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Of course. Stamping down on my anger, I hate myself a little for the kiss we just shared. It was a foolish moment, born of foolish, hormonal impulses. Lukas will always be this: the boy I can't get along with unless we leave gaping holes in our conversation where the Elites should be.

It takes a few long moments for Lukas to fix up my hard drive. I watch his face as he does it, studying the way the blue-tinged light of the screen plays off his pale cheekbones. For some reason, this moment feels precious and fleeting, as if it'll slip from my hands and never return.

I don't want to have to pick between having moments like this, where's I'm free to stare at him up close and personal, and my vendetta for revenge.

Too bad for me I don't have to pick. The world is going to pick for me.

"There. All done." His face is placid and neutral as he closes my laptop and slides it over to me. "I'll text you when I'm ready to meet again."

Clearing my throat, I murmur, "See you this weekend at the Hallow's Eve Festival?"

Standing, bag in hand, he stares down at me. I feel my heart surge up into my throat; I want nothing more than to know what he's thinking.

"See you this weekend, Brenna."

* * *

There's a moment, standing at the threshold of the salon, where I have the chance to make a choice.

I can turn around now. Walk back towards the bus that Mrs. Reynolds drove to take us into town on our latest shopping trip. And tell her that I'm all done.

Technically Iamall done, at least with our main mission here. I took Mariana's list of supplies with me and bought everything we'll need for the SFX makeup, using the business card Mrs. Reynolds gave me for the event. I've got the receipt in my purse, carefully tucked away for expense purposes.

But there's something else I came here to do. Something that, in the part of my heart that's still beating, I know I shouldn't do at all.

The thing is, though, I lost half my heart the day Silas died. And I find that I really don't care anymore about the consequences of my actions—even the reckless, ill-advised ones. So I step into the salon, give the receptionist my name, and wait for my appointment.

I could stop the moment the hair stylist leads me back.

Jump out of the salon chair and declare that I don't want my highlights refreshed after all.

Reach up and take her hand before the bleach formula hits my hair.

But I don't.

And so, an hour later, my hair freshly bleached and tinted, I hand over a credit card that doesn't have my name on it, and give the receptionist a smile.

Then I take a few steps across the street to the makeup store—a different one this time, just like the salon I picked is different—and get more of the foundation and skincare items I'm running low on.

As long as I've fallen this far, I might as well secure my own special circle in Hell.

This time, I can't tell myself that it's about revenge, or that I'm getting back at someone who treated me poorly.

The truth is, I want what Holly Schneider has, in a terrible green-eyed monster kind of way.

After I'm done, I take the receipts from my ill-gotten adventure and throw them in the trash. Then I pull the credit card out and start to fling it into the trash can too.

I stop at the last second.

If I get rid of the card now, after all, I won't have any way to refresh my look before the Blind Ball at the end of the semester.

A sick feeling in my gut, I shove the card back down into my wallet and shake away my guilty energy.

When I get back in the bus, though, I can't meet Holly's eyes, especially when she declares that she loves my newer, blonder hair. So I fake like I'm tired and close my eyes, leaning my head back on the seat rest the whole ride home, ignoring Georgia's gossip about her new guy Hass.

I tell myself I haven't done the unforgivable—not yet.

Even though it feels like I'll never come back from this.