“Crazy first day?”
I jump. Spinning, I glance up to find a girl walking past me in the hall. She has a pair of holey jeans on, a chain looping from her front belt loop to her back belt loop. A tight black shirt rounds out the outfit. I narrow my gaze, but first impressions tell me she won’t be one of the ones trying to mess with me so she can get on the Heights Crew’s good side. “You could say that.”
She walks past me, only giving a cursory glance, but then she stops suddenly. Sighing, she turns toward me like it’s really the last thing she wants to do yet feels compelled to anyway. “Watch out for Nevaeh. She’ll do anything to get into HC.”
I rack my brain. There were so many wannabe gang bitches today who tried to make my life a living hell. I don’t have the foggiest which one Nevaeh is. I lift my shoulders.
The girl sighs again, mumbling something to herself. When she finally responds to me, she’s more clear. “Neveah’s the one who slammed your head into the locker.”
Ohhhh. I file that name away. My head’s still thumping from that bitch move. “You saw that, huh?” Real embarrassment crawls over my skin. I do have some pride after all. I’m just willing to overlook it for the greater good.
“Stay out of her way. And if you tell her I said something, I’ll…” She trails off, then looks up like she’s trying to figure out the best threat to make. Clearly, she doesn’t have a lot of experience with this.
I like her immediately, which means I need to stay the hell away from her. “Thanks,” I tell her, before stepping toward the main doors again. I need to get home, put some ice on my fucking forehead, and regroup before I do this all again tomorrow.
The big reveal can’t come soon enough.
I walk around her toward the doors. Her stare is like a hot poker burning a hole into my side, but I don’t slow up or try to be nice or try to make a friend. In any other world, I would have. I’d want a friend to get through Rawley Heights with, but I’ve never been all that good at having friends, first of all, and second, it’s just not the time.
I have only one goal here, and it’s not to find something real.
My life in Rawley Heights is fake. It’ll be raw and dirty and bloody. Filled with betrayal, revenge, and fucking satisfaction. I don’t need to add another casualty when I leave this fucking place with murder on my hands.
Behind me, the girl groans. Her footsteps slap the worn flooring as she catches up to me. “Don’t ever go out the main doors by yourself when security is around. They’re fucking child rapists, you understand?”
I turn toward her, eyebrows in my hairline, which really fucking hurts by the way. I can look up and see the goose egg on my forehead. “Good to know.”
“If you’re alone, go out the side door. I’ll walk out with you tonight though. Don’t make eye contact with them. Or bait them either. You look like trouble follows you everywhere. At least it will in the Heights.”
“So I’ve noticed,” I deadpan.
We walk through the glass doors. I don’t look around, but the hair on the back of my neck stands, so I know what this chick has just told me is correct. The security team are predators living right with the prey. And the school doesn’t give a fuck.
We part ways in the parking lot without a word. She doesn’t try to talk to me again, and as I said, I don’t need real friends. My life can start after I’ve finished what I’ve come here to do.
My aunt and uncle have no clue why the hell I’m here. They think I’m throwing my life away at a shitty school that won’t impress any colleges. They’re wrong. Well, they’re right. Rawley Heights doesn’t impress anyone, but I’m not throwing my life away. I’m making sure I actually have one. One where I can live without regret. Without terror. Without what ifs.
Once I kill Big Daddy K, head of the Heights Crew, I’ll finally be able to start my life. It’ll be like a rebirth. A christening. Sure, not any christening I’ve ever been to unless it’s blood they’re using to bless people with instead of holy water. But to me, this is everything. I’ve bided my time. I’ve made my plan.
Now, I just have to execute it.
3
As soon as I get home, I place a bag of frozen vegetables on my face.
I spend a half hour just sitting on a hand-me-down armchair I got at the Salvation Army, the footrest kicked out, eyes closed, and face tipped toward the ceiling in the middle of my living room. Eventually, condensation builds up and trickles of water drip down the side of my face. That’s my cue to stop replaying the day in my head. My replay isn’t a scene-for-scene reenactment of what actually happened though, it’s better than that. I imagine what I would’ve done if I wasn’t playing a part. It turns out much more fun for me. One, there are no frozen vegetables needed at the end of the day, and two, I kick that Nevaeh girl’s ass. The preening bitch.
The second-hand chair groans as I push the footrest down and stand. I open the freezer and toss the buttered corn back inside. Turning, I take in my new apartment. It’s not half bad. The inside looks better than the outside of the building, that much I know. I can tell they put down new carpet and painted in here right before I moved in. I mean, it’s not the Taj Mahal. It vaguely smells like mildew and a crazy amount of bleach, which makes me wonder what it was like before I got it. But listen, I’d rather it smell like straight up caustic cleaner than something else.
The faucet in the kitchen leaks. The caulk in the bathroom is an off-white, not chosen by color aesthetic, but lack of cleanliness, and the walls are super thin. Next door, a couple argues about money, and the distant sound of a baby crying carries from down the hall.
If the life I grew up in was Neverland, I’m definitely in Hell. None of that matters though. I’ll wade through the flames and pitchforks all day every day to come out the other end safer and stronger.
I go to the small, separate bedroom and pull down the secret compartment on the ornate shelf I have hanging on the wall. I ordered it brand new off the internet from a nut who has a conspiracy theory website. When it came in, I had to rough it up so it would go with the rest of the decor. Chips in the wood mar the surface, and I did a really shitty job of painting so it blends in. But what still works perfectly is the hinge that drops down a secret compartment where I keep my sacred things.
I check the phone I have stashed inside. That and the picture of my parents I have sitting on the shelf are the only things I own in here that connect me to my old life. A text awaits me from my aunt, telling me she hopes I’m okay. I send her a quick one back telling her I’m fine and that I started school today with no issue.
She hates that I’m here, but I also know she and my uncle never wanted kids. They took me in after my parents died because that’s what you do, but I never fit in with their upscale life, and I don’t need any ties to that life here. As soon as I’m done here, I’ll go back to being Kyle and Anna’s daughter again. I’ll go back to the life I should’ve been living all this time. Which means this one needs to stay completely separate from the other. They cannot mix. No one can find out who I really am.
Keeping the phone out, I make sure my aunt’s not going to text me right back. When a response doesn’t come within ten minutes, I shut the phone off and put it back, sliding it next to the sweet silver pistol I have there, which was surprisingly too easy to buy on the street. Sure, it’s not legal. The scratches over the serial number tell me that, as did the shady-as-fuck guy who sold it to me, but I’m okay with that. This gun represents Kyla Samson’s life—her goal—and as soon as I’m done with it, I’ll toss it into a sewage drain.