Tangled Hearts.

~Chapter 13

~Raelyn~
 
~Monday, October 10th~

The morning air slapped me in the face like an unpaid parking ticket, but I was too busy feeling myself to care. My loose tan trousers and tucked-in long-sleeve shirt screamed I pay my taxes and know my credit score, while the black heels added just the right I will destroy you in a courtroom or on Twitter energy.

I was halfway to the car when I heard the unmistakable slap-slap-slap of socked feet on pavement.

"WAIT, MOM!"

I turned, and there was Blake—still in his little shark pajamas, his hair sticking up like he'd gone twelve rounds with a tornado.

I crouched. "What's wrong, bud?"

He rubbed his eyes dramatically. "Promise me you'll come back. And be careful. The world is mean."

My heart? Gone. Melted into a little puddle on the front steps.

"I'll be back before you even have time to finish your cereal, okay?"

He looked skeptical. "Pinky promise?"

I linked our fingers. "Pinky promise."

"Okay! Go make people jealous of your outfit!"

"Already on it," I called, locking the door behind me and sprinting to Tara's car like the main character I knew I was.

Tara leaned out the window, smirking. "Look who decided to show up. Damn, Rae, you look like you stepped out of a Pinterest board and slapped a CEO."

"Giving hot girl with a trauma arc," Katrina added.

Devyn nodded sweetly. "She's literally glowing. Malia's going to combust."

I grinned. "And we love an unplanned fire."

We got to campus, strutting through the halls like we were the unofficial West Creek Avengers. Heels clicking. Hair bouncing. Neck-snaps from half the hallway.

And then... cue villain entrance music.

Malia. Of course. Perched at her locker like Regina George on a caffeine bender, surrounded by her backup dancers in matching smug expressions and five-pound lashes.

"Brace yourselves," I muttered. "The Bitch Brigade approaches."

Malia's eyes zeroed in like a sniper. "Wow. If it isn't the Shein version of Gossip Girl."

Tara gasped, hand over heart. "Aww, Malia. You dressed yourself today! Look at you, using both brain cells."

Malia sneered. "Shut up, Tara."

"No, you shut up, Malia. Before your face freezes in that tragic expression."

Malia turned to me next, eyes full of venom. "Raelyn. Still playing dress-up, I see. It's kind of cute. Like a sad little charity case who thinks she's important."

I gave her a slow, sugary smile. "Aww. That's sweet. And I love that you've really committed to that 'bargain-bin bottle service girl' aesthetic. Takes guts."

Her brow twitched. "Excuse me?"

"You heard her," Katrina chimed in. "She said you look like an Instagram ad for red flags and unpaid taxes."

A loud "OOHHHHH" echoed through the hallway from nearby students.

Tara whistled. "Girl, you just got verbally drop-kicked."

I shrugged. "She'll live, unfortunately."

Malia looked ready to commit murder via eyelash glue, but we sauntered past like queens on a catwalk. I didn't look back.