Only if it’s cyanide, and you’re the one doing all the drinking.

I had no idea what made me think I’d find a text from Lenora. We never exchanged numbers.

Or words.

Or fucking glances, for that matter.

We weren’t exactly on good terms. Then again, it was unlike her not to fight back when I pushed her. And this time, I’d shoved her out of the fucking picture and into another time zone. Why was she keeping silent?

Are you up to something bad, Good Girl?

I tossed my phone across my nightstand and squeezed my eyes shut. My room was my kingdom. All black, not a drop of color except for the occasional white or gray, and yet I felt so trapped inside. I wondered if that was going to change when I moved to England.

Negatory, ass face.

I’d always felt trapped. Even in the wild.

I’d traveled all across the globe, spending entire summers in France, Italy, Australia, the UK, and Spain. And my damn demons always tagged along, like they were chained to my ankle, their shackles noisy in my ears.

I was going to slay them this summer, though.

I even knew which weapon I would use to cut the link between us.

A sword I’d be making from scratch.

The following weekend, Poppy dragged me to one of Arabella’s pool parties.

Showing up uninvited was my idea of hell. But Poppy used the cheapest trick in the book: the heartbreak excuse. True, Knight wasn’t going to be there—he had family matters to take care of—but she didn’t want to face Arabella, Alice, Stacee, and the rest by herself.

So I tagged along, praying the entire drive there that Vaughn wasn’t going to show up and use his cock as a party trick. I was tired of fighting him, of shooting him mean comebacks, of standing my ground.

Oh, and also, I’d sort of retaliated by pouring superglue into his locker. It was childish and silly, but in my defense:

He started it, using actual garbage.

Not many things in the world make me smile like watching the Vaughn Spencer trying to unglue his chem book from the bottom of his locker before putting a dent in the neighboring locker with a vicious kick.

We walked into Arabella’s Spanish villa, located in the gated community of El Dorado, already wearing our swimsuits. Poppy had opted for a coral pink bikini under her white beach dress, while I had on a black, studded one-piece and ripped jean shorts.

“You’re So Last Summer” by Taking Back Sunday blasted from the sick surround system. People cannonballed into the Olympic-sized pool and did shots from bikini clad cleavage. Arabella, Alice, Stacee, and a guy named Soren were sitting in a circle outside, drinking pink champagne from colorful sand buckets.

Arabella sneered as soon as she looked up and caught sight of me.

“I thought your kind can only enter when invited?” She arched a microbladed eyebrow, comparing me to a vampire.

“That’s just a rumor. We’re actually perfectly able to barge into your house unannounced and drink your blood like it’s happy hour.” I helped myself to one of the buckets, pretending to take a sip. I wasn’t so dumb as to actually drink their alcohol.

“All we can hope is for you to burn under the sun, then. It’s not like anyone is going to miss you.” Arabella batted her lashes, unwrapping a Popsicle and sucking on it with the enthusiasm of a porn star.

This earned her a chuckle from everyone around.

I bit my tongue. I couldn’t exactly compliment her on her literary knowledge about vampires, which she’d probably learned from Twilight (the movie, not, God forbid, the book) and only because Robert Pattinson was, like, “super-freaking-hot.” It was her house.

“Be nice.” Poppy sighed at Arabella, plopping on a lounger next to them.

“Sorry, dude, but you don’t get to tell us what to do now that Knight Cole is no longer banging you.” Alice started braiding Poppy’s hair, while Soren checked out my sister’s generous rack.

I made myself comfortable on the end of the lounger next to my sister, blocking out the gossip about the cheer squad and texting with Pope.

Lenny: At a pool party with Poppy and I hate everything about this place. Only a couple more months till I’m back.

Pope: You’re missed.

Lenny: I’m going to be in a sour mood working for Vaughn Spencer. He put the twat in the word twat.

Pope: So…basically, he is a twat?

Lenny: Precisely. You get me on another level, Raff.

Pope: I won’t let him be a twat to you while I’m there. Now please tell me there’s a token villain cheerleader and at least two nominal sidekicks at the party, plus a one-dimensional meathead who is their soldier.

I looked up, catching a glimpse of Arabella yelling at Alice and Stacee for blocking the sun, while Soren stared at all of them, tongue lolling out of his horn-dog mouth.

Lenny: Yup. And I’m the awkward girl they compare to a vampire.

Pope: Can’t wait for Freddie Prinze Jr. to finally notice that underneath the glasses and the awkwardness, you’re all that.

Pope: He’ll whisk you off to the sunset.

Pope: Slap a close-mouthed, PG-13 kiss on your lips.

Pope: Sometimes when you open up to people, you let the bad in with the good.

I rolled my eyes, feeling a goofy grin stretching across my lips.

Lenny: I feel like that was an actual quote from the movie.

Pope: Don’t be so scandalized. Took me three seconds to Google that shit.

Lenny: Turning Goth was a mistake. Should’ve practiced my cheer moves.

Pope: You’re no dancing puppet, Lenora Astalis. You’re an innovative artist through and through, and fuck the fakers. <3

A herd of guys swaggered by. They stopped and saluted Alice and Arabella, their fists curled around cans of Bud Light. “America without her soldiers would be like God without his angels. We salute you veterans for your invaluable contribution to our society.”

The hell?

The confusion must’ve showed on my face, because Arabella flicked her dark extensions over her shoulder and scowled.

“Your sister doesn’t even know what’s up. Jesus, Poppy, can she be any lamer?”

Poppy turned to me, hitching up a shoulder.

“There’s a system. Every time a girl at All Saints High hooks up with seven guys or more from any of the sports teams, she gets veteran status. Veterans are saluted at parties. They also get free drinks and dibs on new guys.”

“That is literally the stupidest thing in the world,” I said, trying to recover from the amount of inanity crammed into a one-paragraph explanation.

“Ever looked in the mirror?” Soren deadpanned, tilting his Ray-Bans down and giving me a degrading once-over.

“Vampires can’t be seen in the mirror, eejit.” I tapped the Kindle app on my phone, getting ready to read. “But before you spoil it for me, I know, I know. I look like a cross between Drusilla from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Edward Cullen, and a bottle of lube. Very funny.”

The afternoon snailed by. No one paid attention to me, but that meant the girls weren’t actively in bully mode. I drank bottled beer I opened myself and read a book. In between, I provided Pope with a live feed of what was happening. I wished I could see him as boyfriend material, but after growing up with him, he felt more like a stepbrother. When the party began to die down, most people retired to Arabella’s living room. (Her parents were on a mysterious vacation in Europe, and her sister, according to the rumors, basically lived at her nanny’s house.)