“God, it took you long enough. You can move so slow sometimes, Ravenlee,” my aunt gripes as she drives down the driveway, heading for the main road.
I shrug and stare out the window, too tired to get into it with her right now.
I really need some coffee. And breakfast. Why did my uncle have to be in the kitchen this morning?
I zone out for most of the ride to school while Dixie May babbles about some reality TV show she’s been watching. Aunt Beth occasionally joins in on the conversation, but Dixie May is usually the one to fill up the silence. The girl could probably break the world record for her ability to talk and talk and talk, especially about reality TV.
As soon as my aunt pulls up to the school, Dixie May’s focus switches.
“This is seriously the school we have to go to?” She crinkles her nose at the brick building. “It’s so small. And where the hell is student parking?”
“I’m sure it’s around here somewhere,” Aunt Beth tells her as she stops in the student drop-off area at the front. “Maybe at the back of the school.”
Dixie May glares at her mother. “Well, they better have it, because there’s no way in hell I’m parking Cutie in this tiny parking lot when it arrives.”
Cutie is Dixie May’s BMW that she got for her sixteenth birthday. Her parents didn’t want her racking up miles on it when we moved, so they had it shipped over. It hasn’t arrived yet, something Dixie complains about every day.
Me? I’m kind of grateful it hasn’t arrived because, when it does, I have to go back to riding to school with her. And she usually ends up leaving me stranded after school, so I either have to walk home or catch the city bus. I don’t think Honeyton has a city bus, which means I’ll end up having to walk the five miles home. I’d be okay with, except Honeyton’s winters are supposed to be intense.
“I’ll look into it,” Aunt Beth assures her.
“You better.” Dixie May frowns at the school. “Great. I bet there’s not even any FHs here.”
I roll my eyes. FHs stand for fuckable hotties in Dixie May language.
“Oh, I’m sure there are.” My aunt smiles as she points at a muscular guy walking past our car. “Look at him. He’s cute.”
"Ew, Mom, you're so disgusting. Seriously, are you having a mid-life crisis or something?" Dixie May says with her nose crinkled. Then she sticks out one hand in her mom's direction while pulling the visor down. "Give me some lunch money, so I get out of here and away from your gross comments."
“Oh, okay.” My aunt starts rummaging through her purse.
While Dixie May waits for her mom to dig out some money, she does a quick check of her hair and makeup. She fixes a couple of her blonde curls, twisting them before flipping up the visor. Then she glances down at the pink top and white skirt she’s wearing, smoothing out a few invisible wrinkles. By the time she’s finished, Aunt Beth has put a twenty-dollar bill into her palm.
Dixie May stuffs it into her bag then shoves the door open and moves to get out, but then she pauses, glancing over her shoulder at me. “Don’t even think about talking to me today. You know what will happen if you do.”
“You’ll have to pull out a dictionary to look up all the above four-letter words I’ll use?” I question.
“Ravenlee,” my aunt snaps. “Don’t be a brat.”
“Yeah, Ravenlee, don’t be a brat, or else everyone here is going to find out who you really are,” Dixie May sneers with a smirk.
The muscles in my jaw tick, and I curl my fingers inward, stabbing my fingernails into my flesh, wrestling back the urge to punch that smirk off her face.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Dixie May smirks at me one more time before climbing out of the car.
“Have a nice day,” my aunt says to Dixie May, who shoves the door closed without even replying.
My aunt lets out a quiet sigh as Dixie May walks away, heading for the entrance doors. Once she’s inside, Aunt Beth looks away, frowning at the passenger seat. “Crap, she forgot her makeup case.” She reaches over, picks up a sparkly case, and hands it to me. “Find Dixie May and give this to her. And don’t even think about stealing it. I’m going to text her to let her know you have it.”
