Page 23 of The Golden Boys

They fit in here, they’ve formed alliances that help them navigate the day-to-day. Even those who aren’t with the in-crowd have likely found their place, formed small cliques that serve as buffers against the sometimes-harsh landscape of high school. Most have probably attended school together all their lives. Then, there’s me—NewGirl, as Pandora has apparently marked me.

I’m ashamed to admit that I finally took the plunge and got swept away by Pandora and all her musings. The conversation with Ricky left me no choice. After what he mentioned about her getting things between West and mewaywrong, I couldn’t help myself.

So, after talking to Jules, and realizing I didn’t have it in me to tell her the hell West, Dane, and Sterling put me through, I ended the call and scrolled.

For hours.

These peoples’ lives are messier than any soap opera I’ve ever seen, and now I know a handful of their secrets. Too bad I don’t know the real names behind all the monikers, the missing pieces that would have made what I read just a little bit juicier.

However, what Idoknow, is thatKingMidas—leader of the pack—is undoubtedly West; Sterling—the voice of reason—isMrSilver; and Dane—the vain one with a penchant for selfies—isPrettyBoyD. Collectively, these three areTheGoldenBoys.

Also, these three are major assholes.

Just saying.

Cranking up the music, I glance down at my tattered jeans. Lucky for me, the hole in the kneelooksstylish. What no one will ever know is Igotthat hole running for my life when the Huong family’s dog decided to hop their fence and chase me. An adventure that ended with me skidding down the sidewalk.

Then there’s my gray tee. Or rather, the gray tee I stole from Scar. It barely comes down over my belly ring. Hopefully, the self-appointed dress code police won’t notice.

A group of girls pass, and we lock eyes. One tosses her head back, cackling while the other two whisper to one another. I’m probably just being paranoid, but I’d swear they’re laughing at me.

The feeling snowballs when I glance back over my shoulder, and all three are staring right back at me, smiling like they know something I don’t.

Whatever, skanks.

Holding the straps of my backpack, I jog quickly up the cement steps, slipping inside the open door after another kid passed through. The volume has picked up considerably, so the ambient noise can be heard over the song blaring in my ears.

And then, reality sinks in.

Everything looks so different from South Cypress. Dark, rich wood has replaced the large, tan tiles that lined the hallways of my old school. The unflattering fluorescent lights are nowhere to be found either. Instead, modest chandeliers are spaced out in a row down the long stretch of ceiling. Paired with the yellow stained-glass windows in the atrium, it feels more like passing through a church sanctuary than a school, but the hallways with classrooms aren’t nearly as formal, although the mahogany carries throughout.

I pass a pair of giggling freshmen this time—or at least they’re small enough to be freshman—but I know I’m not going crazy. There’s a sheet of paper in their hands, and when they peer up and see me, their eyes widen like they’ve seen a ghost.

Don’t freak out. It’s probably nothing. Just go to your locker, then go to class. You’ve got this.

I intend to stick to this plan, keeping my head down to avoid trouble, but I suddenly realize trouble has foundme.

A group of boys at the end of the hallway stand out like giants, their shoulders rising above the heads of nearly everyone they pass. But it isn’t only the Golden boys. There are others, an entire squad moving through the halls as a unit, with West front and center.

It isn’t a surprise that he’s already spotted me. Those piercingly green eyes can be seen even from this distance, and so can the fury within them. Passing one another is unavoidable, but I refuse to let him think I’m intimidated, because I’m not.

He hikes the single strap of his backpack higher on his shoulder and his bicep flexes with the movement. We’re nearly at one another’s feet now, but I step aside at the last second, narrowly avoiding a full-on collision since it’s clear he’s perfectly content bulldozing over me. My shoulder brushes his arm and he stares down on me with that devilish half-smile.

“Welcome back, Southside,” he grumbles low and menacing, getting the words out as we pass.

I say nothing in return.

The whole thing is over quickly and I’m grateful for it. But the second I turn down the hallway to access my locker, my heart sinks.

Almost every single pair of eyes is locked on me. Those that aren’t, are focused on the sheets of paper in their hands. The same sheets of paper plastered all over the lockers like wallpaper. Only, instead of a printed floral array or some stupid duck pattern, it’s an article. Copy upon copy of thesamearticle, actually.

Whatever didn’t get posted on the wall looks like it’s just been tossed into the air and has landed on the floor. I stoop to take one, and instantly feel the wind get knocked right out of me.

The copies are the newspaper’s full account of Hunter’s crime, every gory detail that paints him as the monster he was discovered to be. Then, below the text, the responsible party took it upon themselves to add my school pic from last year, just to make sure no one misses the connection.

To make sure no one misses that I’m the sister of a murderer.

“Oh my gosh! Is it really her?”