The Wicked Trilogy by S. Massery
Margo
I open the door.The teacher pauses, glaring at me.
“Sorry.” I pass her the note from the guidance counselor. I found it on the floor after Caleb disappeared.
The teacher, Mrs. Stonewater, scans the note and exhales. “We have a new student. Margo Wolfe.”
There are a few gasps, and the teacher raises her eyes from the note to glare around the room. They lapse back into silence.
“Take a seat,” she says to me.
My gaze catches on Caleb—the bastard left me, and it took me five minutes to figure out where the hell I was going—and the boys around him. There’s an open seat directly in front of Caleb or all the way against the windows. I start to move to the far one, but someone throws their bag on it.
I pause. No more seats.
Slowly, I walk toward Caleb. He raises an eyebrow. I sink down into my seat, my cheeks heating once I register his eyes burning into the back of my head.
When did he get so beautiful? Dark hair and light-gray eyes, muscles packed onto his lean frame. He grew, too. In elementary school, we were the same height. He’s got at least six inches on me now.
And hate.
Where did the hate come from?
“Ms. Wolfe?”
The whole class snickers.
I jerk. “Yes?”
“I was asking if you’d had a chance to read through the syllabus.”
I slink lower. “No, ma’am.”
She frowns, pausing by her desk. “See me after class.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“No, ma’am. Yes, ma’am,” the boy next to me parrots. “Such a fucking saint for a coke-whore’s daughter.”
More laughter.
I sink lower.
Coming back was a mistake. I should’ve insisted on public school. At least that way, the bullies wouldn’t know my history. They would’ve made fun of my secondhand clothes and haircut, but they wouldn’t have picked at my past. My parents.
“You planning on snorting up under the bleachers at lunch?” the boy whispers. “Like mother like daughter?”
I’ve become an insta-pariah.
I try to ignore him, but he kicks the side of my chair. I twist toward him, poised to say something—anything—but the words lodge in my throat. He’s almost as hateful as Caleb was.
I recognize him. Ian Fletcher. One of Caleb’s old buddies from elementary school.
I wonder if they’re still friends.
“Take a picture,” he suggests. “It’ll last longer than your memory.”
Slowly, I turn back around. I focus on the teacher, who starts talking about the Civil War. I open my textbook and try to find where we are, keeping my head down.
Blend in. That’s all I need to do.
And that’s how I manage to stay alive until lunchtime.
I grab the packed lunch Robert had shoved in my hands before we’d left the house, dumping my books in my locker—which, again, took me too long to find. I thought I might be okay since I had been to the elementary school, but this building is a whole different beast.
I roll my shoulders, happy to have the weight off my back, and walk toward the cafeteria. Ahead of me, Caleb and his friends are making their way in the same direction. I automatically slow down, keeping my gaze on them. I hug the lockers and hope they don’t see me.
It’s ridiculous. I’ve seen some tough shit in public school, and with foster siblings, but nothing compares to the sheer arrogance that leaks out of these boys.
Someone loops their arm through mine, pulling me down a side hall. It happens almost too fast for me to protest.
“Wait—”
“Hush,” the girl says. She weaves us in and out of stragglers. “Never go into the cafeteria with a bagged lunch. Are you insane?”
“Well—”
“Rhetorical question.”
We stop in front of the library doors. They’re locked, but she whips out a key and opens it, ushering me inside, then secures it behind us.
It’s silent in here. I’m a little homesick at the sight of all the books. One of my foster families had books upon books, and the mom knew just how to stoke a sense of escapism through the stories. They were just a fleeting stop, but she had given me a book before I’d left. I read it a few times, then handed it off to Claire.
She needed it more than I did at that point.
“You’re new,” the girl says, stopping in front of me. “There are whispers about you.”
I stick out my hand. “Margo Wolfe. Entirely undeserving of at least a quarter of the rumors.”
She grins and puts her hand in mine. “Riley Appleton. Friends call me Riley.”
“Nice to meet you, Riley.”
“Aha! We’re friends already, I see. Come, come.” She leads me farther into the library, waving at the librarian tucked away in her office. There are cushioned chairs in the back, and she throws herself down into one. “So, you caught Caleb Asher’s attention already?”
I frown. “How’d you hear about that?”
She taps her temple. “I told you. Whispers.”
“I knew half of the kids here. I went to school with them until I was ten.” I shift, opening the bag and pulling out my sandwich. “Ian Fletcher seems particularly angry about my return.”
She snorts. “Yeah, he’s a bag full of piss on a good day.”
“What’s your story?”
“Me?”
“You’re intriguing already. A bagged lunch—an apparent no-no—and a key to the library? I don’t remember you from when we were kids.”
She stifles a smile. “You wouldn’t. I’m a junior. And anyway, I transferred in when my family moved here a few years ago.”
“Can you explain Caleb?”
Riley shakes her head, opening her own lunch. “He’s the captain of the lacrosse team. Everyone wants him—the girls around here would cough up a lung to get a chance to talk to him. You might remember his dad had his own company?”
“Yeah.” I never knew the specifics. And at ten years old, I didn’t really care.
“Well that company grew super-fast, and his dad sold it. Apparently, the family still gets royalties. Because of that, they’re extra rich. Caleb can do anything, and the school would bend over backward to kiss his ass.”
