I exhale, feeling slightly better, although I’m still not sure why this girl is talking to me. “Well, at least I fit in,” I laugh sarcastically. “What an impression to make, huh?”
“So, what’d he do?” she asks, snapping back on the cap. She drops it in the bag and pulls out a hairbrush.
“Who?”
“Sebastian,” she clarifies. “He messed with you?”
Sebastian. Wilcox. A name to match the face. The anger wells up in me again when I bite out, “He was messing with my hair.” And then I have to pause, because that sounds… totally fucking pathetic. Who wigs out like that just because someone touched their hair? Afton flicks her gaze to me and I can see the doubt there. “Look, I know it doesn’t sound like a big deal, but I just… I really don’t like people touching me.”
I prepare for the inevitable. Questions. Skepticism. That look that says I’m a huge drama queen for having the gall to value my personal space to the degree of having random classroom outbursts.
But she just says, “Fair enough,” and runs the brush through her hair, creating perfectly shiny waves. Who is this girl? “I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it. He’s not a bad guy.”
I snort. “That hasn’t been my experience with him.”
“You know Bass?” she asks, finally turning to me, eyebrows drawn. “What, from before?”
I pause, considering her. “You got any eyeliner in that thing?” I point to her makeup bag, and she looks surprised, but pushes it down the counter.
I choose her darkest liner and lean in close to the mirror to apply it. “We crossed paths last summer. He got in a fight with this guy at a party, and when I tried to break it up, he punched me.” I can see in the reflection that her gaze darts to my jaw, despite the fact I haven’t mentioned where he punched me. “It was a whole thing.”
She asks, “Like, an accident?” and I pause, nostrils flaring.
“Sure,” I say, moving to my other eye. “An accident—like a drunk driver hitting a car of random people is an accident.” I smudge the liner a bit before putting it back in her bag, sliding it down the counter to her. “Thanks,” I say, feeling a little more like myself.
Afton assesses herself one last time, then places her brush in her bag and slowly zips it up. She turns away from the mirror and looks at me. “Sebastian Wilcox is a hotheaded, temperamental, impulsive, sweet-talking charmer.”
I don’t know about charm, but, “Sounds about right.”
“But, he’s not a bad guy. His older brother, Heston? He’s a bad guy. Some of the other people around here? Total shitheads. But Bass isn’t one of them.”
I stop just shy of rolling my eyes at her. “No offense, but I sort of have this whole philosophy. When people show me who they are, I believe them the first time.” I put Georgia’s earrings into my pocket, real careful-like, so I don’t lose them. “He showed me who he is. Volatile, violent, selfish, dangerous… probably an abusive piece of shit.”
“He’s not…!” she starts, but instantly stops, her lips forming a tight line. “Bass is actually a good guy. He’s loyal and funny and incredibly hot.” She gives me a hard look, “And you can never tell him I said that.”
“I won’t,” I reply, wanting to argue with all of that, but not bothering. This girl obviously likes that shitbag—I won’t be changing any minds here—and I’m not trying to beef with one of Preston’s resident Scary Girls.
“Here’s the thing,” she says. “Bass is going through a lot right now. It’s not my drama to talk about, but just be aware that you’ve only been introduced to his worst shade. I’m not saying you should be best friends with the guy or anything, but there are a lot of people around here way more dangerous than Sebastian Wilcox. I’d suggest that you ignore him, but he’s like a fly to honey, and if I’m not mistaken your name is Sugar, right?”
“Yeah,” I reply, eyes narrowing, “but what the hell does that mean?”
She picks up her leather bag and slings it over her shoulder. “Well, just look at you. You’re different and pretty and look like you could shove that boot up someone’s ass. And I suspect that hitting you that night bothers him way more than he’d ever admit. The guys around here like to have control, and it sounds like he completely lost it that night. It’s probably driving him crazy, which would explain whatever happened in class today.” Her phone vibrates and she looks down, revealing a ghost of a smile. “I need to take this, but sit with us at lunch today, okay? Georgia will be there.”
I take a moment to consider this. “Will he be there?”
“Most likely.” She heads to the door, hair swinging behind her. “Oh, I’m Afton by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Afton,” I say, although I’m not really sure what just happened. The offer of lunch is phrased like an invitation, but I get the feeling most people don’t turn this girl down, which is possibly why she left before I could agree. Even though I don’t decline, I don’t plan on taking her up on it, either. Afton may be the Queen Bee of this school, but I don’t intend on being in anyone’s hive.
The rest of my morning goes by without incident and is pleasantly Sebastian Wilcox-free. Well, for the most part. I have a study period before lunch and am assigned to go to the library to catch up on a long-term project. That’s where I inadvertently sit next to what I can only assume is the school gossip, which results in me learning more about everyone than I really want to.
I choose a seat, but I’m more distracted with how to feel about pulling out my laptop than who I’m sitting by. Part of me wants to feel embarrassed at the way it looks. The screen casing is held together by duct tape, a long, jagged fracture going down the corner, that I’ve tried to cover with stickers. There are three keys missing, and it doesn’t quite close right. A bigger part of me thinks, fuck it, and dumps it unceremoniously onto the smooth tabletop, mentally daring anyone to look my way. It’s an ancient, loud machine that whirs like a beast when I boot it up.
It’s not long before the two girls sitting on a couch across from the table capture my attention. Their heads are titled together conspiratorially. “Three weeks? He probably knocked her up and she left town to deal with it.”
“I heard rehab.”
“That tracks,” the girl with dark hair says. Her skirt barely covers her thighs. “Kicking a three-year habit is hard, especially when your delinquent boyfriend can just steal whatever you want.”
I stare at my computer, listening. How can I not? Afton had said this place was full of deviants. Sounds like she was right about that.
“So what’s the sitch, Syd. You still going to make a play for Reyn, or what?” the other girl asks. I sneak a peek at the folder sitting on the table in front of her. The name ‘Fiona’ is handwritten in blocky letters.
“Hell no.” The Syd girl snorts. “He’s obviously the kind of guy who only goes for pity fucks. Not my speed.” She presses her pen to her bottom lip. “I’ve got my eye on someone else now.”