Dahlia’s face pinches, eyes gleaming as her lower lip trembles. “Like you could fall in love. You don’t even have a heart.”
“Says the girl who left me the moment my mother cut me off.” He looks around the corridor, seeing the stares of interest, the smirks, the sniggers, and throws up his hands. “Fine, go on, make fun of me for suddenly being poor. You’re the one who didn’t want a relationship. You just wanted your bills paid.”
He turns on his heel, walking away while she looks stricken, colour draining until her face is pale with shock. Evie puts an arm around her waist, and for long seconds it appears the only thing keeping her upright.
Then Clare pushes away from her locker, following him. Her face is mottled with colour.
“How dare you?” she hollers at the top of her lungs, eyes narrowing.
Wilder stops, glancing back in surprise as she stalks over, poking a finger in his chest.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, trotting out that gaslighting bullshit?” She screws her hands up beside her eyes, miming tears, her voice rising into a scathing falsetto. “Boo-hoo, she doesn’t really love me.”
Zane and Maddox stare, open-mouthed, then hurry along the corridor towards us.
“What would you know about it?” Wilder says, towering over her. “I can’t even remember your name.”
I feel the force of the words hit Clare, and immediately rush to stand beside her, shoulder to shoulder, a united front.
Not that she needs it. Her chin jerks even higher into the air. “You know what you should do if you think your girlfriend doesn’t care? Be a man and break up with her. Not go sticking your dick into every girl in a ten-mile radius, pretending she made you do it. You think we’re gold diggers? Better that than being a juvenile, self-serving prick.”
Wilder’s face twists with fury. Then Zane grabs him by the neck, marching him in the opposite direction, Maddox flanking them as they turn the corner, out of sight.
“Oh, I like you,” Dahlia says, throwing back her head and laughing, the tears of shock and pain still vibrant in her eyes. “You should go into politics because that’s the best fucking speech I ever heard. Forget an anti-royal club. We need a pro-us club.”
Evie claps her hands. “We could become thenewroyals. Female only. Capable of dealing with the males who-are-no-longer-known-as-anything and their irritating brand of bullshit.”
Dahlia arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Maddox upset you, has he?”
“I can think of some things from earlier in the year that qualify. Are you in?”
We bump fists and Clare gives a delighted laugh. “The first order of business should be taking over the clubhouse. Males only admitted by prior appointment.”
“Seconded,” I say, then we all scramble as the bell for homeroom sounds.
We’ve only just sat down when an announcement comes through the overhead, asking for the art students in years nine to thirteen to report to the assembly hall, and the teacher nods for me to leave.
Students mill about the large space, speculating in whispers while I try to force a mystified expression on my face.
Zane finds his way over to me, giving my hand a squeeze before letting it drop. The instant he does, I reach for it again, holding tight as we face the principal standing on the raised stage.
There’s a short speech about the abrupt departure of Mr Simmons due to ‘family reasons,’ then a list of how that will affect our student schedules. A combination of relief teachers and the art department head will absorb the extra classes.
The buzz grows louder, most students more interested in gossip about why he left than they care about their new rosters.
“Avon Larsson?” Miss Murewa calls out as we finish, and my skin turns to ice as she walks to my side. “Could you come with me? I’m sorry but there’s been an incident.” As I stare, she shifts her weight uneasily. “It involves the works of art you had in the storage room.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
AVON
Zane’s gripon my hand grows firmer, and he moves in front of me, offering a partial shield. “What kind of incident?”
Miss Murewa frowns at him. “You can go to your first period class, Mr Beaumont.”
“Could I…?” I lick my lips as dread erupts. “Can he stay?”
She frowns at me for an instant, then gives a short nod before leading the way across to the art block.
