Livingston Girls E-Book

Briana Morgan

• Herausgeber: 8th Note Press
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 350

Beschreibung

 "We have to keep fighting. When witches don't fight, we burn."   Livingston Girls  is a fast-paced and witchy coming-of-age mystery full of found family and queer discovery, for fans of   Wednesday   and   These Witches Don't Burn  .  There's a place for troublesome girls from Salem, Massachusetts: Livingston Academy. When 16-year-old Rose's relationship with her English teacher is exposed, her community mourns his reputation and she's the one banished to the infamous boarding school. Ashamed and hoping to keep her past under wraps, Rose is surprised to learn she's not the only one with a secret: Livingston Academy was founded by the survivors of the Salem witch trials--and their successors still practice magic in secluded dorm rooms and the woods outside the school grounds. When Rose falls in with the strange and rebellious group of girls that make up the Livingston coven, Rose gets an offer to join that she can't refuse. Soon she's part of a hidden world of whispered spells, charms, summonings, and sisterhood. But there's a darker side to becoming a witch--there will always be powerful men who resent and envy a witch's abilities. When the headmaster of the nearby boy's school is revealed to be a witch hunter eager to claim the power of the Livingston coven, Rose and her new friends must fight for their very survival. And Rose might have an even bigger problem. She can't keep her eyes off her prickly coven and roommate Charlie. Will she master her power in time to save the school or will her crush prove a deadly distraction?

Leseprobe

Livingston Girls

BRIANA MORGAN

Contents

Also by Briana Morgan

Note on Content

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Author’s Note

About the Author

Also by Briana Morgan

The Reyes Incident

Mouth Full of Ashes

A Tricker-Treater Christmas

The Tricker-Treater and Other Stories

Unboxed: A Play

Reflections

Touch: A One-Act Play

Blood and Water

Note on Content

Readers of Livingston Girls should be advised that it contains the following sensitive topics:

Mentions of an inappropriate student/teacher relationshipMentions of sexual abuse/statutory rapeProfanityChild abuseUnderage alcohol useAlcohol abuseIllicit drug useMentions of suicideGriefTeenage pregnancyKidnappingRacismMentions of abortionSmoking/tobacco useDeathImplied death by fireViolenceBloodSeancesSexual content

ChapterOne

The reek of mothballs and disinfectant almost knocks me over. Wood paneling lines the walls. It’s not a big dorm. Just enough space between the twin beds to prevent awkward touching in the night, twin dressers and desks that have seen better days, and a gray-brown carpet. Beside the door, sitting on a patch of linoleum is a sink with a tiny mirror. Still, the room looks clean, and the big window lets in more light than I expected.

I slide the strap of my guitar case off my shoulder, set the guitar on the bed, and walk over to the window. Livingston Academy is sprawling. I doubt I’ll ever find my way around—even my residence hall is massive. Though there’s still a day before classes start, the lawn outside my dorm, Meyer Hall, ripples with activity. A few girls sit on the stone steps leading to the front doors. Others lean against the wrought-iron fencing or the building’s brick exterior while making small talk by the rose bushes and stretching out on the browning grass.

A pang of yearning pierces my chest. I turn away.

I don’t have friends. All I have are my parents—barely. And once they go home, I won’t have anyone.

“Where do you want to start with these?” Dad asks.

I turn. He and Mom are standing in the doorway with several boxes at their feet. I didn’t hear them come up.

I shrug.

Mom chooses a box without my input. Dad cuts the tape and unloads my stuff. They chat about my class schedule like I’m not here. Nathan would never ignore me like this, but Nathan’s why I’m at Livingston.

My parents are already starting on the second box. I feel so overwhelmed like I’m trapped inside a trash compactor along with last night’s leftovers. Cold sweat beads on my forehead. If I don’t get out of here, I’m going to lose it.

“I’ll be right back.” I head out in search of somewhere quiet. Anywhere but here.

A bathroom calls from the end of the hall. When I walk in, it’s another empty room. Humid air clogs my nose and mouth. Standard bathroom stalls line one wall; sinks and mirrors on the other. Shower stalls sit tucked away in the back, marked by pastel-pink curtains. I head for the stall in the middle of the bathroom.

Behind me, someone coughs.

I let go of the stall door and spin around. A pale girl with long, red hair and fierce green eyes stands in a sundress, staring. In one hand, she holds an empty beer bottle with flowers sticking out of the mouth and liquid sloshing inside. I can’t see what’s in her other hand—her curled fist.

