I had siblings, they would’ve been named Daffodil, Sunflower, and Tulip.
Not normal flower names like Daisy or Rose. Oh no. Even when I was a baby, Mom harbored resentment for me.
“Well, have fun, girls! I’m just going to be getting some work done in here.” The last sentence is said pointedly at her daughter, a reminder to remain quiet. Mariabella pantomimes zipping her lips shut and throwing away the key, and a wry smile curls up Lydia’s mouth.
“Come on,” Mariabella says to me, pulling me away from her mother. I wave goodbye at the friendly woman, who once more closes the door to her office. “Let’s get ready in my room.”
Mariabella’s room is exactly what I would expect from her—an explosion of pink. The walls are painted a creamy white, decorated with Polaroid pictures, and more pillows cover the pink bedspread than I’m sure she knows what to do with. Besides that, there’s nothing that really tells me who Mariabella truly is. Sure, there are numerous pictures of her and her friends, but where are the embarrassing stuffed animals? The tattered baby blanket she kept since she was young? The clothing she hadn’t bothered to place in the hamper? The room seems too clean to belong to a teenage girl.
As Mariabella moves to place her backpack on the bed, I peruse the pictures taped to the wall. There are dozens of her and her cheerleading friends, a few of her and her parents, but only one of Karsyn. It’s that one I focus on, seeming to be taken when he wasn’t looking. He’s wearing the red and black letterman jacket required of all football players, but his face appears younger. Sadder, almost. Pensive. His gaze is faraway and distant, and his hand is lying loosely on his knee. I can almost hear the staccato as his fingers thrum against his jeans, belting out an unfamiliar tune.
“So, do you want to get any homework done, or do you just want to hang out?” Mariabella asks, pulling my attention away from Karsyn’s photo. I move to stand beside her, shrugging off my backpack and placing it by my feet.
“No homework.” I shake my head once. “It’s the weekend, and I’m schooled out.”
She chortles. “Ugh. You’re right. We can work on our project for Bio another time.” Her eyes glimmer suddenly, and she pats the spot next to her on the bed. “Sit. Let’s talk.”
“How much time do we have before we have to get to the game?” I move to do as she instructed, perching awkwardly on the bed beside her. At the coven, I didn’t have a lot of girlfriends. No one to braid my hair or do my nails or gossip with. It was just me and Uriel, but we were never the type of friends who did any of that stuff. Instead of braiding hair, we pulled it. Instead of doing our nails, we scratched them down each other’s backs. And our mouths were used for more important things.
I probably tasted every inch of that fucker’s skin, but I can’t remember if we ever truly sat down and just talked.
“So…” Mariabella purposefully drags the word out, and I can feel my brows tilt downwards.
“So?”
“First week. Spill. How was it?”
“It was exactly how you would expect the first week to go in a new school.” I attempt to choose my words very, very carefully. So far, I don’t think Mariabella remembers me from middle school. But then again, I don’t remember her that well either. She was always just there, with a gaggle of laughing girls, never joining in on the bullying but never stopping it either. It’s not a complete surprise that she wouldn’t remember me. I don’t think we ever said more than two words to each other.
“You and Emmett seem to be getting along really well,” she presses, and despite her light tone, I can hear the curiosity brewing like a kettle seconds from boiling over.
“Are you asking me if we’re fucking?” I jest teasingly, and she immediately makes a face.
“Ew. Don’t need that visual, thank you very much, but yes. I suppose that’s what I’m asking.”
I shrug my shoulders once. “He’s cute. And funny. And entertaining. But…”
“But…?” she queries.
“I don’t want to date,” I finish firmly. Because I would much rather spend my time planning ways to destroy your boyfriend and his ex-best friends. But you know, semantics.
“Ever?” Mariabella asks, sounding genuinely disappointed, and I can’t help but smirk. I have no doubt Emmett put her