Page 26 of The Golden Boys
“You don’t have to go through all this trouble for me,” I admit. “So … thank you.”
A faint smile curves the corners of her mouth. “Close my door on your way out.”
* * *
@QweenPandora: Whoa! Talk about starting the year off with a bang! Looks like someone’s got it out for NewGirl already. Although, I might think twice about provoking the sibling of a known killer. Pretty sure there are stats that suggest murderous predispositions can pass through DNA. Or … it’s entirely possible I just made that up. Either way, we’ll all have our eyes set on NewGirl. Can never be too safe, right?
Later, Peeps.
—P
* * *
Chapter 8
BLUE
“So, YOU’RE the one Pandora’s been going on about? The one KingMidas is into? OMG, Blue, you’re basically famous!”
Rolling my eyes at Scar’s text, I shove the phone down in my pocket. She likely hadn’t made the connection until this morning’s post referencing Hunter. Leave it to my sister to see the silver lining in this fiasco.
Leave it to my sister to think West Golden is a god.
Demon is more like it.
It’s true what they say. Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Or, in this case,thinkof the devil and he shall appear.
I spot him across the courtyard. There’s no denying how good it would feel to rush across the lawn, march right up to their table, and dump that entire can of soda on his head. Instead, with Ms. Pryor’s words from a few hours ago still fresh in my brain, I just stare as he chugs it down. This guy doesn’t have a care in the world.
When he lowers the can from his lips with a smirk, nodding once in my direction, it’s like he’s taunting me. King Midas knows he’s untouchable, knows I’m alone here.
Clutching the edges of my lunch tray so tight I could snap it in half, I double back toward the cafeteria, deciding I’ll eat inside. Beats having to stare athishateful mug while I eat.
I only grip the handle when my name is called. Well … aversionof my name, anyway.
“New Girl.”
Peering up, there’s only one person close enough for me to have heard her voice. A girl propped against a tree, not making eye contact as she discreetly puffs smoke from the side of her mouth.
“Are you … talking to me?” I ask. Maybe I was mistaken, because I have no clue who she is.
“You’re the one Pandora calls New Girl, right? The one from the posters?”
Great. Just how I want to be identified. “Yeah, unfortunately.”
She flicks ashes from the end of the cigarette hidden behind her thigh, out of sight from the teachers and monitors hanging around. Dark, inquisitive eyes look me over as a breeze incites an explosion of long, black curls that frame her face.
“Who’d you manage to piss off so early in the game?” I don’t miss the smile that accompanies the question. It isn’t menacing.
Taking slow steps toward her, still holding my tray, I sigh. “Eh, you know. A little bit of everyone, apparently.” That’s all I’m willing to say, hoping to avoid widening the target on my back even more.
An easy laugh puffs from her mouth before dropping the butt of a cigarette in the grass. The sole of her heavy boot comes down to snuff it out. Then, she eyes me again, with the same scrutiny as before.
“You got a real name?”
“I do,” is the only answer I give, and my response seems to amuse her.
“Just what the world needs. Another smart-ass,” she points out. “Fine. Name’s Lexi Rodriguez. You are?”