shooting her a look that says: I’m not sure what your point is here, but if in fact you have one, then you really need to get to it!
Prompting her to shrug and look away, focusing on nothing in particular, just grazing the hall as she says, “Don’t you ever want to see her pay for all the crap that she’s done?” She turns, regarding me seriously. “I mean, considering all the hell she’s put you through, what with the suspension, the YouTube video—Damen—” She pauses dramatically, hoping for some kind of reaction, but she can pause all she wants, I won’t be reacting anytime soon. “Anyway,” she continues, the words hurried, having read my expression and knowing I’m this close to leaving. “I guess I’m just surprised you’re not jumping on board. If anything, I thought you’d be first in line—well, maybe the second, you know, right behind me.”
I take a deep breath, wanting more than anything to get out of here and on with the better part of my day, but still taking a moment to say, “Yeah, well, here’s the thing, Honor, if you’re gonna choose to look at it that way, then you also gotta admit that you’ve been pretty awful to me too.” She shifts awkwardly, the movement slight but enough to convince me to continue. “In fact, you played a major part in my getting suspended, as you well know, and let’s not forget that it was also you who stood right alongside her in Victoria’s Secret the day she shot the video of me that ended up all over the Internet. And even if it wasn’t your idea, even if all you did was stand by and observe, well, in the scheme of things, it’s pretty much all the same thing. It doesn’t make you any less guilty. Instead,
it makes you complicit. Because not trying to stop a bully, and choosing to hang with a bully, pretty much makes you an accessory to everything that bully does in your presence. And yet, you don’t see me harassing you or obsessing on getting revenge, do you? And you know why?” I pause, sensing her interest is way closer to waning than peaking, but forging ahead anyway. “Because it’s not worth it. It’s not worth my time or effort. That’s what karma’s for—to balance it all out in the end. Seriously, you really need to rethink this whole plan of yours. It’s totally misguided and a total waste of your time. Because the fact is, it’s not like you’re all that innocent yourself, and these things have a way of boomeranging right back in ways you’ll never see coming.” I nod, unwilling to add that I happen to know this through my own, very recent, personal experience.
She looks at me, her eyes partially obscured by her bangs as she slowly shakes her head. “Karma?” She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Well, I hate to break it to you, Ever, but now you’re starting to sound a lot like Jude, what with all of his good mojo and bad mojo talk. But, seriously, maybe you should ask yourself this—when was the last time karma took notice of Stacia?” She lifts a brow. “Because in case you haven’t noticed, she just goes through life doing whatever she wants to whomever she wants. And while you may be fine with all that, and while you may be comfortable playing the victim to her never-ending crap, I’m over it. I’m sick of her games. Did you know that she totally tried to hook up with Craig for no other reason than to hurt me? To show me who’s queen and who’s a permanent number two.”
I gaze at her, not saying a word, the hall emptying out all around us as everyone scrambles to leave. Everyone but us, that is.
But Honor just continues, taking no notice of the time or the fact that we should be getting out of here too. Her voice low and deep when she adds, “Too bad for her, it didn’t work. But still, what kind of friend does something like that?”
“Is that why you guys broke up?” I ask, not really caring either way. I already know the truth about Craig, about his true preferences, I’m just wondering if she knows it too.
“No, we broke up because he’s gay.” She shrugs. “And there’s really no future in that for me. But don’t tell anyone—” She looks at me, face panicked, eager to protect him and keep his secret, but I just wave it away. I have no interest in gossip like that. “Anyway, the thing is, while I’m truly sorry about being—complicit, or whatever it is that you called it, that’s all over now. I have no plans to get in your way, Ever. As long as you stay out of mine.”
I squint, wondering if that was some kind of thinly veiled threat. Just about to inform her that I have way bigger fish to fry, that refereeing her popularity showdown with Stacia is of absolutely no interest to me—when I see Haven.
Standing at the end of the hall, gaze entwining with mine until everything dims but the chill of her energy, the sharp stabbing pierce of her limitless hate, and the curl of her summoning finger.
And the next thing I know, I’m off. Honor’s voice reduced to a vague and distant hum as I chase after the train of Haven’s azure-blue gown. Floating, beckoning, as she disappears around a corner, and I race to keep up.
six
I stand before the door, eyes closed, taking a moment to engage in one of the fast and simple mini-meditations Ava taught me in order to empower myself. Imagining a radiant white light coursing through my body and seeping through all of my cells, as my fingers anxiously seek the amulet I wear at my neck. The collection of crystals meant to keep me from harm and guard all of my chakras, especially my fifth—the center for the lack of discernment and a misuse of information—my one major weakness that, if targeted, will doom me to the infinite abyss.
Stealing a second to tune in to Damen, to let him know there’s a good chance it’s started, while also reminding him of his promise to stay put unless I specifically call out for his help.
Then I take a deep breath and push my way in, moving across the ugly pink tiled floor, stopping just shy of the row of white sinks that jut out from the wall. My posture relaxed, arms loose by my sides, watching as Haven kicks open the door of every last stall, making sure we’re alone, before she turns, places her hands on her hips, cocks her head to the side, and shoots me an appraising look that does nothing to mar her newly enhanced face.
