Page 9 of Crush

I don’t have any retort since I didn’t expect any warning from Aurora, never mind clear words of caution. “Better do as she says,” I murmur to Charlotte. “I’ve learned these Societies don’t screw around.”

“Believe me, I know. We’re not supposed to talk about it, but … my trials involved dropping me off in the middle of the forest blindfolded, then finding my way out. I crossed an active road while blind—was nearly hit by a car.”

I hitch in a breath. “Oh my God.”

“Yeah.” Charlotte lifts her leg over a fallen tree, and while still holding half her robe, I follow. “What was yours like?”

I’m about to tell her until Thorne’s voice unspools in my head, silken and drenched in venom. Never trust a Winthorpe girl. They love me.

“Something similar to yours,” I respond. “Not fun.”

Luckily, we turn north, nearing the sounds of the ocean crashing below. It helps to drown out the sheer pleasure of remembrance—Thorne’s tongue, his hands, his moans as he pulled me underwater and told me to come on his fingers while losing my breath…

When we reach the edge of the cliff, Charlotte and I stop talking.

“Down we go!” Aurora trills. When all five of us hesitate, she rolls her eyes and throws her hands on her hips. “The quicker you do it, the faster you get it over with. Seriously, you guys are not giving out Virtue vibes right now. Did we make a mistake?”

“We’re all legacies,” one girl dares to mutter. “Did we have a choice?”

Aurora’s teeth flash in the night. She points at the crumbling stone that I’m hoping is a sturdy staircase illuminated by flickering tiki torches leading down to a crescent-shaped, secluded beach, also rimmed in small fires. “I don’t give a shit about the reputation you build in the Societies, but I certainly care about mine. Get the fuck down there before I make your descent a hell of a lot faster.”

That spurs me forward. I’m not about to let Aurora strong-arm and bully a handful of ninth graders into falling off a forty-foot cliff. “Enough, Aurora. I’ll go first.”

Aurora smiles, unaffected. “I was hoping you’d say that. After you, Gone Girl.”

I sigh. If anything, I’d rather she not discover a new nickname for me tonight, so I release Charlotte’s robe and move forward, toes first, grimacing under my hood as I take the first step, then another. Once I’m far enough, I use one hand against the cliff-face for balance, but my fingers slip against the slick, stone wall.

The descent is so steep and narrow that I gulp.

Tiki torches aren’t nearly enough to highlight every crack and loose rock, and my heart pounds with every step. But I do it, knowing four terrified girls behind me are using my footsteps as a map.

Damn Aurora for not going first. She must be familiar with this path, yet she’s purposely going last, the sick bitch probably reveling in each squeak and whimper as we practically starfish against the wall.

A particularly strong wind catches my robe, billowing it behind me and flopping the hood’s fabric against my face. Someone screeches above. I hope it’s not Charlotte and that she’s had the wherewithal to collect most of her robe against her chest. A striking image of her falling, the damnable Virtue robe rippling around her body before she splashes into the pitch-black ocean, hits the center of my mind’s eye.

My stomach pitches, thinking the rest of us will follow suit.

But it’s not real. Everyone’s alive. Heights don’t bother me. I can do this and lead them down.

I peel off my hood, exposing my head. Let Aurora discipline me for revealing my face. I’m trying not to die here. Squinting against the harsh, brine-soaked air, I keep going.

Almost there.

The feel of dry sand against the soles of my shoes brings such a swell of relief, I sag against the rock. “I made it,” I whisper to myself. “I fucking made it.”

Quiet cheers ring out as each girl steps into my footprint. We did it, some say. We made it through orientation.

Aurora stays ominously silent.

While making room for the freshmen to collect around me, I scan our surroundings, my eyes naturally following the line of tiki torches that haven’t ended at our finish line.

My exploring stare clashes with Aurora’s. Hers glints deviously in the night.

“Keep going,” she says. All the others fall silent at her words.

Turning my back on her, I follow the torches, a few angled preciously on large rocks peppering the shoreline that we have to climb over.

I look over my shoulder at Aurora. She gives me the finger.

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