Page 61 of The Pawn

It's a fitting costume, I think.

Nothing should scare these rich, spoiled kids more than the ghosts of the bullied past.

* * *

I can't stop thinking about Mariana, and the credit card is burning a hole in my back pocket, so I tell Holly I'm going to study and flee our shared room with my computer bag. As I'm walking down the shade-lined paths of the campus, though, I realize that I have another meeting with Lukas to finish up our shared project. I was so caught up in my own shit that I almost forgot it, so I make a beeline for Carthage Library, glad I haven't stood him up.

Despite everything—and Cole's continued, petty little pranks—Lukas has actually come through for me. Our shared project is the only one I'm not worried about. We made our first presentation last week, and have another planned for the end of the semester, right before the Blind Ball. With his help, I might actually pass English—and scrape by in my other non-art classes.

Of course, it's not like he's an angel. He's still friends with Cole, and he doesn't seem to care that Blake keeps trying to sabotage my Calculus I grade, or that Tanner tried to use me for sex then blew me off. He says nothing when the boys stop by the table where I eat with Chrissy, Tricia, and Hector on non-Rosalind days and they make fun of all of us. He didn't do anything at all when Blake knocked my lunch tray off the table yesterday, forcing me to buy a new lunch with my stipend. Lukas always just sighs and looks away or ignores their antics entirely, like he thinks it won't affect him if he doesn't acknowledge what they're doing.

In the library, at least, none of the rest of that exists. He treats me well enough and almost has me convinced that he doesn't deserve revenge—after all, unlike the other boys, his only noncommittal response to what my brother was accused of was to retweet a few things and make some social media post about how survivors of sexual assault should be believed. He didn't send Silas anonymous texts or threats. I know that if nothing else because Lukas's spelling and grammar is perfect, unlike all the shitheads who told my brother he was worthless.

If this were another life, another world, I could almost like Lukas DuPont.

But it isn't, and it never will be. Brenna Cooke may get along well enough with him, but he doesn't seem to know yet that I'm Brenna Wilder. And if Legacies gets any info on him, I'll publish it far and wide, no matter the cost.

We're not friends.

We're just not enemies, either.

"Hey Brenna." He greets me as I fast-walk into our meeting place in the middle of the second story stacks, his pale brows raised. "You're nearly fifteen minutes late."

"Sorry, I got caught up in something."

"Rosalind duties?"

Putting my bag on the chair opposite him, I frown at his prescience. "How did you know?"

"Because you're all caught up in them lately." He pulls his glasses out of his bag and puts them on, where they perch on the bump in his nose, his only flaw. "I heard your friends complaining about it the other day when you were sitting at the Rosalinds' table."

Thinking back, I note sourly, "Was that when Cole decided to put Menthos in Chrissy's soda and laugh at the way it spilled everywhere?"

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Maybe. Cole does have an obsession with carbonated beverages. They're his favorite low stakes way of fucking with people he hates."

I want to say something, call him out on his Switzerland-style stance, but the truth is that I find it hard to care much these days what happens to Chrissy. I've grown tired of listening to her gossip and complain about her love life.

"I guess it could be worse," I admit as I pull my computer out of my bag. "He's just so juvenile."

Lukas frowns at me. "I thought we were going to keep all of that out of our project together. Cole is an arse, but he's my friend, and you know I can't say anything about him to you."

"I know. It's just frustrating."

"What's frustrating is how high they've turned the heat on even though it's barely cold at all yet." He tugs on the collar of his fancy sweater, frowning. "Days like this, I miss England."

I have to look away to hide the flush that I feel when he tugs the sweater up over his head. It snags on his Coleridge button-up, yanking it up too and revealing the pale, lean torso beneath. His waist tapers down towards his hips, setting off his wide shoulders and subtle musculature.

My heart twists wildly and traitorously inside my chest, even long after he's tugged the shirt back down, a mumbled apology on his lips.

Absentmindedly, I reach across to the snake bite scar and squeeze on it, trying to use the pain to center myself. But it barely hurts anymore, even when I dig in.

Revenge feels so far away in moments like this. And I'm so tired of feeling the fire inside me, the one that's hungry to hurt me as much as hurt others.

So I set it aside for a moment, open up my laptop, and talk to Lukas about our next presentation, pretending for a moment that I'm a normal girl at a regular school for reasons that have nothing to do with wanting to hurt others.

I hate how much easier it feels to pretend like this, because I know it can never last.

Chapter 32

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