As I scan the drivel I’ve composed, I can sense the snake-with-tits’ eyes on me. It’s making me uncomfortable. I can’t help but wonder why I’m not used to it by now. In the several schools I attended, I stumbled across her type more times than I care to remember.
Hailey’s the girl who’ll pledge you her undying friendship, then fuck your boyfriend behind your back. The kind of girl who’ll use your weaknesses to her advantage, making you feel beneath her when she’s truly the pathetic one. The kind of girl who’ll smile pretty in your face, but the second you turn around shove an axe into your spine, slowly exposing every secret you’ve trusted her with. Rotten to their decaying cores and traveling in hungry packs, girls such as Hailey Jacobs are scattered throughout every school across the globe . . . axes tight in their grips.
A split second before I decide to go somewhere else, Hailey approaches the table and slides into a chair across from me. My chest tightens.
“Amber,” she says, twisting her lips into a pout, “why can’t we just be friends?”
“This is a joke, right?” I swivel my head, looking for hidden cameras.
She gives a casual shrug. “Why would it be a joke?”
“Let’s see,” I say, trying to sound unaffected by this bitch’s vile attempt to gain anything from me. I cross my arms, my head dizzy from the list of reasons she’s not to be trusted. “Where should I begin? Let’s start with I know it’s you whose been slipping those love notes under my dorm door. What was it you called me? Hadley’s queen whore?”
“I heard about those.” She snorts, her smile smug. “I also heard the student board doesn’t know who it is because your perpetrator’s been dressed from head to toe in black every time one was left. Whoever’s been doing it is pretty smart too, since they’re using a stamp and not actually writing anything. Seems they have a few ups on everyone.” Her periwinkle eyes narrow as her smile widens. “I have beautiful penmanship, which I love to show off, and not even for you would I be caught dead in black. It’s not my color.”
“You think I’ve never been called a whore?” I lean forward, my eyes hardening. “Try being original, bitch. Think of something new the next time you give me one.”
“Oh, I’m more than positive you’ve been called it several times, and if we’re being honest, there’s no way to be original when it comes to whores like you. You’re all the same.” She mimics my pose and leans across the table, obviously amused. “Anything else you feel like blaming on me?”
“Yeah, there is,” I grit out, trying to maintain my composure. “You running me off the road.”
“I did no such thing,” she huffs, her perfectly waxed eyebrows rising. “I’m offended you would think I’ve done any of these hideous things to you.”
“You’re full of shit,” I hiss, my tone doubled up in anger.
Being that she’s the only student at Hadley sporting a custom cherry-colored Range Rover, there’s no mistaking it was her. Not to mention I caught a glimpse of her golden locks as my car all but careened into a ditch on the side of I-95 the night it happened. I wanted to bang my head against the steering wheel when I failed to catch her license plate.
“Well,” she says, screwing her mouth into a sneer as she stares at her bloodred nails, “without proper proof, I’d say all of your accusations are worth not an ounce of anyone’s time.”
Though I’m shaking with adrenaline, I close my eyes, forcing myself to think of unicorns, puppies, and happy shit like that. Not the best coping mechanism, but if I don’t do it, I’ll be spending the night curled up on a wooden bench in the local precinct for attempted murder.
I open my eyes and take a deep breath, determined not to let her get to me any further. “What do you want from me, Hailey?”
She rests her elbows on the table, her voice sugary sweet. “So how are things going with you and Brock?”
“That’s none of your business,” I point out, convinced the girl is bipolar.
“Why not?”
“Do I really need to explain that?”
“I’m just trying to make friendly conversation.” She twirls her hair between her fingers as she leans back. “Considering it’s almost October, and he’s never been known to stay with a piece of ass past a couple of dates, one must assume things are going well. Still, a girl as naïve as yourself may find his . . . employment somewhat difficult to handle. I just want to make sure you’re happy.”
“You want to make sure I’m happy?” I laugh, so over her act. “Enough with the bullshit. I have a paper to finish. What the fuck do you really want from me?”
“I want to get to know you, Amber. Really know you.” She glances at her nails a second time, her voice sliding into huntress mode. “You come from a very tragic past, and I can’t help but find myself curious about a girl who’s seen such terrible, horrifying things.”
My every muscle goes taut, all concerns about spending the night in the slammer vanishing from my brain. “How do you know anything about me?”
“I have my close . . . sources.”
On a shaky breath, I spin over who could’ve said anything to her. Only Brock, Ryder, Lee, and Madeline know about my warped history. Brock may have told Ryder, but they’re best friends, and I know with everything in me that Brock would never say a word to this nut about my life. Never. I’m the guilty one who told Madeline and Lee. In a drunken stupor, I dished out my shit one night when I stumbled into our dorm room. Still, I can’t see either of them saying anything. They’d gain nothing from it.