A couple of times I find my finger poised over Noah’s name, the insane itch to message him twinging under my skin. I don’t succumb.
On Monday, Eli picks me up at the rear of the property. When we pull into the student parking lot, I notice Alec leaning against the columns in front of Stonehurst, sans jacket, a handful of his jock friends and cheerleaders surrounding him in a tight circle. The gaggle of bears and vipers who usually sit on the periphery of the group is nowhere to be seen, and other students seem to be taking a wide berth to avoid them. Alec’s face is stormy as hell.
He’s lonely up there on his pedestal.
Eli notices me watching. “We spent the weekend putting the word out. Alec LeMarque is canceled at Stonehurst Prep. No one except a few loyal fuckheads will go near him now.”
My hands curl into fists, and I miss the satisfying weight of my knife against my leg. I lost it in the desert, along with my phone and the last thread of my humanity. “I’m still going to claw his eyes out.”
Eli’s smile warms me from the inside out. “I’d like to see that.”
Walking to my locker with Eli is a new experience. It takes us three times as long because he keeps stopping to talk to people. Unlike Gabriel and Noah who breeze past anyone they deem beneath them, Eli always has time to comment on a teammate’s performance or wish the Theatresports team good luck for their upcoming competition.
Who knew popular boys can be so damn nice?
Who knew basic human decency is so fuckinghot?
By the time we reach our lockers, I’m ready to jump Eli’s bones, consequences be damned. Then Noah leans against my locker door, and I’m momentarily stricken by the contrast. Whereas Eli is all Southern charm and fashion-magazine good-looks, Noah’s the bad boy with the fuck-you attitude and haunting eyes. Those coal-orbs fix me with a devastating glare. “5PM, library. Don’t be late.”
“What’s this?” I raise a perfectly-sculpted eyebrow.
“Your tutoring session.” Noah gives me one final, penetrating glare, then storms off.
I glare at Eli, who bursts out laughing. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t make him tutor you. Grumpypuss must’ve decided for himself you’re worth the effort.”
Intriguing.
Eli walks me to homeroom, where Gabriel waits to escort me on his arm like I’m the queen. He does this between all my morning classes, keeping up an easy conversation in an attempt to distract me from the eye-daggers Cleo’s throwing at my back.I could get used to this.
Cleo I can handle, but when we step into third-period English and Alec LeMarque glares at me from a seat in the second row, my body recoils against Gabriel. It’s this visceral sense ofwrongness, like space bends around Alec’s body, and he not a person so much as a portal into a dark void where a cosmic god devours souls.
Okay, that might just be my imagination recalling this reverse harem book,Kings of Miskatonic Prep,that I read last night, but still. Alec’s assault left a mark on my psyche that all my bravado and vengeance cannot heal.
My mind flicks back to George, and I wonder again if this is something she feels, if the hurt Alec has done to her runs deeper than just bullying. It’s enough to make me wring his neck right there. Gabriel senses my body stiffening and leads me to a desk as far from Alec as it’s possible to get.
I don’t hear a word of the lesson.
One of the guys remains at my side during every class. In History, we’re supposed to be working on our essays about the impact of colonialism on indigenous cultures, but Eli studies me instead, no doubt searching my face for signs that this fresh trauma is making my amnesia worse.
By the time lunch rolls around, I’m sweating from the stress of seeing Alec everywhere. I tense up in the halls, certain he’ll be waiting around the next corner to leap out and attack me.
On the way to lunch, we pass George with her pockets stuffed with food, heading to the bathroom. “Hey, George,” Eli waves. “Over here.”
Every face in the hallway turns to watch the exchange. Eli Hart, king of the school, talking to weirdo freak George? No one knows what to make of it. Gabriel saunters up behind us, and he flashes George his cheekiest, friendliest smile.
George’s face goes red as a beet, but she falls in step beside me. I throw my arm around her shoulders, marveling at how tiny she is – I’m short as fuck and she’s a good two inches shorter than me, and her unusual hair and nose piercings only make her look even smaller and more pixie-like.
Eli leads us through the dining hall, his jaw set with determination. When we arrive at the Royal table, it’s already occupied with three of the jocks, the same three guys who were standing with Alec on the front steps. Just seeing their faces, remembering the way their features twisted like horror movie monsters as they came at me in the desert, made me want to run. But I held my ground.Mackenzie Malloy isn’t afraid of her attackers.
Mackenzie Malloy will fuck you all up.
Everyone falls silent. Gabriel takes a seat right in the middle and pulls me down next to him. George looks like she’s going to bolt, or vomit, or possibly both, but I pat the seat next to me and she sits gingerly on the edge.
Everyone’s staring at us. All conversation has stopped. I glare at the guy sitting opposite me, whose name is Darren. I dare him to speak, but he just frowns at his lunch.
Gabriel’s the one who breaks the silence. He points to the patch from a punk band on George’s satchel. “I love these guys. You have good taste.”
George glances down, as if seeing her bag for the first time. She bites her lip. “Yeah, I—I guess I listen to a lot of punk.”
