Page 5 of Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals 1)

My gaze catches on Caleb—the bastard left me, and it took me five minutes to figure out where the hell I was going—and the boys around him. There’s an open seat directly in front of Caleb or all the way against the windows. I start to move to the far one, but someone throws their bag on it.

I pause. No more seats.

Slowly, I walk toward Caleb. He raises an eyebrow. I sink down into my seat, my cheeks heating once I register his eyes burning into the back of my head.

When did he get so beautiful? Dark hair and light-gray eyes, muscles packed onto his lean frame. He grew, too. In elementary school, we were the same height. He’s got at least six inches on me now.

And hate.

Where did the hate come from?

“Ms. Wolfe?”

The whole class snickers.

I jerk. “Yes?”

“I was asking if you’d had a chance to read through the syllabus.”

I slink lower. “No, ma’am.”

She frowns, pausing by her desk. “See me after class.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“No, ma’am. Yes, ma’am,” the boy next to me parrots. “Such a fucking saint for a coke-whore’s daughter.”

More laughter.

I sink lower.

Coming back was a mistake. I should’ve insisted on public school. At least that way, the bullies wouldn’t know my history. They would’ve made fun of my secondhand clothes and haircut, but they wouldn’t have picked at my past. My parents.

“You planning on snorting up under the bleachers at lunch?” the boy whispers. “Like mother like daughter?”

I’ve become an insta-pariah.

I try to ignore him, but he kicks the side of my chair. I twist toward him, poised to say something—anything—but the words lodge in my throat. He’s almost as hateful as Caleb was.

I recognize him. Ian Fletcher. One of Caleb’s old buddies from elementary school.

I wonder if they’re still friends.

“Take a picture,” he suggests. “It’ll last longer than your memory.”

Slowly, I turn back around. I focus on the teacher, who starts talking about the Civil War. I open my textbook and try to find where we are, keeping my head down.

Blend in. That’s all I need to do.

And that’s how I manage to stay alive until lunchtime.

I grab the packed lunch Robert had shoved in my hands before we’d left the house, dumping my books in my locker—which, again, took me too long to find. I thought I might be okay since I had been to the elementary school, but this building is a whole different beast.

I roll my shoulders, happy to have the weight off my back, and walk toward the cafeteria. Ahead of me, Caleb and his friends are making their way in the same direction. I automatically slow down, keeping my gaze on them. I hug the lockers and hope they don’t see me.

It’s ridiculous. I’ve seen some tough shit in public school, and with foster siblings, but nothing compares to the sheer arrogance that leaks out of these boys.

Someone loops their arm through mine, pulling me down a side hall. It happens almost too fast for me to protest.