Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals, #1)(2)

I blow out a breath. It’s the same class I went in with. I draw up faces of kids I used to know, wondering if they’re still there.

After a few more questions from my social worker, she stands and brushes off her pants. “Margo, call me if you need anything. Same with you, Lenora and Robert.” She hands them her card, and then she’s out the door.

We’re left in silence.

“Are you hungry?” Lenora asks. “Tired?”

I nod. “I think I’m going to lie down, if that’s okay?”

“Of course, honey. I’ll knock when it’s time for dinner.”

As far as new homes go, the first day is always the worst. It’s like learning a new dance, and no one really takes the time to teach you the steps. New schools are the same, except… everyone seems to know I’m the foster kid.

It’s going to be worse tomorrow. They’ll probably recognize my name. I’m sure there was a story when I vanished. My best friend at the time, Savannah, wrote me exactly one letter a week after I moved schools. She asked me if the rumors were true, if my mom was a coke-whore and Dad was her dealer.

I never answered.

I close my door and flop onto the bed, unlocking my phone. There are names I could stalk to prepare myself for tomorrow, but preparation never did me any good. Instead, I close my eyes and try not to think about where Claire and Hanna, my foster siblings, ended up.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I wake with a start. I’m filled with a restless urge and a gnawing hunger in the pit of my stomach. I look out the window, contemplating the climb to the ground.

They didn’t wake me for dinner, which isn’t surprising. I slept hard, the first good sleep in a long time. There were no dreams, no nightmares. Just… sleep.

I push open the window and slide the screen up, leaning halfway out. The house is brick, but there’s nothing to grab on to. Nothing I can see, anyway. I pull myself back in and close the window, lowering myself to the floor. My phone’s glow illuminates the room, the buzz of a text harsh in the silence.

Unknown: Heard you were back.





I tilt my head and give it a few seconds. Then I type back.

Me: Yes.





Unknown: Watch out.





I shiver and slam my phone back on the nightstand, facedown. It buzzes again, but I ignore it and crawl into bed. I block out the texts and the hunger, closing my eyes.

Sleep takes a while to come back. Before I know it, my alarm is going off.

Robert intercepts me on my way to the bathroom. “Coffee and breakfast downstairs.” He’s already dressed. “Did Lenora show you the uniform? It’s hanging in the closet. The white shirt and dark skirt or pants.”

I nod, not quite awake enough to speak, and fumble my way to the bathroom. I brush my hair back, braiding it with quick and nimble fingers. And then my face… mascara and concealer to hide the dark circles under my eyes, a shade of pink lip stain on my full lips. I practice smiling in the mirror.

It falls short. I can’t keep the tremble out of my hands.

I add eyeliner.

I get dressed quickly, sliding on my boots, and meet Robert downstairs. He slides a mug of coffee at me, and I smile at him.

“Figured getting up this early is hard enough without caffeine,” he says.

“Thank you.”

“We’ll get your classes squared away first. Hopefully you’ll just miss homeroom, and we’ll get one of the kids to give you a tour.”

I nod. “Okay.”

We eat cereal in silence. We ride to the school in silence. It’s a bigger building down the street from the elementary and middle schools, and it looms like a castle at the end of the road. My stomach is a ball of nerves.

“I figure I’ll be giving you rides every morning,” Robert says. “And we can meet at the car after. If you want to do any sort of sport or after-school activity, that’s fine. Lenora or I can arrange how we want to handle the pickup. But don’t feel restricted, okay?”

“Right.”

I make the mistake of glancing at my phone as we walk up the steps to the front door. There’s the text from last night still sitting on my lock screen, and I don’t even have to open it to read its message.

Unknown: You’ll regret it.





I shiver.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes.” Alarming texts from an anonymous person, hours after my arrival? That’s a fast way to get kicked out of a good home. When things seem too weird, some parents bail.

I don’t blame them. I’d bail, too. In fact, I’d love nothing more than to run home and tuck myself back in bed and throw my phone in the trash. If only I had a home.

Robert shows me to the office and introduces me to one of the guidance counselors.

She looks at me funny, squinting, then waves me into the office. “Margo Wolfe? Come with me.”

I perch on the chair next to her desk, watching her type.

“You have a lot of different schools on your record,” she says in a mild voice. “Why is that?”

“I’m a foster. Some homes didn’t work out.”

“Robert and Lenora are good friends.” She’s still typing, her nails clacking against the keys. “We were a little worried about them taking in a teenager, but…”