The Merciless (The Merciless #1)(11)

Karen laughs. “Where do you think we’ll find the most germs?” she asks. She narrows her eyes as she looks around the room, settling on Mr. Baer. “How about the gap between Mr. Baer’s teeth?”

“Ew! You’re probably right. His coffee breath is bad enough to take out a village.”

Lila swivels around on her stool, leaning her back against the lab table directly in front of us. Karen chokes back the rest of her laughter.

“What are you laughing at, Greasy?” Lila asks. Lila’s a senior, a varsity cheerleader, and so far out of my social circle that the only time I see her outside of class is when she’s on top of the human pyramid at pep rallies.

My cheeks burn and I duck my head, letting my hair swing forward to cover my blushing face. I got the nickname Greasy a couple of months ago, when some JV cheerleader in my English class said it looked like I never washed my hair. I wash my hair every day, but my mom’s been on this all-natural kick lately. The shampoo she buys is made from avocados, and it weighs my hair down, making it look shiny and clumpy.

“Careful, Karen,” Lila’s lab partner, Erin, says without turning around on her stool. She brushes her own perfect brunette waves back behind one ear. “Get close enough to Greasy and you’re going to catch whatever she has.”

“Right,” Karen says, but when Lila turns back around she glances back at me. “Ignore them,” she whispers. She says it quietly, though, and she shoots a glance at Lila and Erin, obviously hoping they don’t hear.

? ? ?

“Sof? Sofia, can you hear us?”

I open my eyes. Riley, Alexis, and Grace are all staring at me. My cheeks burn with embarrassment and I blink, trying to remember the last thing Alexis said.

“Well?” Grace asks. “What did you see?”

I roll my lower lip between my teeth, the memory still fresh in my head.

Riley gives me a quizzical look. “Are you okay, Sof?” she asks. “Did you really see something?”

“Yes,” I say. Then I grab a stray piece of popcorn from the floor and throw it at Grace. “I saw Tom. He said you should apply your own sunscreen.”

Alexis hoots with laughter. Riley takes the Nutella from her and licks the back of the spoon. She catches my eye and winks. “Looks like Sofia fits in better than we thought.”





CHAPTER FIVE


“How did you all like The Divine Comedy?” Ms. Carey asks our English lit class the next day. I stare down at my notebook, doodling in the margins. I hate class discussions, and being tired and a little hungover from last night doesn’t help. It feels as if someone’s pressing my eyes closed—I have to fight to keep them open.

“Isn’t this book about Satan?” asks some blond girl I’ve never talked to before. “Should we be reading about Satan at school?”

I deepen the familiar lines of Quetzalcoatl’s feathered tail with my pen. That sounds like something Riley would say. Ms. Carey nods.

“That’s a good point, Angela. Can anyone tell me why we’d read The Divine Comedy in high school?”

No one answers. Ms. Carey taps a leather loafer on the floor.

“Come on, guys, there are no wrong answers here. What do you think? Why are we reading this book?”

“Because high school is hell.”

I stop sketching and glance over my shoulder. Brooklyn sits in the back corner next to the windows. Usually she spends class with her head on her desk, but today she’s staring at Ms. Carey, defiant. She stretches the chain that hangs from her neck between two fingers, and the gold ring swings from side to side, like a pendulum.

“If we have to live it, we may as well read about it,” she adds.

“Well, that was more colorfully put than I’d have liked,” Ms. Carey says as the students around us snicker. I stop doodling and my pen bleeds ink onto the page.

In the back row, Brooklyn flicks her own paperback copy of the book with one finger, sending it sliding over her desk and onto the floor. I shake my head, a little impressed. She really doesn’t care what anyone around her thinks. Must be nice.

Before Ms. Carey can comment further, the bell rings and the rest of the students start gathering their things. Brooklyn winds her way through the chairs and desks. She walks past me without a word.

Making a quick decision, I shove my notebook into my bag and drop behind her as she makes her way down the hall. Riley didn’t mention the spying thing again, and by this morning I’m pretty sure everyone forgot about it. But I keep wondering about Brooklyn, if she’s really into séances and chanting and animal mutilation, or if it’s all just rumors. And my biggest question: If she really was friends with Riley, why would she throw that away?

“Hey,” I say. When Brooklyn doesn’t turn around, I jog up next to her. “That was funny—what you said about high school being like hell.”

“Was it?” Brooklyn shuffles through her bag, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. The entire box is covered in black Sharpie scribbles, so you can’t even see the brand name. Brooklyn slides a cigarette from the pack and puts it in her mouth, unlit. We aren’t even out of school yet.

“Are you doing anything now?” My lame attempt at being laid-back makes me cringe. Brooklyn stops walking in the middle of the hallway, forcing the kids behind us to move around her.