Anabelle Anderson doesn't just want revenge. She wants an entire revolution.
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When 17-year-old Ana returns to her hometown for senior year, she vows to crush the powerful and dangerous clique that exiled her. Armed with a disguise and a step...
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TW: sexual assault. Exercise discretion.
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then
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I'd always loved rain.
The faint sound, the fresh, aquatic smell. The way it cascaded down windows and dripped into a little puddle on the earth or coated grass like morning dew. It was the most peaceful thing in the world, to drift to sleep during a thunderstorm.
I didn't enjoy being in the rain. The way it splattered against my face, seeped into my clothing, infiltrated my hair, leaving a musky smell that lingered long after the storm passed. Even so, running out into the brewing storm seemed a far better option than sticking around in the school cafeteria, where I was subjected to Sienna's cruel chants as she and her friends mocked me from their places at the High table.
I rounded into the school courtyard—a quaint little garden just outside of the gymnasium made up of cherry blossoms and flower beds—and collapsed onto a park bench that faced the school grounds. The mountains that surrounded our town called out to me and, beyond them, a whole new world where I could be a whole new person awaited. How could I get there?
"Aren't you cold?" a voice drawled, a single set of footsteps accompanying it.
I whipped around to catch a glimpse of the person who'd joined me in the yard, but my vision was obscured by raindrops caught in my eyelashes. Or were they tears?
I lifted a hand to wipe my watery eyes, my heartbeat starting to quicken once more. The blurry figure continued to edge towards me, its confident gait unnerving me further.
"Go away," I said, rising from the bench and moving further out into the school grounds. "Please, Astor."
"Wait," Astor called out, hurrying to catch me. He reached out to grab my elbow, steadying my footing as I almost slipped onto the muddy grass below. "Are you alright?"
Yes, I wanted to shout at him. Just fine. Another day of torment and humiliation ... lucky me.
I didn't say that, of course. I couldn't. Because Astor Black—the football captain, the kingpin, the boy with a smile that could melt ice—was standing inches away from me, his hands delicately gripping my arms to catch my fall, even as buckets of water poured down from the sky and streamed across his beautiful hair and face.
"I'm fine," I murmured.
He let go of my arms, and I swear I caught the ghost of a smile dancing on his lips.