“Fun.”
“He and his friends are untouchable. Royalty,” she whispers. “His friends are Liam, Theo, and Eli. They love to terrorize… but everyone falls at their feet. Even the teachers.”
“They love to terrorize who?”
“Me,” she half laughs. “Only Eli, though. The rest tend to leave me alone. The golden boys have a dark side.”
I grunt. “And now Caleb has his eye on me.” I take out my phone, showing Riley the texts. “Do you know who this might be?”
She grabs my phone, her eyes going wide. “No, but that… that’s sketchy. Did you tell anyone?”
“Nope.” I look around and put down my sandwich. My appetite has fled. “If I make waves, my new family might decide I’m too much trouble. You know?”
“They can’t send you away,” she argues. “You just got here!”
“I know, but that’s the system. I have eleven months left until I’m eighteen, then I get to go.” Go where is the question, but Riley doesn’t voice it. I don’t, either.
The bell rings, and both of us flinch.
“Show me your schedule,” she says, putting her things back in the bag. “I’ll get you to class so you aren’t late.”
“Thanks.”
We go out into the hallway, and I run smack into a hard, muscled back.
Caleb Asher turns around, and my heart jumps into my throat.
His eyes go to Riley, then back to me. “Run along, Appleton.”
She swallows, staring at me. She pushes her shoulders back. “I need to show—”
“I’d be happy to help our friend get to class.” He scowls at her. “Go away.”
She stiffens and slowly backs away, casting an apologetic look in my direction. I shrug at her. It isn’t her fault he’s an ass.
An ass that steps into my personal space, herding me away from his friends. “Wolfe.”
“Asher.”
“How’s class?”
Everyone is pretending I don’t exist or coughing mean names behind their fists.
“Missed you at lunch,” he says.
I snort. “Yeah, okay.”
He puts his hand on the back of my neck, his fingers soft for a second before they dig into my skin. I suppress a shiver. He uses pressure to steer me down the hall, into the throng of students headed for their classes.
In the middle of everyone, he gives me a light shove.
It’s enough to send me to my knees. Everyone falls silent at the movement.
Mortification rings through me.
“This isn’t your school,” Caleb says, leaning down.
I’m pretty sure he’s amplifying his words on purpose, because now everyone is turned in our direction. His friends join us, circling around.
“Why don’t you go back to the trash family that raised you? Leave the rest of us alone. Oh, I forgot. Your mom’s probably high out of her mind in a gutter, and dear old dad is getting ass-raped on the regular in prison.”
“Why are you doing this?” I whisper.
He leans down, grabbing my arm and hauling me back up. “Why? You don’t really know anything, do you?” He sneers. “You’re a sheep in a wolf’s clothing. No threat at all.”
Do not fucking cry.
“Run along now, little sheep.”
He releases me, and I move, too startled to walk straight. My shoulder hits one of his friends, and it’s like hitting a truck. It sends me off-kilter. Once I have my bearings, I push through the crowd.
It’s only when I find a bathroom, ducking into it, that the tears break loose. I didn’t do anything to deserve this. Hell, all I’ve done today is walk into a firestorm—one that my apparent departure seven years ago created.
“Margo?”
I sniff, wiping my nose on my arm. “In here.”
Riley pushes open the stall, staring down at me. “That was…”
“A lot?”
“A drop in the bucket.”
I wince. “Really?”
“The golden boys of Emery-Rose are nothing but nasty to their minions.” She leans against the wall. “Sorry to break it to you. I’ve been the target of Eli’s fury for years.”
“Well, they can’t get away with it.”
“They can and they will.” Riley sighs. “Their families are the richest of the rich. My parents are well-off, and I’m…” She shakes her head. “I’m the lowlife around here.”
“You’re not.” I lift myself up, brushing off invisible dust from my skirt.
She hands me a wad of toilet paper, and I take a second to clean up my face. My eyes are bloodshot, eyelids a little puffy, but otherwise, I look normal. The bell rings, echoing in the bathroom. “Maybe we should skip.”
“The rest of the day?” Riley glances around. “It’s your first day—”
Ugh. “Okay, fine. Guess I’ll just take the detention for being late.”
We head back into the hallway; it’s a ghost town.
She cracks a smile. “If you want, we can meet tomorrow before school. Everyone hangs out in the courtyard, and they don’t let us inside till the first bell.”
I return her smile, grateful that she didn’t cut and run. “Safety in numbers?”
“Something like that.” She glances at my schedule and steers me in the right direction. She drops me off, then jogs away.
For a second, I envy the way she can shake off everything. It sticks to my skin like glue: the negativity, Caleb’s fury. I hand the teacher my schedule, and she clears her throat, motioning for me to take my seat without a word. I’m grateful that no one I know is in this class… until Liam walks in.
The teacher doesn’t even stop talking, or spare him a glance.
He stops right next to me, staring down, and says, “Nice little show, Sheep.”
I keep my gaze on the desk.
If I was wondering about nicknames, I guess we’ve found mine. A sheep in a wolf’s clothing. Ha, ha.
Eleven months till freedom—but only nine until I graduate. I’ve made it through worse. I can survive this.
