Page 5

CHAPTER

THREE

REMI

My mind races as I slam my locker door shut. I can’t remember if I made my bed this morning. I’d stayed up late reading, and when my alarm went off, I just meant to snooze it once.

But once became twice became three times and... Silas will be back today. At noon. Which means if I didn’t make my bed, he’ll see and ? —

“Remi?”

I jump, startled, clutching my books to my chest as my face warms.

A pair of gray eyes and a soft smile are staring down at me.

And I do mean down.

Cortland Adler is easily the tallest boy at West River High. He transferred last year from the middle-of-nowhere West Virginia, to here. The middle-of-nowhere North Carolina.

He’s the golden boy at West River. I’m not sure why he ever bothers talking to me.

“Yeah?” I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear that slipped free from my braids. My palms are sweaty and as Cortland’s gaze slips from my eyes to my body, I hug my books tighter.

I’m in jeans and an oversized T-shirt. Because Silas will be home.

I think about the stash of clothes I’ve got in Sloane’s locker down the hall. I might not have made my bed but at least I remembered to put those secrets away.

Cortland clears his throat, then swings his backpack around to his chest. He tugs at his zipper, and I glance at his hoodie. Black, with a wolf. West River’s mascot. Beneath it are the words, “Welcome to pack territory.” I have one of those hoodies. All the cheerleaders got them.

I’m still staring at the way the soft black material frames his broad shoulders when I realize he’s saying my name again.

I blink, straightening as my face flushes hotter and sweat pricks on the back of my neck.

He’s offering something to me.

Beat up and worn with a cracked spine. A book.

Pet Sematary.

I swallow hard.

“I uh, I just found it at the library and Ms. Jones said they don’t offer this kind of material at West River.” He mimics her stern voice and I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “So, I figured it was yours.”

He adjusts his backpack on his shoulder again, still extending the book to me.

I stare at the cat on the worn cover. No, they certainly do not offer Stephen King at West River.

I got it from the thrift store one day after practice.

There are no bookstores in town, so when Silas won’t be home, I check out the used books at Thrifty’s, using the money he gives me after every fight. Guilt money.

Cortland gestures toward me with the book. “But maybe it isn’t yours, sorry, I just thought…”

My stomach flips and I clutch my books tighter to my chest to reach for the novel. For a second, our fingers brush against one another and a shiver slides down my spine.

Then he releases the book and I add it to the stack in my arms.

His smile widens, his lip ring moving as it does.

“How’d you know it was mine?” I ask, my heart skipping a beat at the thought of him seeing it and thinking of me.

I don’t remember leaving it in the library yesterday but I was in a rush to get home.

To clean the toilets, take out the trash.

Silas has been gone four days and I’ve reveled in every hour of his absence.

Cortland slides his hands into the pockets of his pants, his long lashes nearly grazing his cheekbones as he looks down between us.

“I think you’re the only girl in this school who reads horror.” His eyes flick to mine. “Or only person at all, to be honest.”

I laugh at that, thinking of Sloane. She likes painting her nails and watching romcoms. Horror has her squealing like a kid, half-hiding under the covers. That’s the point, I’ve told her. To get freaked out.

Just as I open my mouth to say something, Chase McGowan and Maya Bell come up behind Cortland, shoulder-to-shoulder with him.

“Ah, Remi Ocean. You’re looking mighty fine today,” Chase says, his gaze lascivious as he rakes his eyes down my body. He slaps Cortland on the back, and I see Cort’s jaw tense.

Maya flips her long, dark hair over one shoulder and loops her arm through Cortland’s.

“Don’t be late to practice today, Remi,” she says, glaring at me.

“Your performance sucks as it is.” She glances at her nails as my flush spreads down my neck, to my chest. “That pawprint you paint on your cheek can’t make up for talent.

There are so many other girls who’d kill to take your spot. ”

I don’t doubt it. Cheerleading is okay, I’m decent at it, and being on the team helps me pass as someone who belongs. But I only do it because Mom got me into it, when I was a kid. And it keeps me away from Silas.

I take a step back from the three of them, Cortland glancing at Maya with a furrow between his brow. But Chase still has his arm on his back and Maya has hers looped through his. They’re flanking him.

I know what they’re really doing. Claiming him.

From a wealthy family, athletic and good looking, Cortland was always going to be theirs.

My stepdad is wealthy, too. I’m not ugly. But where Cortland has an easy smile and polite, Southern manners, able to converse with everyone from the principal to the janitor, I don’t know how to socialize well.

I’ve always been this way.

My stammering words and standoffishness don’t endear me to anyone. Silas. Chase. Maya.

I nod once in Maya’s direction. If I get kicked off the team, I’ll be home more and my comfortable social status as someone just above rat in these hallways will slip. I don’t wanna do that to Sloane. She could be so much better than my friend. Do so much better. But I love her.

“I’ll be there,” I say, shifting my gaze from Maya to Cortland.

He’s smiling at me, a dimple flashing in his cheek. “See ya, Remi.”

“See ya.” I turn around, feeling Cortland’s eyes on me.

Then I hear Chase snicker. “I wouldn’t mind fucking her once to see if she’d actually moan.”

My ears grow warm and I’m glad I’m walking away from them. Maya makes a disgusted noise. “She looks like she hasn’t washed her hair in weeks,” she hisses. “Wonder if she’s got any running water in that big house.”

