that holds Saint Clary’s gates, scraping my knee against the rough surface. I narrowly avoid the water bottle turned weapon that’s tossed back at me, but the laughter that follows haunts me. The bangs on the car door sound like tribal war drums, calling out the fact that they think they’re top shit and I’m nothing.
Typical Clary bullshit.
It’s easy to target my family. I get it. Never any money, but dreams as big as the world. My father was a recluse at best, but he was a damn good man. Me? I’m not, nor was I ever, like the normal girls in school. I don’t wear makeup or dresses. I’m more apt to show up in dusty overalls without my hair brushed. Not my fault. I have corkscrew curls. As a kid, my father gave up when mornings turned into a never-ending battle of wills, and I was winning. Now, I’m better at taming my hair, but it still seems to always look wild instead of polished.
I glare at the brake lights of the Audi as it hangs a left into the school parking lot, still driving entirely too fast. It could be anybody, so chasing after it while I’m on two wheels to give them a piece of my mind isn’t happening. Plus, I’m just so fucking tired of it all. The more I fight back, the worse it gets.
As soon as I push off the brick, the fact that the bottled water got me first doesn’t matter. I don’t make it in time to miss the rain. For a moment, I’m barraged by raindrops, soaking straight through to my skin. I ride my bike to the rack, taking my time to lock it up because there’s no use in trying to avoid getting wet now. It already looks like I’ve taken a shower in my clothes and headed to school afterward.
I slip the lock on and walk toward the main doors. Oddly, Saint Clary’s is as gothic as this old west town gets. It’s probably not even considered as true gothic architecture, but when your whole life looks like a western movie, something even a little out of the ordinary is going to stick out.
Honestly, I love the place. It’s just...different. And I like different. It takes me away.
By the time I climb the stone steps to the main entrance, the rain has already stopped, and the sun is once again out in full force. My soggy, wet shoes make a slurp sound as I cross over the marble tile of the foyer. I pause a moment to look in the glass that leads into the administration offices to catch my reflection. The desert climate has never helped my curly hair, but the fact that it just got pummeled with rain is about to make it a thousand times worse.
My shoulders deflate as the frizz is already out of control. I pull the hair tie I always have on my wrist around my hair, piling the curls at the top of my head like a wild top knot. I keep moving down the hall when the Admin door opens right in front of me, and I have to skid to a stop before I faceplant right into it.
The university secretary noses her way out, looking both directions down the hallway with a frown. It isn’t until I come out from around the door to step around her that she pulls back, her hand over her heart. “Miss Wilder.” She breathes out a sigh. “I thought I saw you there.”
I give her a smile, thinking about how she almost maimed me with the door. Well, of course I’m right here.
“This came for you in the mail.” She hands a stark, white envelope to me like it’s gold bars on a platter. “We weren’t sure what it was, but we thought maybe...” She trails off on purpose.
I don’t even bother looking at the return address. If she thinks it’s about my dad’s disappearance, she’s wrong. I tear it from her grip, pull my book bag around, and stuff it in the front pocket. “Thanks,” I say with probably too much sarcasm.
She doesn’t call me out for being rude, she just tells me to have a nice day as I make my way down the hall in wet shoes. Is there anything worse than wet shoes? I’m announcing where I am with every step I take. The back of my neck heats. At least there aren’t many students in the hall