When I reach down to pick up my towel, I spot an envelope sitting next to my phone. My hand hovers mid-air for a moment, and then I frantically look around the space, but there is no sign that anyone was there. I didn’t hear anyone come or go, but I was so absorbed in my swim, that’s not truly surprising.
With cautious fingers, I pick the envelope up and turn it over in my hands. There’s no writing on it, but it’s sealed. Knowing my luck, there’s probably anthrax inside.
I carefully tear it open and peek inside. No anthrax, but there is a picture and a note. Frowning, I remove the photo. My eyes widen as I recognize it. It’s the same picture Saint had shown me of his dad and his friend in the trophy case, although this one is clearly a copy, and one of the full image.
I’m surprised to find a girl standing next to Mr. Angelle’s friend to his left, her fingers linked with his. She’s pretty, with long dark hair and blue eyes. Her lips are tilted into a smile as she gazes at the camera. There’s something strangely … familiar about her.
Something that makes my breath catch because of the similarities to features that I’ve looked at in the mirror every day of my life.
Why would someone give me this?
Reaching back into the envelope, I pull out a torn piece of plain notebook paper. I don’t recognize the handwriting, though it’s clear the note was scribbled quickly.
If you leave, you’ll let him win again. Just like he did against your real parents. Ask that crack whore you call a mother about Benjamin Jacoby and Nora. Then ask her what you’ll be worth to her when you graduate.
That’s it. That’s the whole note. There’s no signature or further explanation as to why they gave me this picture. This has to be a hoax, right? Who the fuck would they be talking about? Let who win? And what do they mean, real parents?
Before I can attempt to decipher more of the mysterious letter, I notice my phone silently flashing out of the corner of my eye. Carley’s name is lighting up my screen. I pick it up and see that this isn’t her first phone call. Startled, I answer it.
“Hello? Carley? What’s wrong?”
“Oh, thank God! I’ve been so worried about you! Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to call you for almost two hours!” Her tone and urgency have me tensing with instant worry. Did she hear about Dylan? With my luck, the entire assembly is probably trending on YouTube, my shame displayed for the entire Internet.
“I’ve been swimming,” I reply in as calm a voice as I can manage. “What’s going on?”
“I saw your school on the news, sweetheart, and it scared me to death!”
The impact of that hits me so hard, my shoulders curve forward. “Wh-why is my school on the news?”
“You don’t know?” She sounds baffled by that fact. “Mallory, there’s a fire burning up one of the dorm buildings as we speak!”
“What?” I cry.
“I was so worried it was yours, but then they said it was one of the boys’ dormitories and then—”
“I have to go,” I strangle out, nearly tripping over my own feet to pull on my sweatpants and t-shirt. I grab my towel and tuck the envelope and its contents into its folds. “I’ll call you once I figure out what’s going on.”
“You better!” she insists. “You can’t scare me like this!”
“I’m sorry.” I’m running out the door, my footsteps echoing off the empty hallway walls. “I promise I’m all right, but I need to make sure my friends are. I swear I’ll call later.”
“Okay, you do what you need to do.”
The second I emerge from the athletic building, I’m engulfed in chaos. There’s smoke rising into the air and sirens blaring and flashing their lights as they speed through campus. My heart clenches with panic when I realize the smoke is coming from Saint’s building. I break into a dead sprint, and my worst fears are realized when I come upon a crowd gathered around the blazing dorm.
It is Saint’s building.
Fuck, fuck! This feels strangely like déjà vu.
I push my way through the gathered students toward the front of the pack and gaze around in desperation. My eyes fall on Gabe, who’s sitting on the bumper of an ambulance, talking to a police officer while a paramedic inspects him. He’s alone. Saint isn’t with him, and neither is Liam. I scan the area around him, but don’t see them. Then I look toward the other ambulance that showed up, and finally turn to scan the crowd as best I can.
It’s no use, though. If either Liam or Saint were nearby, they’d stand out. I’d be able to spot them.
“Three bodies,” someone is saying, and I can barely breathe.
“I bet she did it…” another voice, female, says, and for the first time, I feel eyes on me.
Several eyes.
“Crazy fucking bitch,” someone spits out, just as I turn my gaze back to Gabe on the back of the ambulance. Our eyes lock, and his shoulders stiffen.
Once upon a time, I’d told him that they should be afraid of me, and he’d laughed at me.
Now, he’s not laughing.
Now he just looks … terrified.
Please, God. Not again.
TO BE CONTINUED
Note From the Author
MALICE is a dark high school romance with enemies-to-lovers and bullying themes. It is not recommended for readers under 17 as it contains dubious situations and triggers that some readers may find offensive.
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Playlist
You Should See Me in a Crown – Billie Eilish
The Promise – In This Moment
Roses – Benny Blanco ft Juice WRLD & Brendon Urie
I Fell in Love with the Devil – Avril Lavigne
Sweet Little Lies – bulow
Don’t Start Now – Dua Lipa
I Miss the Misery – Halestorm
Heartless – The Fray
Can’t Pretend – Tom Odell
Heathens – Twenty-One Pilots
Heaven Knows – The Pretty Reckless
I Hate Everything About You – Three Days Grace
Gods and Monsters – Lana Del Rey
Exit Music (For a Film) – Radiohead
1
I can’t stop watching as fire ravages the dorm building.
His dorm building.
My arms are wrapped firmly around myself, as if I’m chilled, but it’s really just to hold myself upright because physically? Physically, I don’t feel a thing. Not the early December night air blowing smoke into my face. Not my nails digging into my palms or my teeth sinking into my bottom lip, even though I can taste copper. I don’t even feel my stomach, which I know is pitching violently.
I am numb as memories from last year surface, and I’m mentally hurtled back in time to the night James died. The flames clawing at the dark sky are just like the ones that consumed my tiny house back then. I half expect there to be an explosion, but I have to remind myself there isn’t a meth lab in the basement of Angelle House. Still, a shudder courses through me, then my first physical sensation—a vicious wave of nausea that sends my world toppling over and my mind whirling with more jumbled thoughts and excruciating images.