Malice

21

The next day, I almost skip classes again. And not just history, either, but the whole day.

I’m terrified that Saint’s going to do something new to humiliate me, but I make myself go to each and every single class because I realize if I don’t show up, he’ll think I’m a coward. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a fucking coward.

Liam ignores me all day. I’m not surprised, but it grates. He’s not my boyfriend and doesn’t have the right to throw a hissy fit whenever I hook up with someone. Even though I tell myself this, I know that’s not a very fair thought because I’m not just hooking up with anyone. I’m doing it with Saint. Still, I’m getting sick of the cold-shoulder treatment Liam gives me whenever I do something he doesn’t like or approve of.

By the time I get to history, I’m at the limits of my temper and just want to get whatever shitstorm Saint has pla

Within moments, three things hit me as odd. The first is that Dylan’s nowhere in sight—instead, there’s an older, female teacher I’ve never seen before. The second is that everyone’s talking excitedly. And the third?

For once, the hot gossip isn’t me.

“What’s going on?” I ask a couple of girls sitting in the front row.

They shoot me dirty looks but are surprisingly forthcoming with information. “I guess you’ll find out anyway, slut, but Mr. Porter’s under investigation,” one of the girls says with a flip of her long platinum hair.

My heart thumps hard against my chest. “What? Why?”

Her friend answers, “Zoe Buckley’s parents contacted the school claiming they’d found dirty texts and pictures from him on her phone. He’s been put on unpaid leave while he’s investigated.” She pauses for a moment, crinkling her nose at my cheap black flats. “If only every country-fried piece of trash that’s being investigated could get the same treatment…”

Her insult doesn’t even bother me today. My head is spi

Hurrying from the room, I try to get a hold of my tumultuous emotions and riotous thoughts. Dylan’s being investigated, and I’ve no doubt he did what he’s being accused of.

What if he confesses to his affair with me?

I nearly heave in the hallway at the thought.

Suddenly, I hear heavy footsteps following me. I turn and find Saint coming my way, looking particularly smug as he smooths his large hands over the lapels of his navy blazer. Before I can react to his approach, he grabs my arm and pulls me through the doorway to my left and into the empty classroom beyond.

He shuts the door behind us and turns to me with a wicked grin.

“So, are you pleased?”

I’m so overwhelmed by everything that’s happened that it takes me a moment to completely process what he’s asking. When it hits me, my shoulders jerk back in shock. “Did you do this? Did you get Dylan in trouble?”

He places his hand over his heart and looks at me with a dramatically wounded expression.

“Ellis, I’m hurt. You keep accusing me of all these terrible things lately.”

“Answer the question, Saint,” I whisper, hugging my arms over my chest.

Releasing an irritated breath, he rolls his blue eyes. “Are you asking if I orchestrated some elaborate scheme to get your dead best friend’s predator brother in trouble? No, Mallory. Believe it or not, I’m neither desperate nor pussy-whipped. Porter brought this on himself by playing show-me-yours with teenage girls.”

That I can actually believe. Dylan was always arrogant, and arrogance can make you sloppy. He likely thought he’d never get caught creeping on girls.

Well fuck him. I hope he gets what he deserves.

Saint’s gri

“Why are you so happy?” I demand. “If you didn’t orchestrate this, then why do you care about Dylan’s fate?”

“Stop calling him that.”

“Jesus Christ, Saint, I—”

“It’s my birthday week,” he interrupts, as if that should answer all my questions. “Why wouldn’t I be happy?”

As much as I hate the way Dylan has treated me, it feels wrong that Saint’s getting so much glee out of what’s happening. The guy really doesn’t have any empathy or compassion in his entire body, does he?

“You’re repulsive,” I say with a shake of my head.

“Just how you like me,” he taunts. “Repulsive and bad with your cunt on my face.”

I turn from him, done with this awful conversation, and walk out of the classroom back into the hallway. I’m more determined than ever to put him from my mind and avoid him at all costs. Saint Angelle can go straight to hell, right alongside Dylan Porter.

Friday night, while Saint’s hosting his big ego-inflating birthday party, Loni and I decide to have a movie night. I chose us an old slasher with plenty of blood and gore to match the burning anger I’ve felt all week toward Saint. Loni and I are curled up together on her floor, enjoying pizza, when her phone buzzes.

She picks it up and twists her lips to the side. “Martha’s calling me.”

I pause the movie so she can answer.

“Hey,” Loni says after accepting the call and putting it on speaker. “What’s up?”

“Loni! Hey girl … what’s you doing?”

It’s obvious Martha’s tipsy and well on her way to full-on hammered. There’s the thumping of loud music in the background and muffled voices. It sounds like she’s at a party.

I exchange an amused glance with Loni, who replies, “Watching a movie with Mallory. What are you doing?”

“Getting fucked up at Saint Angelle’s birthday party,” she shouts.

I tense and gawk at Loni, and she holds my gaze as she snaps, “What the hell, Martha? You hate Saint and his crew.”

“But I love his house and parties,” Martha laughed, clearly oblivious to Loni’s growing irritation. “It’s an early 2002 themed one!”

“How fucking creative.” Loni releases a heavy breath of frustration before she speaks again. “Why did you call, Martha?”

“Oh, yeah! Can I get a ride?”

“But you’re having so much fun. Why ever would you want to leave?” Still, even as Loni says this, she’s already on her feet and searching for her keys.

“I want tacos, and there aren’t any here,” Martha explains. “Also, I’m drunk, and they won’t give me back my keys.”

Loni’s eyes shut for several long moments, but then she sighs, “Of course I’ll come get you. Just … don’t do anything stupid until I get there, okay?”

“You’re the love of my life,” Martha declares, then she disco

Shoulders slumped, Loni turns to me, nibbling on her bottom lip. “I don’t suppose you’d want to tag along?”

I don’t. I really, really don’t, but I also don’t want Loni going to that lion’s den by herself.

Nodding, I say, “Sure, I’ll come.”

She gives me a grateful smile and we hurry from her room down to her Jeep.

“I can’t believe Martha would do this,” she growls as we drive away from campus toward Saint’s house. “She’s such a traitor.”

“No, she’s not,” I insist. “It’s probably a pretty awesome party because Saint poured so much money into it. You can’t blame her for wanting to check it out.”

She rolls her eyes. “Like hell I can’t. She knows what happens at Saint Angelle parties. She’s an idiot for not steering clear.”