Mafiosa (Blood for Blood #3)(7)

‘What was I thinking? I barely have a month to pull this whole thing off and no one has come up with any good theme ideas. I am working with a pack of idiots.’

‘You’ll be fine. I have full faith in you.’ I linked arms with her as we made our way to English class, pushing my own worries down, down, down. School was for the old Sophie. Not the new one. Not the real one.

We took our seats at the back of the classroom. I slumped into my chair and kept my head down, but I could still feel the gazes drilling into the side of my head, the whispers scuttling around the room like spiders.

She never smiles any more.

I heard it was her uncle who set fire to the place and now they can’t find him anywhere.

I heard she set the fire. She’s a psychopath just like her dad.

If I had my way I would have dropped out of school the day I showed up on the Falcones’ doorstep, but they were adamant about having me continue my studies to retain ‘some level of normality’ in my life, and Millie … well, I had made her a promise. We were going to do senior year together, and only a bad friend would break such a big promise. I was determined to be a good friend. So that meant essays and calculus and dance planning and football games and the slow creeping doom of a future I wasn’t sure I had any more.

Millie ripped a page out of her notebook and began furiously scribbling on it as Mr Simmons, our English teacher, swept into the room. He was dressed entirely in tweed, like he had just tumbled out of the early 1900s and couldn’t quite figure out where he was.

‘What are you doing?’ I tried to ignore Erin Reyes, who was one desk over and leering at me. I had already been a source of amusement to her, but now I had graduated to the shelf of ‘tragic’, and that meant she wanted to stare at me at least twice as much. Without looking at her, I rubbed my cheek with my middle finger. She muttered something under her breath and I let the satisfaction paint the smile across my face.

‘For your next assignment, I want you to pick a piece of writing that you can identify with on a deep emotional level, and explain why,’ Simmons began cheerfully. ‘So with that in mind, today we are going to dive into some poetry.’

I’d rather dive into a volcano.

Millie passed me the piece of paper. ‘I don’t have time to dive into anything,’ she whispered. ‘We’re picking a dance theme.’

‘Who is?’ I unfolded the paper.

‘Us,’ she hissed. ‘By the time this class is over, we’ll have nailed it.’

I scanned the list of possibilities. Pimps and Pirates, Heroes and Villains, Childhood Cartoons, Barbarians and Librarians.

‘That last one is you just rhyming random stuff,’ I felt compelled to point out. ‘It makes no sense.’

‘Shhhhut up.’

At the bottom of the page she had written and then crossed out, Sexy Fruit? I side-glanced at her. ‘Permission to have absolutely nothing to do with this at any point ever at all?’

‘Permission denied.’ Millie slid a glitter pen on to my desk. ‘Now get creative, Gracewell.’

I glanced warily at the piece of paper. Old Sophie would help with this. Old Sophie was the friend Millie deserved. School was for her. I swallowed my feelings down, and got to work.

What about balloons? People love balloons.

I slipped the note to Millie and watched her face contort. She scribbled back.

Consider me offended by this first attempt.

Mars? Mars is topical.

Against all possible odds, your suggestions have actually gotten worse.

This is why I’m not on the dance committee.

If you were, I’d have to fire you immediately.

What about Under the Sea?

Sophie!! We’re not going to a five-year-old’s birthday party!

I wish we were. At least there’d be cake.

You don’t even like children. Remember that time you tried to shake a baby’s hand?

You’re underestimating how much I love cake. And I was just trying to be cordial.

By the end of class, I had twenty-nine rejected dance themes under my belt.

Millie got to her feet. ‘Well, that was a bust. I can’t believe I thought you’d be good at that.’

‘To be honest, neither can I. I mean, as much as I’d like to, I can’t just masquerade around here like someone who’s expec—’

‘Sophie!’ Millie’s eyes looked like they might fall right out of her head. ‘You’re a genius! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before, but of course it makes total sense, especially with it being around Halloween!’ She raised her hand above us, unveiling a picture only she could see. ‘Sophie, I give you … Cedar Hill High’s Masquerade Ball. Classy, sexy, mysterious …’

‘Masks.’ I could almost taste the irony. ‘You want us to wear masks.’

A memory undusted itself deep in the corner of my mind. The first time I met Valentino at the old Priestly mansion in Cedar Hill. The mask he wore then. The masks he said we all wore for fear of the alternative – being our true selves, risking being rejected for who we are deep in our core, for what we really desire. Even now, I was pretending to my best friend. I was pretending to be happy, I was pretending to get better. Inside, I was twisted and raw.

I was already wearing a mask.

Millie was jumping up and down like an excited puppy and pulling me back into the hallway, where people spread out from me in purposeful arcs, as though I might cry if they brushed against my shoulder, or curse them if they looked me in the eye.