Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals, #1)(8)

I straighten, going straight for her. “What happened?”

“N-nothing. He just wanted to t-talk.”

“Uh-huh,” I say. “What’d he want to talk about?”

“Nothing.” She straightens her shoulders. “Let’s go home.”

I sigh. I get it. I don’t want to talk about my encounters with Caleb after they happen, because sometimes it just hurts too much to relive it. Maybe in a few days she’ll spill. But until then, I’m not going to mess with her. Or our friendship.





4





Robert suggests I switch into one of his classes. Since I’m still in a smooth-everything-over mode, I readily agree. I don’t necessarily think I’d be good at it, but painting is better than doing homework in a study hall.

Monday morning, bright and early, he slides a wrapped box across the kitchen island. “For you.”

I unwrap it slowly, savoring the pull and release of tape. I can count on one hand how many presents I’ve gotten from people other than my social worker’s obligatory Christmas present. When it’s revealed, I can’t stop the wide smile from spreading. It’s the set of paints I had bought for him the other day, plus brushes.

“Everything you’ll need,” he explains.

“You were planning on me saying yes,” I accuse.

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Guilty as charged. Some art will be therapeutic for you.”

“Even if I suck at it?” I ask.

He smiles, holding the front door open for me. “Yeah, even if you suck at it. But honestly, I don’t think you will.”

I follow him to the office, relieved to not have to stand around in the courtyard. If Savannah is back, I don’t want to talk to her. Or be confronted by her. Or look at her.

Robert talks to my guidance counselor, having her switch me out of a study hall that was slowly boring me to death and into his class. He walks us out and claps. “Perfect! See you at the end of the day.”

“See ya,” I mumble, heading back to the courtyard. It took a lot less time than I expected. I doubt Riley is here yet.

I walk into the courtyard and stick to the edges. Caleb and his crew are throwing around a football, taking up a huge space. I spot Savannah and her new friends in the corner. Some of the cheerleaders are smoking, cigarettes dangling from their fingers. My eyes almost bug out at the sight of it.

She’s the cool girl. The one who rebels in the name of fashion. Short skirt, long legs, uniform shirt unbuttoned one too low. A hot-pink lace bra peeks out of her shirt. I imagine she has guys drooling over her, but all she can focus on is Caleb.

I have a niggling suspicion that she’s the mysterious texter. The texter who has blissfully remained silent for the past week. She may be the only one vicious enough to warn me away to my face. Well, except for Caleb.

I sit on a bench and pull out homework due at the end of the week. The bell rings with no sign of Riley, and I take a deep breath. I gather my things. My textbook slides off my lap and hits the gravel. I go to grab it, and a polished shoe steps on its spine.

“Hey—” I stop when I see who the shoe belongs to.

Caleb. There’s darkness in his eyes, and I want to crawl away from him. How many times do I have to remind myself that he isn’t the boy I knew? That something changed him for the worse, leaving this monster in his place?

“Thought I told you to leave.”

I grimace. “Did you?”

I tug at my book, but it’s useless. He leans his weight on it, crushing the spine.

Maybe he’ll do that to you, Margo. If you don’t listen to him.

I bolt to my feet, finding myself inches away from him.

“What’s your problem?” I demand. “Why are you such an asshole?”

He laughs. It goes straight through my chest, decimating me. His hand winds around the back of my neck, keeping me in place. It isn’t like I have anywhere else to go, with the bench right behind me and him at my front.

I shiver at his palm against the back of my neck. I hate it—I decide that I hate him, and it’s about time my body caught up to the anger he’s been dishing out.

“Go run to Savannah,” I mutter, staring at him. “Take whatever your problem is out on her.”

He chuckles. “I have, Sheep. I broke her, and she still follows me like a wind-up doll.” He tilts his head. “I have a feeling if I broke you, you wouldn’t do that.”

“What?”

“Let’s play a game.” He leans down, until we’re eye to eye. “First one to fold loses.”

“What—”

He pulls me forward by my neck, slamming his lips to mine. I fight him for a second. I struggle against the unyielding pressure of his lips on mine, but he captures my wrists behind my back with his free hand.

Hate radiates through me. He’s kissing me, but it’s all anger and fire. It’s hot and stupid, and I want to burst into tears. I want to back away, to scratch his eyeballs out. His hand squeezes the back of my neck.

He was the boy I used to love. I was ten. I was smitten. The thought of him was all that kept me afloat during the first year and a half of foster care. But now he’s someone else, and I want my old friend back.

I can get my old friend back. For an instant, I give in to the kiss. How can I not?