RIOT HOUSE (Crooked Sinners #1) - Callie Hart Page 0,5

her a tight-lipped smile in return. “Guilty as charged.” This whole new girl thing isn’t actually new. I’ve had to do this at least four other times since I reached high school age. It’s been a while, though. After three whole years back at my last school in Tel Aviv, I allowed myself to get comfortable.

Big mistake.

“I’m Carina,” the girl says, holding out her hand. “Glad you made it here in one piece. Some of us waited up for you last night, but it got late and…” She shrugs.

I shake her hand, a little warmed by the idea that some of the girls here might have shown me that kindness, had the hour allowed. “All good. I totally get it.”

“Curfew here’s pretty strict,” the redhead chips in. She’s tall. Like really tall. Almost as tall as the miserable bastard who gave me directions to my room last night. “We have to be in our rooms by ten thirty,” she says. “Although Miriam, our floor monitor, turns a blind eye sometimes if we bribe her with chocolate. It’s cold as shit up here but count yourself lucky. First floor girls don’t have it so easy. Their floor monitor’s a fucking bitch.”

“Hey!” the girl first in line for my bathroom snaps. “Watch your mouth, Pres. Some of us are friends with Sarai.”

“How could I forget,” Pres, the redhead fires back, pulling a face at her. “You’re shoved so far up her ass, it’s a miracle you haven’t earned your Sphincter Patrol badge yet, Damiana.”

Damiana’s a cool name. Shame the girl herself doesn’t seem that cool. She’s three shades blonder than me and wearing a full face of makeup even before she’s stepped foot inside the bathroom. Maybe all that eyeliner is tattooed on.

“Wow. Your comebacks are getting a little better, Satan Spawn. Still need work, though. Maybe you need to practice in the mirror some more.”

The bathroom door opens, and a beautiful girl with a mass of black curls and cinnamon colored skin steps out, dressed in a towel. She immediately rolls her eyes. “God, not even seven-thirty and you’re already sniping, Dami. Give it a rest.”

Damiana growls as she shoves her way into the bathroom, nearly knocking the other girl off her feet.

“Rashida, this is Elodie,” Carina says, nodding in my direction.

Hiking her towel up and pinning it under her arm, Rashida gives me a perfunctory shake of the hand, too. “We’ll talk once you hit the three-month mark,” she says, then hurries off down the hall, walking into room 410 and slamming the door closed behind her.

“Sorry about her,” Carina says, leaning back against the wall. “The last couple of girls who arrived mid-semester all transferred out again pretty quick. I s’pose making the effort to get to know people if you’re not sure they’re gonna stick around is more difficult for some of us than others.”

“Transferred out?” Pres says, her eyebrows rising up her forehead. She sounds as if she disagrees with the term Carina used, but the other girl shoots her a sharp look.

“Don’t,” she warns. “Not yet. Jesus, let the girl settle in a little first before you go dredging up that shit, yeah?”

Uh…this has me slightly worried. “Dredging up what shit?”

“Nothing.” Carina says this firmly, eyeing the other girls. She’s daring them to open their mouths and breathe another word, which none of them do. Apparently, they’re willing to defer to Carina, because everyone standing in the hallway, Pres included, looks down at their feet.

“Okaaaay.” If there’s one thing I hate, aside from my father, it’s secrets. There have been so many in my past, far too many things kept from me over the years, that I have a really low tolerance for this kind of shit. It’s my first day, though. I just met these girls ten minutes ago. I can’t go demanding one hundred percent candor from them before I’ve even properly learned their names. I do my best to shrug it off.

“Hey, knock on my door before you go down, okay?” Carina offers. “I’m student-teacher liaison. I can take you to the office and grab your paperwork with you. And then we can head to English together if you like? I think a lot of our classes are gonna match up.”

I might be small in stature, but I’m still a big girl. I’m perfectly capable of finding my own way to the office and onto class. I learned my lesson a long time ago, though. If someone offers you an olive branch in