draw in a breath and release it in a scream that no one can hear, hands clutched tight around my steering wheel. This scream isn’t the like the other ones. There’s no fear here. There’s no pain. This scream is pure fucking promise.
It’s the last time—I say it in my head like a prayer—the last time my step-father will ever hurt me. For the first time in years, this scream ends in a grin. I don’t need to look in the mirror to know it’s maniacal and slightly crazed-looking.
Preston Prep may be the home of the devils, but I’m not scared.
I’ve already survived hell.
Most of the drive is a slow unwinding. I feel freer than I have since before my dad died, like I can do anything, go anywhere, be whoever I want. It’d be naïve to call it happiness, but I feel optimistic enough to call it relief.
As if the fates are trying to take me up on the challenge, the Mustang sputters and wheezes a slow, painful death, three miles from campus.
So close, but so far.
Shit, shit, shit!
I manage to get my car pulled into the parking lot of a small diner and sit there for a moment, thinking. Unwilling to let this ruin my good day, I go through my usual series of troubleshooting steps. Pumping the gas. Letting it rest. Putting it into neutral. But all attempts at getting it back running are ultimately futile.
“Seriously?” I growl at the goddess who’s probably listening and laughing at me right now. “You couldn’t give me one fucking break?”
Thunking my forehead on the steering wheel, I sigh and look out the driver’s side window. Past the diner is another parking lot. Up by the road are stacks of tires. A garage. Halle-fucking-lujah.
“So, uh… thanks for picking me up.” I tuck my limbs in close, fingers laced together in my lap. “Kind of a shitty way to meet, but obviously I don’t know anyone else at Preston, and since you’d given me your number when we were assigned as roommates—”
“Hey, don’t sweat it,” Georgia says, tucking a piece of long red hair behind her ear. “I’ve been sitting around all day, bored out of my mind, waiting for everyone to get back. It was good to have something to do.”
She pulled up in a light blue convertible. It’s January, so the top is up. The smell of leather is still strong, making me think the car is pretty new. Of course, every car seems new compared to my big rusted pile of metal and sorrow. I knew the kids at Preston Prep had money, but when Georgia drives under the archway leading to the academy, I’m pretty sure that the Mustang breaking down may have been more of a blessing than a curse. It would have stuck out like a sore thumb in this place.
“Have you… been at Preston long?” I ask in a feeble attempt at small-talk. This girl and I have fuck-all in common. She looks sweet and put-together. Normal. Easy. Her clothes are nice and feminine, and she’s wearing jewelry—delicate golden necklace, silver hoop earrings. Her fingernails are painted pink. Back home in The Cliffs, we make fun of girls like her.
I’m wearing some ratty jeans and an old band tee, hidden beneath a denim jacket that people around here would probably refer to as ‘vintage chic’. I just refer to it as ‘the only jacket my mom had in the back of her closet’. The only thing close to jewelry I own are the pair of dog tags hanging around my neck. My nails are chipped and bitten down, cuticles rough. Here at Preston, girls like her probably make fun of girls like me.
“Since middle school,” she says. “Before that, I was at the primary school, which isn’t technically the same school but it’s not much different. Uh, a few years ago I spent a semester abroad, too. But, basically, I’ve been in this same circle of hell my whole damn life.”
She screeches into a parking spot between a BMW and a Tesla and pops the trunk. I get out and walk around to the back of the car, grabbing my suitcase. I’m pulling out the handle when I notice a shiny, royal blue muscle car across the lot. It’s a Ford, way nicer than mine, and I can’t help but think I’ve seen it before. “Is that a play on the whole Devil thing, or is this place really a hellhole?”