Oops.
I jump up, ready to gap it, but both of our heads swivel toward the commotion at the lunch line. The guy ahead of Kohen has managed to spill his entire tray onto the person behind him.
There’s something to be said about the predictability of ego and testosterone. Naturally, punching said spiller is the only possible conclusion to restore one’s prespilled food status. Before any security guard can take two steps, someone yells, “Food fight!”
A heartbeat later, chaos erupts from every corner of the dining hall.
The food part of a food fight here is optional. There’s one of these every month, from what I gather. The benefit of court-mandated attendance at a rich reform school is that bribery is the lifeblood of this place. So why would McGill want to shrink his pockets by running to the judge to spill the beans about his inability to control the student body? He’ll just piss off parents and lose their “donations.”
I want to say it’s a pity to see tomato sauce plastered all over the three-hundred-year-old stone or spaghetti hanging from the chandelier, but it’s what puts thereformintoschool. And I’ve gotta admit, I almost prefer Seraphic Hills over St. Augustine, because here?
We love a good fight.
But I’m above such childish behavior, because me? I stretch my fingers out and eye all the unattended backpacks. My pockets need filling, and after the encounter with Kohen, what better way to satisfy my cravings than by stealing from the rich.
The cold night air feels crisp in my lungs as I button up my woolen coat, watching clouds of condensation form and disperse with each breath I take. God, I missed this.
McGill hasn’t let me out past dinnertime in almost three weeks. He thought locking me up would teach me a lesson about keeping myhands to myself. It did the opposite.
Without the chemical highs, I’ve been clawing for anything to make my heart race or make me temporarily forget about everything. Stealing lost its thrill when the worst thing about getting caught is being stuck in a room with McGill. Sure, getting shoved into a room with next to no stimulation except my homework is bad enough. But honestly, my grades have never been better.
Even sneaking off like Charlie and I are doing now isn’t fun when there’s a chance we won’t find what we’re looking for on the other side of the spear-tipped fence.
I grunt as I pull back the loose bars, allowing Charlie to squeeze through the gap. Once she’s on the other side, she pushes the bars towards me. As high as Seraphic Hills’s budget is, they don’t monitor the fences as closely as they should. Or the church. It works in our favor.
Under the harsh glow of the moonlight, vines snake around trees and between gravestones. The bottom of my long coat catches on shrubbery and skims the top of the grass. Walking through the cemetery is risky, as the roots are a tripping hazard. We tread carefully, trying to be as quiet as possible. Security rarely makes it all the way out to the church, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful.
Rain drenched the campus earlier, and the cemetery is known for its bone-breaking mudslides. We remain silent as we take each step, ensuring we stand on even ground before shifting our weight.
The faint sound of chatter fills my ears as we trek further away from campus. Eventually, the trees clear, and the church of Saint someone or other emerges behind the safety fencing that was erected five years ago.
I glance back, checking to see we aren’t being followed, then weclimb over the chain-link fence, landing ungracefully on the other side with anoomph.
Like the campus, the church has the same gothic structure, with pointed arches and flying buttresses that are hanging by a thread. Moss and mold cover the once sandy-colored stone, creeping through carvings and covering the boarded-up windows and doors, as if slowly eating the church alive.
I tried breaking in once when I was hopped up on Molly, but like my predecessors, my attempts failed. Rumor has it the roof is unstable, and some pillars have crumbled away. A couple of the windows are smashed, but whether by divine will or coincidence, the stained glass of Mother Mary remains untouched.
Actually, it’s probably because the artist gave her a BBL, and that’s the only thing the guys around here would worship.
I can still recall when I was tweaking and was convinced she was talking to me. It was concerning because she sounded like my mother but looked like Meryl Streep.
I look over at Charlie to see if she made it over the fence. She stands back, tucking her hands into her armpits, waiting for me to walk first, even though she was the one who introduced me to this place.I stall as my attention snags on the gold chain around her neck, and my veins buzz with the need to liberate it from her.
Swallowing, I shake my head.She’s my friend, I remind myself. I can’t just steal from friends. It takes monumental effort to look away and keep hiking through the forest, attempting to push back the urges by focusing on the fact that another one of my cravings will be met tonight.
Someone laughs, causing me to tense up before the adrenaline kicks in, and I move faster with a slight bounce in my step. Withouteven seeing them, I can smell the devil’s lettuce permeating the air. Weed isn’t my usual drug of choice, but it’ll do. Unless Elijah decides to be generous today, but I won’t hold out hope since I’ve been holding out on him. Seraphic Hills has really messed with my mind because I haven’t spread my legs since that night I spent with Duke. My fucked-up brain is convinced thatI’llbe burned alive this time.
I round the corner, and half the group groggily shifts their attention toward us, all with dilated pupils. Elijah is the first to make a noise, wolf whistling and rising from the stone steps leading up to the church. “There she is.”
I plaster on a coy smile when I make eye contact with him. It’s not a substitute for letting his dick near me, but my dazzling looks are all he’s getting until I get desperate enough to beg on my knees, which I’m nearing. Elijah will chase as long as he believes he’s the only male I’m putting on a show for.
I don’t acknowledge the other two guys and one girl who are all sharing a joint. Charlie gives them each a timid smile but stays close to my heels, sitting a foot away from me as I all but sit on Elijah’s lap—and throw up a little in my mouth when I touch his greasy, mousey-brown hair.
He wraps an arm around my shoulder and tugs me closer to his side—tooclose for comfort. If I weren’t trying to get something out of him, I’d gut him for how touchy he always gets with me.
“We missed you out here.” His hair tickles my face as he presses his head against mine.
“I bet my right tit that’s a goddamn lie.”