“She doesn’t want me to talk to her, remember?” Not that I’m actually going to obey Dixie May. I really just don’t want to talk to her or carry around her stupid sparkly case.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine if you’re giving her the case,” she insists. When I make no effort to take it, she gives me a dirty look. “She needs her makeup, and you’re going to take it to her because, unlike you, my daughter cares about her appearance.”
“So what if I don’t care?” I stuff the case into my bag. “Looking pretty isn’t the most important thing in the world.”
She arches a brow. “Have you looked in the mirror lately? You look like a homeless person.”
Sometimes, I think she treats me so shitty because of how her husband and daughter treat her, like she’s deflecting all her bottled-up aggravation on me. It used to hurt. Now, it just pisses me off and makes me want to annoy her.
“Yeah, well, it’s better than looking like a skank,” I tell her.
Her eyes widen in horror. “My daughter does not look like a skank. How dare you say so?”
I raise a brow at her. “Who said I was talking about your daughter?”
She shakes her head furiously. “You know what? It’s time for you to get out of this car. I’m sick of looking at you.”
I’m more than ready to get out, but as I peer outside at the school, a drop of anxiety rises inside me.
Dixie May was right. It's a really small school. Way smaller than the one we used to go to. I don't know whether to be nervous about that or not. On the one hand, it means fewer people will mock me. But it also means people will be nosier.
“Get out!” Aunt Beth snaps. “And I’m not giving you any lunch money. You’ll have to use your own.”
“I’m not stupid enough to believe otherwise.” I reach for the door handle.
Her lips curl into a sneer. “That’s very debatable.”
I push open the door. “So is Dixie May’s IQ.”
“Dixie May isn’t stupid.” She rotates around in the seat to glare at me. “She just prefers fashion and guys over schoolwork. That’s not that uncommon for a teenage girl. You’re the anomaly, Raven.”
I give a shrug. “I wasn’t trying to argue that I wasn’t an anomaly. I was merely pointing out that, if you think I’m unintelligent, then you must think your daughter is an idiot.”
“Dixie May isn’t an idiot,” she scoffs. “She just gets distracted because she has a life.” She flashes me a smirk. “Unlike you.”
“I may be a social outcast, but at least I’m not an idiot. And when this last year of hell is all over and I graduate, I’m going to take my good grades, go off to college, and make something of myself, while Dixie May probably ends up having a shotgun wedding because she can’t keep her legs closed.”
Her nostrils flare. “You little shit—”
I hop out of the car and slam the door shut.
She starts to roll the window down as I hurry toward the sidewalk that leads to the front doors, knowing she won’t make a scene. It’s not her style. No, her style is to tell my uncle, who’s going to either be annoyed with her that she’s being a tattletale or pissed off at me, depending on his mood. Either way, there’s going to be shouting in the house when my uncle Don gets home tonight.
“You can get your own ass home, Ravenlee Wilowwynter!” she shouts from the car. “I won’t be picking you up!”
I cringe as the handful of students walking around glance in my direction.
Awesome. What a great way to start my first day at a new school. Then again, if Dixie May has her way, it’ll be a shitty day for me anyway. And now I have the walk home to look forward to. It’s my own damn fault for riling my aunt up. I just get so sick of her shit sometimes.
Letting out a slow exhale,
I continue toward the school with people eyeballing me, eyeballing my outfit, eyeballing my crazy hair. Then the whispering begins. Finally, I can’t take it anymore, so I stick my hand into my pocket and dig out my phone. Then I grab my earbuds, pop them in, and crank up some classic rock, the same music my dad used to listen to.
I’ve been entering school this way for as long as I can remember. Music helps block out everything, including my own annoying thoughts. Though I made a promise to myself not to do that today, to try a fresh start, I guess old habits die hard.
I don’t want to listen to the whispering. Don’t want to listen to the name calling. Don’t want to listen to everyone talk about all the made-up stories Dixie May has spread about me.
“She’s a slut.”
“She’s a satanic freak.”
“I once saw her kill a puppy just for fun.”