Pressure builds behind my eyes. I didn’t shower this morning. Or yesterday because I’d already cleaned the bathrooms and didn’t want to risk them seeming anything but spotless.

I’m about to turn down the hall when Cortland speaks, his voice soft and low.

“She’s still hot as hell.”

And despite the humiliation burning through me, a smile graces my lips.

Sloane whirls around as I walk into our dorm, dropping my backpack to the floor. I inhale, trying to steady myself, catching the strawberry scent that seems to drift around her, infecting every space she occupies. It’s comforting, and right now, I need the comfort.

“Finally,” she says with a smile, a hairbrush in her hand.

I swallow, forcing myself to meet her gaze as I glance at her side of the room. I moved in yesterday, loading up all the things I’d kept at her house over the summer into my little blue Corolla. I wanted a night away from her.

Not because of her, because of me.

She’s got her purple bedspread made up, her lofted bed mirroring mine, against the wall. Our desks are beside our beds, adjacent to each other.

There’re dresses draped over her purple desk chair, a couple of boxes labeled BATHROOM on her bed, but otherwise, it looks like she’s mostly done unpacking.

“You get my text? About the party tomorrow night?”

I take a step into our little room, then another. I force myself to sink into my own black desk chair, pulling my knees to my chest, my Chucks on the seat.

“Yeah,” I tell her, my throat dry. “I?—”

“And before you say no,” she scolds me, hopping up on her bed, her legs dangling off as she keeps brushing her bright blonde hair, “Van is gonna be there too.”

At that, I’m able to blink away the memory of Cortland’s thumb stroking my breast.

I look up at her, shoving my hands into the pocket of my hoodie as I take in her beige crop top and high-waisted jeans. Her green eyes meet mine, accentuated by lash extensions. She tried to convince me to get them, too, but it’s all I can do to put on eyeliner. I couldn’t handle the upkeep.

“You talked to Van?” I ask, dipping my chin.

Van Cross is, technically, my cousin, but not by blood.

He’s the son of my stepdad’s stepsister, whom he never speaks to.

They don’t get along—what a surprise—and aside from a few odd holidays growing up, we weren’t close.

He has no idea what Silas is like. But we coincidentally reconnected in an art history class last year, and when he offered me a joint as soon as we walked out together, our connection was instant.

He’s attractive as far as distant cousins go, with buzzed hair, tanned white skin and deep blue eyes, plus those tattoos all up and down his arms. But our relationship is strictly platonic, and not just because we’re vaguely related by marriage.

He’s not into me. It’s another reason he’s my friend. He feels safe.

And besides that…

“He wouldn’t come,” I continue, frowning at Sloane. “Van is asocial.”

She laughs, rolling her eyes, tossing her brush down onto her bed. “You could just say antisocial like the rest of us,” she jokes.

“That’s wrong, though. He’s not a psychopath.” I’m an English major. Words matter. “Anyway, are you lying right now, Sloane?” I force a lightness into my voice that I don’t feel, memories of Cortland and Storm surrounding me blaring in my brain.

But I’m just teasing her. Sloane and I don’t keep secrets.

Then I think about the scissors at my back, in the cupholder on my desk.

Except that one.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sloane says, waggling her brows. She shrugs. “You gave me his number last semester in case I couldn’t find you.” She narrows her eyes, because that happened a few times. When I went off to the library, holing myself up in a study room for hours.

And not to study.

To just… be.

“Anyway.” She shrugs. “I texted him. He’s coming.” She glances down at her ankles, still crossed over one another. “I think it’ll be good for you,” she says quietly. “To start this year differently.”

I almost balk at those words, thinking of the feel of Cortland’s hand over me. Storm circling me.

I know I should tell her, but as I open my mouth to do just that, the words get stuck in my throat. We don’t talk about him. When I wake up crying in the night, she asks if I’m okay. Gives me a hug in the morning.

But we don’t talk about this.

That’s a memory in the basement, hidden for the rest of my life as far as I’m concerned.

I clench my hands into fists in the pocket of my hoodie, biting my lip.

She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and I catch sight of her cartilage piercing. She got that done at the same time I got my tongue pierced.

After the case was dismissed.

A fuck you to everyone who fucked me.

She’s been there, more than anyone.

After the charges were filed, most of the few people I talked to at West River dropped off. It was a “he said, she said,” case, the defense told us.

And there were four hes. Only one she.

I never really stood a chance. I knew that. I had cheered them on at every game and saw how much everyone adored them.

Once upon a time, I had adored Cortland too.

But Sloane stood by me. Never once doubted me, and she cried when I told her what happened. She’d been away, at the coast visiting her older sister.

Before that night, we had gushed over Cortland together. The few dates we went on. She was happy for me.

Then her heart broke for me, too, right alongside mine.

“Okay,” I finally say, taking a breath. “I’ll come.” I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth, but Sloane’s grin nearly splits her face and she leaps down from the bed, throwing her arms around me.

I hug her back, but my skin is still crawling with Cortland’s touch.

“This year is going to be the best one yet,” Sloane says in my ear. Then she pulls back, still holding on.

A strand of her hair sticks to the gloss over her plump lips, and she tries to blow it away, making me laugh with the noise.

I still have my hands on her sides, and hers are around my neck. She presses her temple to mine.

“You deserve to live, Remi,” she says. “You deserve this.”