“And so begins senior year.” She smirks, the sapphire marking the space just above and between her brows, catching the fluorescent light and glinting at me as she smiles in a way that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “How are you finding it so far? Your teachers—your classes—is it everything you dreamed it would be?”
I shrug, refusing to give her anything more, refusing to get caught up in her game. This is the kind of useless word-play Roman loved to engage in, and if I didn’t play it with him, I certainly won’t indulge her.
She continues to study me, not the least bit daunted by my silence. If anything, it only encourages her. “Well, as for me, it’s turning out even better than planned. I’m sure you’ve already noticed how popular I am. In fact, I can’t decide whether to try out for cheerleader, run for class president, or both. What do you think?” She pauses, allowing plenty of time for me to weigh in, but when I don’t, she just shrugs and continues. “I mean, let’s face it, not to be all full of myself but there’s really no doubt I can do anything I want now. Surely you’ve noticed the way people look at me, the way they follow me around. It’s like—” Her eyes light up, her cheeks flush bright pink, and she wraps her arms around her middle, hugging herself in a burst of conceit. “It’s like I’m a rock star or something—they just can’t get enough of me!”
I sigh, loud enough for her to hear. Meeting her overconfident gaze with a look of complete and total boredom when I say, “Trust me, I’ve noticed.” Instantly wiping the triumphant smile from her face when I add, “Too bad it’s not real. I mean, you are aware of that, right? You’re making it happen. You’re deliberately luring them to you, robbing them of choice, of their own free will, just like Roman used to do. It’s not the real deal.”
She laughs, dismissing my words with a wave of her hand, walking in slow, deliberate circles, before she stops just before me and says, “Sounds like someone’s been snacking on the sour grapes.” She curls her lip and shakes her head. “Seriously. I mean, what’s your deal, Ever? Feeling a little jealous because I finally made it to table A while you’re still a big dork who’s permanently stuck in loserville?”
I roll my eyes, remembering my old life in Eugene, Oregon, back when I was a walking, talking, popular cliché. And even though I used to miss it, missed the seeming simplicity of it—the rules of conformity that seemed so easy to follow at the time—I wouldn’t go back to it for anything. It’s not even the slightest bit tempting these days.
“Hardly.” I gaze at her, my eyes narrowed. “Though I am surprised to see how much you’ve embraced it. I mean, considering how much you used to mock them and all. But I guess you only did that to hide the fact that you secretly wanted to be one of them. You pretended not to care when they snubbed you, when, apparently, you really did.” I shake my head, shooting her a look of pity, which, if the look in her eyes is any indication, has only enraged her even more. “But I doubt that’s why you summoned me here,” I add, eager to get back on point. “So why don’t you just go ahead and spill it? What is it that you’re just dying to tell me that can’t wait or can’t take place somewhere other than this gawd-awful bathroom?”
I gaze at her patiently, waiting for her to begin, while silently repeating the promises I made to myself:
I will not start the fight.
I will not take the first swing, throw the first punch, or anything of the sort.
I will exhaust all other possibilities before it even has a chance to come to that.
I will not end her life unless my life or another’s is threatened.
I will leave it to her to make the first move.
But when she does, well, from that point on,
I’m no longer responsible for what happens to her…
She rolls her eyes and heaves an exasperated sigh, looking at me as though the view pains her when she says, “Oh, and now you’re worried about getting caught loitering in the bathroom on your first day of school?” She clucks her tongue against the inside of her cheek as she lifts her hand to admire the stack of silver and blue rings she wears on each finger. “Why you insist on trying to act so normal—so ridiculously ordinary—is beyond me. I mean, seriously, you truly are the sorriest excuse for an immortal I’ve ever seen. Roman was right—both you and Damen are a complete waste of space.” She exhales, forcing a gust of air from her lungs that sends a bitter chill through the room. “It’s like, what could you possibly expect to get out of that? A gold star—a nicely framed certificate stating that yes, you are indeed the ultimate teacher’s pet?”
She sticks out her tongue and crosses her eyes in a way that reminds me of the old Haven, the one who used to be my friend, but just as quickly it’s gone when she says, “And even more importantly, why would you even care? Because in case you haven’t noticed, the school rules are pretty much useless for people like us. We can do whatever the hell we want, whenever the hell we want, and no one can stop us. So not only do you need to lighten up and fugging unclench as usual—but you also need to put your sucking-up talents to much better use. Because if you’re determined to get on anyone’s good side, it should be mine.” She quirks her brow, and stares right into my eyes. “I mean, you’ve already ruined Damen—ever since he hooked up with you he’s like, destination boring town.” She takes a moment to grin at the remark. “Still, I am thinking of transferring into his fifth-period AP English class, and I’ll probably even sit next to him if I do. Does that bother you?”
I shrug, busying myself with my nails, even though they’re clean, smooth, unpolished, and so short there’s not much to see. But I won’t give in to her badgering, and I certainly won’t give her the satisfaction she seeks.