Page 47 of Riot House

WREN: You tell me I have to stop. But you don’t want me to stop. That’s the last thing you want.

Goddamnit, this asshole makes me want to scream.

ME: You don’t know that. You have no clue what’s going on inside my head.

WREN: I know it’s Friday night, and you aren’t going anywhere.

ME: Yes, I am. I’m going out with Carina.

WREN: Strange. I just saw her burn down the road in that shitty Firebird of hers. And you weren’t sitting in the passenger seat.

ME: Stalker!

WREN: I notice things, Little E. Sue me. You stayed at the academy because you want to see me.

ME: You think so fucking highly of yourself, don’t you?

WREN: Raw honesty looks a lot like arrogance to the untrained eye.

ME: God, just stop!

WREN: Meet me.

ME: NO.

WREN: Give me one hour. If you don’t come, I’ll have to come to you. Then you’ll see just how much of a stalker I really am.

ME: YOU’RE INSANE! You wouldn’t dare come to my room.

My blood’s almost at boiling point. I can’t believe this motherfucker. He’s unconscionable.

WREN: I might. I might not. Safer for you to come to me, though.

ME: You really think I’m stepping foot back into that house? Where the three of you could do god only knows what to me?

The little dots don’t fire up right away this time. It takes a full minute before they reappear, and I stand by the window in my room, staring out at the gradual dusk that’s creeping toward the academy, questioning my own sanity. Why do I want him to reply so badly? How can I be this stupid?

WREN: Pax and Dashiell would never lay a finger on you. They know they’d never walk again. But whatever. If you don’t want to come here, I’ll come there. Meet me in the attic. 8pm.

Theattic? He knows about that place? God, is nowhere at Wolf Hall safe from this guy?

ME: NO, WREN.

He doesn’t reply.

ME: I’m not gonna meet you, Jacobi. I do NOT have a death wish.

My phone sits in the palm of my hand, silent, until the screen fades to black.

17

ELODIE

“I toldhim I didn’t love him, but he just won’t let it drop. I don’t know what to do. He follows me around like a lost puppy that I just kicked. If I didn’t feel so guilty about hurting him, I’d probably be mad at the fucker. He’s even got Levi petitioning on his behalf now. Stop laughing, Elodie, it’s not funny!”

Jesus, I’ve missed the sound of Ayala’s heavily accented, beautiful voice. Her parents are both from Dubai, but she grew up in Spain. She spoke just as much Spanish as she did Arabic when she was in kindergarten, and by the time she was eight she could speak French and German, too.

“Poor David,” I groan. “He’s been obsessed with you for so long. He must have thought he’d won the lottery when you agreed to go on a date with him. And then you crush him like an ant beneath the heel of your Manolo Blahniks. It’s just…it’ssosad, Ayala,” I tease. “Maybe you should give him a chance.”