She catches me staring and hides the bottle behind her back. “Excuse me.”

“I…”

“That bathroom stall,” she says. “It’s mine.”

I turn back to the stall. It doesn’t look special. My brow furrows. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Holy Hecate.” She rolls her eyes as her shoulder smashes into mine. Her fingers curl around the handle of the door. I barely jump out of the way before she slams it shut.

I’m still standing, shocked when a black girl with big, round glasses and even bigger hair enters the bathroom. She peers at me over the top of her glasses as she checks her hair in the mirror.

“Thought that was you for a moment, Charlie,” she says, voice tinged with an English accent.

“What? She looks nothing like me,” Stall Bitch—Charlie—answers from atop her porcelain throne.

She’s right. We’re both white, but my eyes are blue to Charlie’s green, my hair is dull brown unlike her scarlet locks, and my mouth is heart-shaped, while hers is more of a pout. I think Charlie has freckles too, but I didn’t get a good look.

I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. Being scrutinized by other teenage girls is nothing new, but I feel exposed. It’s all I can do not to pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and hide my face as English Girl looks at me.

“Pretty,” English Girl says. “How about it? Are you new?”

“Transfer student,” I say.

Charlie’s voice floats out of the stall again. “Would’ve pegged you as a freshman.”

“Sorry, I’m a junior.” I don’t know why I’m apologizing. “I’m sixteen.”

Charlie mutters something to herself, but I can’t make out what she’s saying.

English Girl walks to the stall, eyeing me as she passes. She raps twice on the door. “What are you doing in there?”

Rude question, considering we’re in a bathroom. But Charlie’s reply is quick and breezy. “I told you earlier, setting the charm.”

Setting the charm? What is she talking about?

“Gods alive,” English Girl replies. “You don’t need it. Eddie’s head over heels.”

“You don’t know him like I do, and I like certainty.”

I still have no clue what they’re talking about. Maybe I should leave.

“Ouch,” Charlie says.

“Don’t do too much.” English Girl returns her focus to me. “I’m Billie. Didn’t catch your name.”

“Rose. Nice to meet you.”

“Brilliant.” Billie readjusts her glasses and fiddles with the door “Let me in. I can help you.”

“Another potion? No thanks.”

Potion? I must have misheard.

“You keep trying the same spell. You’re just going to hurt yourself more,” Billie says.

Spell? These girls have lost it. I feel another pang and press a hand to my chest to stifle it but it doesn’t work. I enter a stall and pee in a hurry, wash my hands, and go back to my dorm room. Laughter echoes down the hall and prickles the back of my neck. They’re not laughing at me. Probably.

The door to my room is still open. I stare at the gold placards on the wall beside it: MASTERS, C. & E. I guess they haven’t had time to switch one of those names for mine.

My parents are right where I left them.

I stand there for a moment and watch, feeling more out of place now with my parents than I was in the bathroom with those strange girls. I walk in and wander over to my guitar and slip it out of the case, brushing my fingertips over the strings.

Mom pulls a pillow from a box. “Everything all right?”

No. “It’s fine,” I answer.

“Thought we heard girls in the hall,” Dad says. “Did you meet them?”

I chew the inside of my cheek. Please, anything but this. Anything but my parents pretending this is normal. Pretending this is a regular school transfer.

“A few,” I say.

Mom sets the pillow on my bed and props a hand on her hip. “Open up a little if you want to make friends, Rose. Not everyone is out to get you.”

What happened between Nathan and me is splashed in red paint all over the walls. My dirty little secret won’t be a secret for long. The media never released my name, but it wouldn’t be hard to put it together. It’s spelled out in my permanent record.

I cross my arms. “Are the boxes done?”

“Nearly, no thanks to you.” Dad smiles, but the jab still lands. I know he doesn’t mean it like it sounds. Neither of them ever does. “It’s normal to be nervous. You’re in a new place, and you’ll be making new friends. You’ll be fine.”

“It won’t be like last year,” Mom assures me.

Dad shoves his hands in his pockets. “That man—”

Mom glares at him.

“I mean, well… yeah. Not many men around here. You’ll be alright.”

I want to believe them. But in their eyes, what happened last year was entirely one-sided. They don’t know I loved him. Still, maybe they have a point. In a school full of girls, where even most of the teachers are women, how can I be tempted?

Mom crosses to hug me. “We’ll make this quick. You know how your father gets.”

Behind her, Dad sniffs. When Mom steps back, he moves in. His tears wet my cheek. “Be good now, all right?”

