Page 21 of Hexed
FIVE
VENESA
I hate this school.I miss the smell of the hallways at Southside Elementary, as weird as that is.
Like sneakers and microwaved lasagna.
Atlantic Cove Prep just smells like money. And they look at me like I’m some type of monster. Nobody’s said it to my face yet, but earlier today, I heard one of the eighth graders call me a “shoulda been” when she passed me in the hall. I walked right up to her and asked her what it meant. If someone has something to say about me, they better have the nerve to say it to my face.
Turns out, a “shoulda been” is someone who should have been born into money but turned out poor. Like lost potential. They also whisper that I killed my own mother just to come live with Uncle T.
If only they knew the truth.
It was my no-good father who did it.
I thought maybe when I made it here, to middle school in a fancy place with a fancy family, it would feel different. That I’d fit in more. Still, I don’t miss the small one-bedroom apartment with my momma, living paycheck to paycheck and having hervacillating between lovebombing me and ignoring me entirely while my dad disappeared for weeks on end to gamble and drink away every single penny.
Ineverwant to go back to that.
So they can call me whatever names they like, I guess.
I close my locker, spinning the lock, and then I’m down the hall and looking for Aria. She didn’t tell me where to find her today, but I’m hoping she can help ease the transition.
“You’re new.”
My footsteps stutter as I twist to face the voice, only to see a blond guy towering over me, a chain dangling from his baggy pants and a ring hooped through his nose.
“And you’re a genius, clearly.” I pull on the strap of my backpack.
He laughs and then throws a long, gangly arm around me like we’re old friends. “What’s your name?”
He maneuvers us through the crowd and toward the cafeteria.
“I don’t introduce myself to strangers,” I tell him.
His clammy hands grip my upper arms as he stops us from walking and physically places me in front of him. Then he grins and puts out his palm, leaving it in midair. “I’m Fisher Engle.”
He winks, and it’s endearing, so I shake his hand. “Venesa Andersen.”
“Now we’re not strangers.” He tugs on my fingers and I go flying into his chest. Before I can recover, he’s tossed me again, his arm back around my shoulders and me tucked into his side like I’m his newest pet project.
Maybe I am.
Or maybe this is a cruel joke.
“What grade are you in?” he asks while we make our way down the stark white halls.
“Sixth, you?”
“Seventh. Should be eighth, but they held me back a year.”
“Why’d you get held back?” I adjust my backpack again, and he grabs it from me, swinging it over his shoulder.
“Because I’m too charismatic.”
I snort a laugh. “Okay.”
He winks at me again and tugs me harder into his side. “Come on, Short Stack, I’ll show you where the cafeteria is.”
