Fated (The Soul Seekers #1)(50)

I swallow hard. Press my palm against the window. Despite what she says, I don’t feel ready, not in the least. My stomach’s a jumbled mess of nerves, and yet I’m all too aware that there’s no use fighting it. Paloma is right. It’s time I head inside and face up to my destiny.

I push the truck door open and slide from my seat. Doing my best to quash my fears, but I’m pretty sure no one’s fooled.

“I’ll be back to get you at three,” Chay tells me. “I’ll meet you right here.” But as nice as the offer is, I can’t accept it. He has a life, an important career. He doesn’t need to waste his time playing chauffeur to me.

“No worries. I can get myself back,” I say, my words met with a skeptical look that prompts me to add, “What kind of Seeker would I be if I couldn’t find my way home?”

Before he can reply, before Paloma can say another word, I step away from the truck and head through the gate. Making my way across large squares of gravel and dirt standing in for a lawn, before pushing through the big double doors and stealing a moment to orient myself. But, as it turns out, I pause for too long, and a second later I nearly fall victim to a trio of girls storming the hall.

They’re the kind of girls I instantly recognize as being in charge.

The kind of girls determined to snag the lead role.

Marquee girls.

Pretty much the opposite of me—the lowly kid of a crew member, used to keeping quiet, out of sight, doing whatever it takes to avoid the spotlight.

This may be my first day at school, any school, but I’ve spent enough time on various movie sets to recognize a social caste system when I see one.

Their gazes are piercing and gleaming—darting like crazy—calculating the number of students checking them out, which is just about everyone within a ten-foot radius. The majority of students content to stand on the sidelines—smiling, waving, and striving to be noticed—knowing never to approach unless summoned. Never to breach the invisible red-velvet rope that separates the popular crowd from everyone else.

I duck my head low and maneuver around them, about to make my way down the hall in search of the office, when the girls stop. Their jaws dropping, eyes popping, as the one in the middle, the one with the long dark hair and brassy blond highlights, approaches and says, “Hey.”

I nod, force a half-smile, and meet her Hey with one of my own.

“You’re the girl I saw on the horse.” Her eyes are dark, kohl rimmed, and narrowed on mine.

I stand before them, refusing to confirm or deny—having dreaded a moment like this ever since Paloma broke the news about my enrolling in school. With only one high school to choose from, it was only a matter of time before I ran into the kids I saw that day on the trail. Though I was hoping I’d at least make it a little farther into the building before I was outted.

“You are her, aren’t you?” She checks with her friends, her gaze turning first to the girl on her right wearing the gloppy pink lip gloss, and then to the one on her left with the overplucked eyebrows and iridescent purple eyeshadow, turning back to me when she says, “Even without the bandanna and the horse, I know it’s you. You were singing too—weren’t you? How’d that song go again—something about strength, perception, and giving direction? Maybe you should sing it for us?” Her dark eyes flash on mine as her friends fall all over themselves, laughing hysterically into their hands.

I start to walk away, only to have her slip right before me, and say, “Seriously.” She nods, smiling like she means it. “We’d really like to hear it. So go ahead—sing your psycho song.”

My hands curl to fists. She’s mocking the mountainsong. Has no idea how much power it holds—how much power I hold. I could crush her in ways she couldn’t begin to imagine. Or, at the very least, humiliate her in a way she’d never live down.

But I can’t.

Won’t.

Paloma warned me about that. Said I had to use my skill for the greater good—to not squander my powers on protecting my ego.

I try to move around them, but they move right along with me. Their arms linked together in an impenetrable wall of designer knockoff jeans, padded bras, and pop-star perfume. Still, as much as I make fun of them in my head, the actual effect is far more intimidating than the big iron gate that surrounds the school grounds. Without the use of my magick, I’m no match for them. I have no idea how to deal with this. No idea how to get out of this.

“How’d you get to school?” one of them says, the one on the right with the glossy pink lips. “Is your horse parked out front?” She laughs well before the joke is out, which kind of ruins the timing. Still, her eyes flick toward the girl in the middle, seeking her approval, as I stand there and stare, telling myself that they’re silly and stupid and not worth my wrath. But even though I know it to be true, the crowd of students growing around us pretty much deletes all that.

They press closer, everyone wanting to get a better view of the kind of new-girl hazing they don’t get to see every day—every last one of them relieved that it’s me and not them. The sheer size of the audience encouraging the girl in the middle to speak up again, voice rising when she says, “Clearly nobody told you we don’t allow psycho girls at this school. So maybe you should go back to your mental ward.”

I swallow hard. Tell myself to let it go, to not make it any worse than it already is—but discard that thought just as quickly. It’s better to nip it right now. Let them know I’m not one to be messed with. My silence will only encourage them to stalk me until graduation.