I turn away to wipe my face and give Dad some privacy. Maybe they’re worried about sending me somewhere they can’t keep tabs on me as easily. Maybe they should have thought of that before shipping me off to Livingston.

When he turns again, his eyes are bright and hopeful. I haven’t seen that look on his face in a while.

“Call us,” Mom says.

“I will.”

“You promise?”

I grab Mom’s purse from the bed and hand it to her. “It’s not like it’s forever. You’ll see me in November. Thanksgiving, okay?”

“Promise?” Mom echoes.

“Yes, Mom. I’ll call you.”

No one says anything else. My parents look at me and then walk out of the room. The door clicks shut.

I sit on the edge of my bed and push my guitar away. My roommate’s unmade bed sits across from me. The blankets are all over the place. One poster hangs on the wall behind her bed—something by Monet—but I don’t see a single suitcase and the closet rack is empty.

If she has the same room as she did last year, where is all her stuff?

We still have a whole day before classes start. Maybe her parents are coming tomorrow. I flop onto my back and stare at the ceiling. Wood stares back.

I’m almost asleep when keys jangle in the lock. I sit bolt-upright as the door swings open.

“Shit,” Charlie says.

I think back to the placard. MASTERS, C. Her last name must be Masters.

“You’re my roommate?” I reply.

“Why else would I have the keys to this room?” She pushes the door shut and puts her hands on her hips. The light streaming through the window is kinder to her face than the lights in the bathroom. She has freckles like me, much more prominent on her paler skin. But there’s a fresh cut on her cheek. It must have happened in the bathroom.

“Your face,” I say. “It’s bleeding.”

“I know,” she says. “Guess I missed your parents. They coming back?”

“No.”

“Bummer.” She doesn’t sound bummed. She doesn’t even sound the least bit interested in me. Instead, she leans over the sink and reapplies her crimson lipstick in the mirror.

“What happened to your sister?” I ask. “Did she graduate last year?”

Charlie’s application falters, the point of the lipstick freezing at the corner of her mouth. She doesn’t turn, but her eyes in the mirror meet mine. Then, they narrow.

“Masters, C., and E.,” I say, lifting a hand lamely to point at the door. “Same last name. I thought—”

“Forget it.” Charlie goes back to putting on the lipstick. She frowns at her reflection, mutters something under her breath, and washes her hands. “Don’t drink this water. Old pipes.”

“Thank you.” My face must be crimson. “Um, your cut...”

“It’ll stop.” Charlie shrugs, grabs her designer purse from the floor, and heads out of the room. I glimpse something by the sink and walk over to investigate. It’s a small vial of blue liquid glittering in the light. I pick it up and run my fingers over its smooth surface. Something shifts and shimmers inside the liquid, like a fog trapped in a mirror. The swirling mist reflects my image back at me.

I shriek and drop the vial. It shatters on the linoleum. Shit, now I’m screwed. What should I do? The liquid burns through the linoleum and I wonder who—or what—these girls really are.

ChapterTwo

My sleep suffers that night. Charlie doesn’t come back to the room. When I wake up around nine-thirty the next morning, she’s still gone. At first, I’m not sure why I’m awake—until my phone chirps from my nightstand. It’s no surprise that even centuries-old boarding schools have text-alert systems now.

Good morning, ladies! Please join me to usher in a successful new school year. Meet in the auditorium at the top of the hour—don’t be tardy.

Sincerely,

Headmistress King

I silence my phone, throw on some clothes, check my hair in the mirror, and head out of the dorm. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’d rather die than pore over the giant paper map my parents left for me. Nothing says outsider like a junior with a map.

Thankfully, I fall in line with a group on their way out of Meyer. From snatches of their conversation, I gather that they’re headed to the auditorium too. They’re far too absorbed in their chitchat to even notice the new girl with them. As we head down, we pick up a couple more girls, including Billie from the bathroom. She’s talking to a tall blonde girl I haven’t met yet.

“Um, hi,” I say.

“Hello,” she responds. “I’m sorry, what’s your name? Some kind of flower?”

“Rose. Nice to see you again.”

“Likewise.” Her voice is flat. She turns to the blonde to continue their conversation, but the blonde is now staring at me.

“Hi, I’m June. You must be new.”

She’s one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen, and I’m not sure she knows it. Her flawless skin glows in the sun, gold flecks dance in her brown eyes, and her eyelashes cast shadows on her high cheekbones. However, she’s not wearing any makeup and her clothes are athletic wear that might be a size too big. Her only accessory is a sunflower ring. I look down at her sneakers. They’ve seen better days.