“She slept with a teacher.”
“Slut.”
“Freak.”
“Murderer.”
I yank myself away from the memories, telling myself that I don’t need to rehash the lies she told about me.
Well, almost all of them were lies.
One carries some truth to it.
Murderer.
Chapter Three
I decide to take a little detour before I enter the school and sneak out by the dumpsters to take a few hits. It’s a risky move, for sure, since I’m not familiar with how this school works, but I need my calm.
Once I’m done, I spray some perfume on, put some eye drops in, and then head inside.
Last night, my aunt told me that I’m supposed to stop by the office this morning to pick up my schedule. I expect to see Dixie May in there and plan on giving her the stupid sparkly case then, but by the time I enter the office, she’s either already picked up her schedule or she decided to spend the morning trying to find a clique she can dictate.
The secretary sitting behind the front desk looks up at me as I wander in, eyeing my outfit over. After seeing how most of the people in the hallway are dressed, I kind of expected that.
Preppy is the word that came to mind when I noted the outfits almost everyone is sporting. Not that I believe everyone is preppy here, but there are an awful lot of polo shirts and khaki pants.
Once the secretary is done scrutinizing me, her lips move, but I can’t hear what she’s saying.
Shit. I forgot I had my earbuds in.
I tug one out. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you. Can you repeat that?”
She sighs. “I said, can I help you with something?”
I rest my arms on the counter. “Yeah, I’m new here and need to get my schedule.”
She turns toward the computer. “What’s the name?”
“Ravenlee Wilowwynter.”
She starts typing then pauses. “How do you spell the last name?”
I spell it for her, and she types it in, briefly smiling. "That's a beautiful name. Does it mean anything?"
I could tell her the reason my parents named me after the cursed bird, tell her the prettier part of the name. But nothing about me or my life is pretty anymore, so I answer her with honesty instead.
“Yeah, bad luck. Or well, Raven does, which is what I go, by so…”
She glances up at me with her brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”
“Raven, the bird, represents bad luck,” I say with a shrug. “Which is what people call me.”
She blinks. “Oh.” Then she starts to look back at her computer.
“They also symbolize wisdom, knowledge, creativity, mysteriousness, and unpredictability,” a guy who looks to be around my age says as he steps up beside me.
I start to turn my head, wondering how the hell this guy knows what ravens symbolize. Then I almost do a double-take.
He seriously might be the prettiest guy I've ever seen, with chin-length blond hair, long eyelashes, and bright blue eyes. And just by looking at his pretty face, I expect him to be dressed in an outfit that goes with the preppy theme around here. So, I'm surprised he's wearing a black shirt, matching jeans, and boots. He also has a chain dangling from his belt loop and leather bands covering his wrists.
The strangest part about him is the way he’s smiling at me. I can’t even remember the last time someone smiled at me, let alone some pretty guy with eyelashes so long I swear he could be wearing mascara.
“Good morning, Mr. Hathingford,” the secretary greets him with what can only be described as a somewhat tolerant, somewhat amused look. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence today?”
He rests his arms on the counter and gives her the same charming smile he gave me. “Now, what’d be the fun in just telling you? Let’s make a game out of it. I’ll give you three tries to guess, and if you guess wrong, I get to walk out of here, free and clear.”
I glance at the secretary, expecting her to get annoyed. Instead, she shakes her head and cracks a small smile. “I’m not going to guess, because I already know. And I’ll give you the pass for today. This is the last time, though. I swear, the next time you come and ask me for one, I’m going to give you a detention slip instead.” Then she pushes back from the desk, stands up, and walks off toward the back of the room.
Grinning, the guy leans over the counter, steals a sucker out of a bin on her desk, and then pops it into his mouth.
Okay, I guess it’s going to take a while to get my schedule.
I start to lift my earbud toward my ear, preparing to go back to my Zen state, when the guy smiles at me.
