Bad Girls Go To Heaven ✔

6/ a little out of line

ADORA - PRESENT DAY 

"No, dad, I'm not worried about it." I sigh at the phone while I slip on a pair of Zanotti boots with a cute golden heal.

My father's loud voice pierces through my ear, "How can you not be worried, plum? Maggie showed me the Tic-Tac video."

"TikTok. And I suppose Maggie would be young enough to use TikTok." Another sigh falls off my lips and I sit on the bed.

Maggie is my father's twenty-six-year-old new girlfriend. She's nice enough, but she's dumber than a box of hammers. She's good at stroking my dad's ego, though, among other stuff.

"Why would anyone accuse you of such a thing?" Dad asks, he's busy, I can hear him walking through the streets.

"They didn't accuse me. They accused someone." I correct him. "A TikTok poll decided it was me."

I stand up and smooth the black, sleeveless, halter-neck Balmain dress. Golden buttons decorate the middle, from the neckline to the short hemline. My chestnut-coloured hair is in a high ponytail, tear-shaped topazes with a golden frame hang off my ears. I've never been accused of murder before and I don't know how to look the part, but black and gold might be the way to go.

The construction workers in my room and the hallway smile at me approvingly. I try not to roll my eyes. My room doesn't have a door during the day, which is fine considering some rooms don't have walls. Why couldn't they renovate during the summer?

"Did you do it?" Dad asks and I roll my hazel eyes at my own reflection. "You know you can tell me, plum."

"No!" I shout down the line. "And frankly, everyone immediately assuming it's me is kind of insulting. I have to go to lunch."

I don't give him time to answer before I hang up. My dad rarely behaves like my father. The role of the parent belonged to my mother when she was alive. Dad doesn't really know how to be a grown-up. He knows how to be a sleazy businessman, for what it's worth.

I grab my black Dior bag and head out to the Winthrop house Dining Hall, the simple, elegant hall filled with tables on both sides. Portraits of important figures decorate the walls above the wainscoting.

Conversation stops the moment my black boots clank against the black and white tiles.

Girls glance at me under their lashes, their eyes quickly jumping back to their plates. Tension fills the room. It's a strange feeling, having so many eyes on you at once. It should make me feel exposed and naked, but instead it makes me glad I chose a dress slightly too short. Hushed tones follow me as I stroll through.

"That's her."

"She lives here."

"That's the girl they talked about."

"Do you think she did it?"

I don't mind attention, especially when it's given this freely. I lift my head and embrace the walk of shame. If these bitches think they can make me cower, they're wrong.

"Adora." A tall, slim redhead stands in front of me. I don't know her name. "Someone's looking for you outside."

My gaze settles on her, "Who?"

The girl is pretty, in a sort of ordinary way, like she's not completely aware of it so she doesn't know how to flaunt it. She sucks her lower lip in, her gentle, green eyes dart back to her friends.

Are they afraid of me? Or they simply don't want to be associated with me?

"Some guy." She shrugs and hurries away.