Shit, she’s still staring, and I haven’t answered.

“Rose,” I say. “My name is Rose.”

“Rose!” June exclaims. “Beautiful flowers. Hard to take care of. Who are you rooming with?”

“I’m Charlie’s roommate.”

June’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really? That must be… exciting.”

“To say the least.” Billie frowns. “Was she with you last night? We had a hard time finding her.”

It’s my turn to frown. “I just… I thought she was out with her friends.”

June and Billie exchange a look. June changes the subject. “Welcome to Livingston! We’re thrilled to have you.”

“Beyond chuffed,” Billie deadpans.

Jesus. Well, at least June’s trying. I’ve been nothing but cordial to Billie, so I’m not sure what kind of stick is up her ass. Whatever.

Since June seems open to conversation, I press my luck a little.

“Hey, uh, June,” I start. “I know we just met, but can I ask you something?”

She holds the door for me as we step outside. “Yeah, of course you can.”

Billie’s expression darkens but she doesn’t butt in.

I think back to Charlie’s reaction in our room, the way she froze as she processed what I was saying. How fast she changed the subject.

“Charlie’s last roommate,” I say, “was she—uh, what happened?”

June’s face goes white. “Her sister? Eleanor?”

“We don’t talk about her sister,” Billie says.

I bite my lip. Of course they don’t. That would have been too easy. I guess I’ll have to bide my time.

“You shouldn’t mention Nell,” Billie says.

“Who?” I ask.

“Charlie’s sister,” she says. “Don’t bring her up in front of Charlie.”

“Especially if you’re roommates,” June says.

Shit, okay. Message received. I’ll have to be more careful what I say to Charlie and these girls. I keep getting shot down. Still, at least now I know that Charlie lived with her sister, Eleanor, or Nell for short, before… whatever happened.

The auditorium sits in the space between the dorms and the Arts and Sciences building. As we walk past the imposing brick facade on concrete paths shaded by trees, I can’t help but feel intimidated. Damp leaves stick to my boots—still green, but not for long. Connecticut gets cold, as my goosebumps remind me.

We pass more groups of students, but June and Billie don’t greet them. The other students’ eyes linger on me, struggling to recognize me, before moving on. At least I’m not the only new student on campus, thanks to the freshmen. I won’t stick out as badly.

I want to shrink down and hide among the blades of grass or wrap myself up in June’s golden hair until no one else here can see me. Thankfully, there’s no sign of Charlie. I don’t know whether I’m ready to face her again, not when I’m so self-conscious and uncertain of myself.

At the top of the marble steps leading to the open doors, two girls hang around smoking. I catch a flash of red hair and try to keep moving, but to my horror, June grabs my arm and pulls me over to Charlie’s friend, a dark-haired Latina I haven’t met. Her winged eyeliner is as crisp as her black bob and the stare she fixes on me cools my blood.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” Charlie says to June. She doesn’t look at me. A tiny green bandage covers the cut on her face.

June lets go of my hand and kisses the dark-haired girl on the mouth. The other girl’s lipstick transfers to June, tinting her lips red. She doesn’t seem to care. When she pulls away, she gestures to me.

“Ronnie, this is Rose. Isn’t she pretty?”

Ronnie quirks an eyebrow at me. “Must be Charlie’s roommate.”

Was Charlie talking shit about me already?

Before I can fire off any retort, Charlie throws her cigarette down and stomps it out. She flips her hair over one shoulder. “Come on, let’s find seats.”

She’s not talking to me.

Billie cocks her head and studies me as the group of girls passes, leaving me to catch up. They might not want me to follow, but they’re the only ones I know. While June seems eager to include me, no one else does.

The girls file into a row of seats toward the back. I go to sit beside June, but then everyone is settled, and there are no seats left. June shoots me an apologetic glance. I swear Charlie smirks.

“Might have luck closer up,” Billie offers, only somewhat helpful.

Reluctantly, I trudge up the aisle until I find an empty seat at the end, about halfway up. My face is on fire, and I swear I feel everyone talking about me and trying to figure out what group I belong to. I’m the only one not caught up in conversation with friends.

Luckily, I don’t have to sit in awkward silence for long. A willowy woman with flowing blonde hair and perfect posture strides onto the stage with a book in her arms. She’s wearing a long black dress with a shawl that I mistake for a cape at first, the way it billows out behind her and makes it look like she’s gliding. Her heels click as she settles into place behind the podium. She adjusts the microphone and looks out over the crowd. I can’t see her eyes well, but I feel like she could look right through me if she wanted. I think she’s in her early twenties.