“Are you new here?” he asks, rolling the sucker in his mouth. “I haven’t seen you around.”
I could just answer him. It’d be the polite thing to do. I could try to be nice and see if I can make a friend, but that’d be pretty naïve of me. And while I may be a lot of things, I’m not polite or naïve.
I let out a quiet sigh and lower my earbud. “Do I really need to answer that?”
Amusement sparkles in his eyes as he angles his head to the side in confusion. “Yeah … Why wouldn’t you?”
I cross my arms on top of the counter. “Because this school has a total of what? Like two hundred people? So I’m fairly confident you know you’ve never seen me around before and already know I’m new.”
His confusion fades, amusement taking over and he pulls the sucker out of his mouth. “That’s an excellent point.” He gives a glance around before leaning toward me. “Want to know a little secret? I really did know you are new. I was just trying to find an opening to start a conversation with you.”
I struggle not to smile. “As flattered as I am, I can totally assure you that, come lunchtime, you’re going to pretend like I’m invisible.”
His amused smile remains, but his brows pull together. “And why’s that?”
“Because you’re an FH,” I reply with a half-shrug.
His amusement doubles. “Do I want to know what that stands for?”
I shrug. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually.”
His grin widens. “Maybe you should just tell me now and spare me the headache I always get when I think too much. And while we’re at it, why don’t you tell me something about you? Like, what grade you’re in. Where you moved from. If you have a boyfriend.”
Wait … Is he flirting with me?
It’s not like I’ve never had a guy flirt with me before. I have a couple of times, but it usually happened at school, and Dixie May always found a way to ruin whatever allure I had toward the few guys who gave me more than a second glance. And while I’m totally flattered that the prettiest guy that I’ve ever seen is semi-flirting with me, I know that, when Dixie May spots him, he won’t ever smile at me again. Because she will spot him. The guy is way too pretty for her not to notice. And while style-wise, the two of them don’t look similar, their pretty faces will go well together on those shotgun wedding invitations.
“Nah, I’d rather not,” I tell him, figuring he’ll back off. But he only grows more intrigued.
“Oh, come on
. Just a little bit of information. That’s all I’m asking for.”
“Nah. I think I’m going to hold on to my mysteriousness for now. Make sure I’m representing the symbolism of my name to its truest form.”
He chuckles softly. “Hate to break it to you, but you already messed up with that, because you just gave me a little bit of info about yourself.”
“Um, no, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
“How?”
He grins, pointing the sucker at me. “You let me know you’re amusing.”
“Oh, I’m not,” I assure him. “I’m being totally serious.”
“I have no doubt you are, but it’s still amusing.” He gives a short, considering pause. “And I also think you’re a little bit stubborn.”
I roll my eyes. “You can’t determine that after talking to me for, like, thirty seconds.”
He throws a dramatic glance at the clock. “Actually, it’s been a little over a minute.”
“That’s still not enough time.”
“Says who?”
“Says the person who determined the time length required to be able to give an accurate analysis of someone’s character.”
He cocks a brow. “And what’s this person’s name? Because, as far as I know, no one has ever come up with such a thing.”
“His name is Jerry.” I make up a name then decide to make up a story. “And he lives somewhere in Switzerland where there’s no internet or cell service, so he hasn’t been able to publish his findings yet. But I met him once while I was on vacation, and me and Jerry had a good, long chat about his theory on the time it takes to get to know a person. And he told me that you have to know someone a lot longer than a minute to determine what kind of person they are.”
He stares at me confoundedly, and I wait for him to back off, to realize I’m a weirdo that he doesn’t want to know. Instead, a grin takes over his face.
“You and I have to be friends,” he insists.
I shake my head. “Sorry, but that can’t happen.”
“Why not?” He sulks, jutting out his lip, pouting. He looks adorable when he does it and seems like the kind of guy who knows it.
The Raven Four: (The Raven Four Series, Book 1) Page 2