“Who’s that?” I whisper to the Asian girl beside me.

“Headmistress King,” she says.

I never expected the headmistress to be so close to my age.

“Good morning,” King booms into the microphone. It screeches with feedback, but she ignores it. A few people titter. “Good morning, ladies.”

Her voice is nothing like I expected. It’s authoritative, but not intimidating. She speaks in a singsong, but her face is all business.

A halfhearted chorus of “Good morning, headmistress” echoes around the room. I stay silent, mostly because I have no clue what’s going on.

“A new academic year is upon us,” King intones. “That means a fresh start. Make the most of it, I urge you. Choose wisely what’s best for your future and remember that all actions—no matter how small—can have unintended consequences. And sometimes, those consequences can turn tragic.”

She pauses for a minute, for effect I think, until I hear murmurings and whispers all around me. Some girls bow their heads. The black girl on the other side of me closes her eyes.

“Eleanor Masters,” King continues, “was a light in the lives of the people who knew her throughout her eighteen years on this earth. Though that light may have dimmed, it will never go out.”

Charlie’s sister died. Shit. That’s why my room was open.

Another silence falls over the auditorium. I’ve never felt more excluded. I turn to look toward the back of the room, where Charlie and her friends are sitting, but I’m too short to see them.

Up at the podium, King clears her throat. “The administration would like to remind you all that if you’re struggling mentally or emotionally, please seek out campus resources. In addition to our regular counseling staff, we will also have some grief counselors with us for this quarter. And... you may come to me, personally, if you’re uncomfortable speaking with a counselor.”

She pauses again and shuffles her papers. “Take today to prepare for the year. Study well, engage with your classmates, and put your best foot forward. Remember, Livingston girls—”

“Shape the rest of the world,” the students finish in unison. Apparently, I was wrong about not feeling more left out.

A minute or two of chatter ensues while King collects her things. Another woman comes up to the microphone and launches into a speech about time management. I fight to keep my eyes open as another boring speaker follows, and then King returns to the microphone to send us off, thank God.

“That’s all for now, ladies. You are dismissed.”

Everyone stands, and I stand too. But as my row groups up in the aisle, something at the stage’s edge catches my attention. King has descended the staircase and is now absorbed in conversation with a tall, handsome man with sleek, dark hair and bright blue eyes—so bright that I can see them even from this distance. How did I miss his entrance?

King clutches her book to her chest. The man reaches for it and she steps back, shaking her head. They look up and catch me staring.

I blush, avert my gaze and follow the other students out of the auditorium. A whiff of cigarette smoke smacks my face as soon as I’m outside. Charlie, June, Billie, and Ronnie are grouped up on the steps. Charlie smokes a cigarette and leans against a column. Ronnie lazily waves ribbons of smoke out of her face.

“‘You may come to me, personally?’ Maybe she means that, but none of the other teachers want to talk to us.” Ronnie shakes her head. “They only care when it’s a teacher.”

“Last year,” Billie says. “They should have brought in counselors right after it happened.”

“Bureaucratic bullshit,” Charlie declares. “I’m not surprised, though. What did you expect?”

“She had to say that for the investors.” June twists the ring on her finger. “You know that. If she could, she’d—”

“My father is on the goddamn board of trustees. He’s been giving this school money for years. If they really gave a shit, they would have given me time off. Screw what the investors thought.”

“They didn’t give you any time off?” I ask.

Charlie cuts her eyes at me. “I’m sorry, can I help you?”

“Please, Charlie,” June butts in.

Charlie makes a face, but she leaves June alone. She flicks ash in my direction. “What happened is none of your business.”

“Where were you last night?” I ask.

The look she shoots at me is nothing short of scathing. “Not your business, either.”

Right away, I want to crawl under the dirt. Shit, why does she hate me when she doesn’t even know me? Maybe she’s right, maybe it really isn’t any of my business. Maybe I should go with another approach.

“I like your purse,” I say.

She looks at it. “Yeah. Oh, by the way, did you find a little vial in our room?”

My heart climbs into my throat. “I uh, it… shattered.”

“What do you mean?” Her eyes are emerald fire. “How did that happen?”

“It fell out of your purse. I dropped it.”

“Well, which one is it?”

“I, uh, um.” They all stare at me. I’m going to puke. “It fell out of your purse. I picked it up and”—and it did some spooky shit—“and I dropped it.”

“And it shattered?” Charlie clarifies.

I break eye contact with her, not even chancing a glance at the others.

“You should leave us alone,” she says. “I’d hate for you to break something else.”

I want to disappear. Not for the first time, I wish I were back home, where I’d be spending time with family or working on homework. I sure as shit wouldn’t be fumbling my way through a conversation with strangers who hate me for no reason.

Maybe I’ll go back to the dorms, and try to do something productive. Write a new song, maybe play my guitar—something that will help keep my mind off how I’m feeling.

I drop my head to my chest and mumble an apology. I don’t care if Charlie hears it.

Charlie’s laugh and the smell of smoke seem to follow me as I trace the path through the trees back to the dorms. My chest is tight. My eyes burn.

More than anything, I want to break down and cry. I sit on a bench to the side of the walkway and bury my face in my hands. Stupid Charlie. Stupid girls who don’t want anything to do with me. Stupid me too, for fucking up so bad I got shipped off here in the first place.

“You’re an idiot.”

The voice is deep. My head snaps up.

At the edge of the forest, I notice two figures lurking, talking. The man from the auditorium speaks with a boy who looks to be around my age. Though they murmur in hushed tones, the wind carries their words to me.

“You were supposed to ask the Masters girl to bring it to me,” the older man hisses. “I thought that was the plan.”

“Something came up,” the boy says.

“Your girlfriend didn’t cooperate?”

“I didn’t want to—”

“Earth and elementals, do you think I give a damn? If I spent any time thinking about what you wanted, son, nothing in this world would ever get done.”

The boy shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Why don’t you ask King for it?”

“You don’t think I’ve tried?” the older man scoffs. “I all but threatened her over it today. If you had been there, you might have—”

The bench creaks as I shift my weight to get up. Shit. His eyes flicker toward me. I freeze as his gaze travels over my face.

He scowls. “Not here. Let’s head back.”

The boy ducks his head. Together, the two of them head into the forest, disappearing in the trees.

I lean forward, bracing my palms against my thighs. What the hell was that? What were they talking about?

Whatever I heard, it didn’t sound good. Combined with the weird interaction between that man and King, something seems way off here. If I had one person here I thought I could trust, maybe I’d tell them about it.

Still, what can I say? I don’t know what I saw. I don’t know what I heard, or what they talked about. I could go to King, but I don’t know her—the thought of talking to her alone makes my stomach flip. Charlie’s last name is Masters, but I sure don’t want to talk to her about anything right now. I don’t have enough information to raise any kind of alarm.

For now, I’ll just keep what I saw to myself. What’s the worst that could happen?

ChapterThree

Even for an all-girls boarding school, the first day of classes feels normal. I wake up a little before my alarm with anxiety roiling in my gut. No way can I go back to sleep. Waking up early turns out to be an unexpected blessing, though, as a knock sounds at the door. I glance over to the other bed, but Charlie isn’t there.

I yawn and roll out of bed. When I answer the door, a security guard informs me that I have two visitors, but I’m not expecting anyone.

To my surprise, two movers, both men, stand in the hallway. The security guard supervises as they haul two giant trunks into the dorm room, setting them down at the foot of Charlie’s bed.

“Here you go, Miss Masters,” one of them says to me.

With Charlie missing, it looks like I’m living in this room alone. I kind of feel like I am. I’m not so sure that Charlie unpacking will change that.

“I’m not her,” I say. “I don’t know where she is.”

The first mover grunts. “We need someone to sign for this. Do you think you can do that?”

I shrug. “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

The second mover passes me a tablet, and I scrawl my signature on the screen. He hands the tablet to his colleague and nods to the trunks. “Clothes and everything. Mr. and Mrs. Masters said if she’s missing anything, just let them know.”

That must mean they’re not coming to help her move in. Movers are expensive too, so they must really not want to be there. That, and they’re wealthier than I expected. As awful as Charlie is to me, I feel a pang of pity. I may not be on the best terms with my parents right now, but at least they cared enough to make sure I’m settled.

The first mover nods. “Well, have a nice day.”

“You, too,” I answer.

Without another word, they shuffle off, talking loudly down the hall. The security escorts them out. Once they’re gone and I close the door behind them, I look over at the giant trunks—large, ornate, and ancient-looking—and wonder what to do. Charlie isn’t here to unpack them herself, and I wouldn’t dream of helping. She’d probably kill me for it.

The movers also brought an easel, a plastic storage tub labeled PAINTS AND ART SUPPLIES, and a bucket full of paintbrushes. Charlie’s an artist? Now the Monet makes more sense.

I finish my routine without touching her stuff, somewhat surprised when she doesn’t show up. My uniform is stiff and scratchy, but it doesn’t look too hideous. The Livingston standard is a red-and-gold pleated skirt, white dress shirt, red tie, and tan blazer with the Livingston crest emblazoned on the chest. As far as uniforms go, it could be so much worse. Still, my knee-high red socks and low-heeled shoes make me feel like a Catholic schoolgirl.

* * *

I sit alone at breakfast, fighting the urge to dump my tray and crawl back to my dorm room. I nurse my glass of orange juice like it’s something stronger and push my scrambled eggs around my plate with my fork.

I knew it would be hard for me to make friends here, but so far, I haven’t met a single person who isn’t in a clique. After my weird encounter with Charlie and the other girl in the bathroom, I’m less sure that was a fluke and surer that it’s par for the course. My mom thinks opening up is the key to getting closer to people, but how can I open up to anyone if I can’t get them to look at me, let alone maintain a conversation?

Not far away, Charlie, June, Billie, and Ronnie all sit together, eating and laughing. Some girls in hijabs sit at the table closest to me, also laughing. A squeal of delight cuts through the air, and I turn to see a group of black girls reenact a story. Nearby, more girls trade food items with each other.

I would give anything to know what that inclusion feels like.

After half-heartedly pushing my eggs around on my plate until my phone reminds me it’s time for class, I dump the content of my tray in the trash and sling my bag over my shoulder. Charlie and her gang are still seated, still laughing. I don’t want to bother them.

Classes are predictably boring. None of the teachers single me out for an introduction as a transfer student. None of the students pay me much attention either. I’m getting used to being ignored.

By the time my English class rolls around, I’m beyond grateful to see two familiar faces—Ronnie and Billie. Unlike June, however, they don’t seem keen on making me feel included. They don’t even acknowledge me as I slide into the desk adjacent to Ronnie’s.

“Hey,” I try.

“Hello,” Billie says.

Ronnie takes a brush out of her purse and runs it through her hair without saying a word. She digs out an eyeshadow palette and a rainbow-handled makeup brush.

Billie takes out her notebook, turns to a new page, and scribbles something across the top of it. Hand-lettering, it looks like. Fancy penmanship stuff. I bet she keeps a bullet journal.

“Have you had this teacher before?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Ronnie says. She doesn’t elaborate.

“Not me,” Billie says. “Doesn’t matter. Heard he’s easy, anyway. Also, it’s English, which we all happen to speak.”

This is probably the most they’ve ever spoken to me, and I’m not sure how to keep them talking. In my earlier classes, I didn’t dare try to even speak to anyone. My nerves got the best of me. Plus, I was too busy making sure I was in the right classroom. This school is too big.

I lean forward in my seat. “I like your glasses, Billie.”

“Thanks, Daisy.”

“It’s Rose.”

She flicks her gaze toward me. “Are you certain?”

“Positive.”

She presses her lips together. “You’re settled in with Charlie then?”

The change in topic pricks my ears. “Did she say something bad about me?”

“Not in so many words.”

I look to Ronnie, hoping for a tell. She pulls old receipts and tubes of lipstick out of her purse.

“Charlie’s nice,” I say, and then feel like a giant idiot. Charlie isn’t nice. Anyone can see that—surely even her friends.

Billie quirks an eyebrow. “Is she, though?”

“I… no, I guess not.”

I swear to God she smiles. “Haven’t lived with her long and you already get the gist. She’s a right terror. You’re in our thoughts.”

“I’d rather live outside than bunk with her,” says Ronnie. “You’re stronger than I am.”

“Well, so far so good.” I mirror Billie’s smile, hoping I look more comfortable than I feel.

The teacher, a man named Mr. Preston, enters the room and calls us to attention. I spend all of class trying not to look too eager, either to impress the teacher or for friendship, even though I’m starving for both. Once class ends, Billie and Ronnie get up. I start to follow them out when the teacher pulls me aside.

Billie and Ronnie either don’t notice, or they don’t care. I’m not sure which is worse.

“Uh… Rosemary, is it?” Mr. Preston begins. I can already tell from his tone of voice that this won’t be a fun conversation.

“Rose,” I say.

He falters, then forgoes my first name altogether. “Miss Abbott, I wanted to let you know… well, given what happened at your last school…”

Wait, he knows about that? My face catches fire. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not discuss that.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t. I just wanted you to know, I’m happily married. And, if you want to get a good grade in this class, you’ll have to work hard, like everyone else. Any… extra credit will be announced in advance and will be open to everyone. During school hours.”

My whole body burns. “Excuse me?”

“I won’t repeat myself. Do you understand?”

All I want is for the ground to open up and eat me. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Excellent. Have a good rest of your day.”

How can I do that, though, when my teacher insinuates that what happened with Nathan is my fault? That I’m a predatory temptress who lured someone saintly off the straight and narrow?

The rest of my day follows a similar pattern. I have no classes with the other girls, save Charlie in my history class. Relief washes over me when I realize that none of them see the way the teachers here treat me. If it’s any consolation, at least the rest of the faculty don’t single me out during class.

I’m having a tough time wrapping my head around the idea that news of what happened has traveled over here. Sure, what happened in Salem was local news, but I didn’t think it made it all the way out here. Clearly, I was wrong.

Maybe the faculty have all seen my file.

After my classes, I head back to my dorm room, praying Charlie isn’t there, but even if she is, it’s not like she’ll talk to me.

* * *

Meyer Hall sits sad and empty. Most of the other students must be out in classes, at the library, or hanging with their friends. I get on the elevator and head up to my floor without running into anyone else. While I fish my keys out of my purse, I consider calling my parents. It’s been less than two days, but Mom wants me to call, and it might be nice to hear a familiar voice.

Then again, if I call them now, it will feel like giving up. Like I’m a scared little girl who still needs her mommy and daddy. I’m not sure I’m ready to give up yet.

When I open the door to my room, Charlie is sitting on her bed. Ronnie, Billie, and June are sitting on mine. Their heads all snap up as they notice me. It might be my imagination, but I swear they all frown.

Ronnie snatches something out of Billie’s hand and holds it to her chest, hidden from me. “What is your roommate doing back here?”

“I don’t know. I thought she was in classes all day.” Charlie shoots me a look like it’s somehow my fault that she hasn’t memorized my schedule. “Rose, do you mind? We’re in the middle of something.”

It’s the first time she’s gotten my name right, let alone tried to display any semblance of manners toward me, but anger heats my blood. “It’s my room, too. I’m staying.”

Charlie’s eyes narrow. “It’ll just take a second.”

Is she serious? Are they all so self-absorbed they think I’m not offended? This is my room as much as hers. She has no right to kick me out.

I square my shoulders. “I’m taking a nap.”

Ronnie mutters something under her breath. Billie titters. I probably don’t want to know what she said, especially as June won’t look at me or her—or anyone, for that matter. Ronnie is still holding whatever it is tight against her blazer, hidden from sight. What could it be?

I keep my eyes locked on Charlie’s, daring her to try again. Maybe it’s not wise to cross her but they’ve all treated me like shit so far and I just want to crawl under the covers and forget about the day.

Charlie blinks. Ronnie and the others look to her for guidance.

“Fine,” Charlie spits. “Guess we’ll go somewhere else.”

She gestures toward the other girls. Ronnie rolls her eyes, tucks the object she’s been holding into her purse, and heads for the door. June and Billie follow. June shoots me a look so warm, it could almost be sympathetic. Even her sunflower earrings seem to smile at me. Charlie gets up from the bed and glares. I try my best to ignore her, but she’s not leaving until she says her piece. “What is it?”

“Watch yourself.”

“What?”

From the open doorway, Billie laughs again. Charlie shoots her a look, then returns her attention to me. “You need to work on your attitude.”

Jesus. “You’re the one with the attitude here.”

She clenches her jaw, but she doesn’t say anything else. Instead, she grabs her purse and keys and heads out into the hallway. When the door slams behind her, it rattles the hinges.

I sink down on my bed and flop onto my back, staring up at the ceiling once more. Maybe I’ll never find my place here.

I roll onto my side and stare at Charlie’s bed. It’s unmade, the comforter rumpled from where Charlie sat on it. Her belongings haven’t moved since the movers brought them this morning. Maybe she’s not unpacked yet as some form of protest. Though I don’t know her well, I can see her doing that. Maybe she hates her parents as much as she hates me.

Keys jangle in the lock, and I sit bolt upright. Charlie rushes in, flushed and anxious. Speak of the devil.

“Forget something?”

“My phone.” She grabs it from her nightstand, pausing to look at the unpacked trunks. “You didn’t touch them, did you?”

If I weren’t so tired, I’d be offended. “Why would I do that?”

“Why would you touch my vial?” Charlie counters.

I bristle but don’t take the bait. I’m too tired to start any more fights with her. One of us needs to be the bigger person.