I do, however, know that holding your keys between your knuckles isn’t a very good self-defense technique. Sure, if your attacker isn’t very experienced, those keys will hurt when you throw a punch. But if they know shit about shit, then they’ll just grab your hand in theirs and grind the sharp ends of the keys into you.

That’s what we teach at Prescott High. That, and how to contour, or do a Kegel, or suck a dick. Beat a bitch’s ass. Hotwire a car. That sort of thing.

I’m sure the teachers here are going to love the six of us.

I light up a cigarette as the boys finish unloading our things. We don’t have a lot—of physical crap anyway. It’s the emotional stuff we have in spades, that heavy, deep, aching sense of belonging, like a thorn in your side that you don’t want to pull out because you hate to love the way it hurts.

“At least we get to be here with the girls,” Aaron suggests, lighting up a cigarette of his own. The flicker of the flame bathes his just-this-side-of-too-pretty face in nicotine, tobacco, and bullshit. I like that, the way he can go from looking like the boy next door to the man that kicked the boy next door’s ass. “Three and a half months. That’s it. Then we’re done with all of … this.” He turns his green-gold gaze to the building, pausing at the sound of approaching footsteps on the gravel.

Before I even turn around, my eyes catch on Victor’s and I know exactly who’s going to be standing there when I finally deign to look.

Trinity Jade waits off to one side, dressed in her heather gray jacket and charcoal pleated skirt, sky blue tie catching in the breeze. It tangles her gold hair around her face as she studies us with dust-colored eyes.

“It’s always a pain when the wind shifts, isn’t it?” she asks, reaching up to tuck some stray blond strands behind her ear. “Sometimes, it blows Prescott trash into the wrong neighborhood.”

“Oh, and it looks like that’s too motherfucking bad,” I purr back at her, loving the way her eyes take in my curvy form, my too-small red tee that shows off my belly button, and the soft waves of my blood-dipped hair. Maybe she can see that I’ve got that freshly fucked look in my cheeks, too? Having five boyfriends is a real treat when you’re as parched as I am. “Because if you’re not really, really nice to me …” I move up to stand in front of her, glad that I chose to wear wedges today. Tack those few extra inches onto my already much-taller-than-other-girls frame, and I tower over Trinity Jade. “I’m going to tell daddy Samuel all about your cheap-ass gangster blood.”

I grind my teeth briefly and flick my tongue against the corner of my mouth, just to taste my rachet ass lipstick, just to make sure it’s still there. If you’re smart, it isn’t difficult to steal nice lip stains. If you’re skilled, you can mix and paint and sculpt the cheap shit until it looks like the good stuff.

That’s what I’ve done today.

I call this shade Missed Opportunities. It’s red and scary and it reminds me of the blood that wouldn’t stop running down my legs.

Trinity looks right past me, toward Vic instead.

“I’ve spoken to my grandfather; he agreed to play along with this game of annulment for my sake, but he doesn’t understand. He’s a very forthright and honest sort of man. This won’t last long.”

Victor ignores her, looking at his Harley with a pained sort of expression. A valet is supposed to come by shortly to move our vehicles to the Student Parking Area. I don’t much like the idea of being separated from our only modes of transportation, but it’s part of the game, and we’re all very good at playing games.

“You can deal with my wife,” Vic says, gesturing in my direction with his chin as Aaron locks up the Bronco and gives it a gentle pat. Hael looks half-ready to cry over the Camaro, but it’s the Eldorado that’s really got him twisted up. “I restored that car for you, babe. Not for some stuffy ass valet to fuck around with.”

Sacrifices must be made, I suppose.

“Pardon?” Trinity queries, giving these long, slow blinks that really push me over the edge into believing she’s a true psychopath. Remember when I slammed her head into the bar at her own murder-mystery party? Or shoved the heel of my hand into her nose at the art gallery? I barely got a reaction out of the bitch. She’s fucking insane.

“Do you speak English?” Hael asks, cocking his head to one side. “Or do you need it in French: Tu peux parler avec notre femme. Au passage, va te faire foutre.” Hael smiles tightly and moves away as Trinity murmurs something in response, also in French. That gives him pause, and I see his hands curling into tight fists at his sides.

I decide not to ask for a translation on that one.

I cock a brow.

“Grandpa know you’re not really Samuel’s kid?” I ask, and Trinity gives me a sharp look that very clearly says not too loud, not here. Luckily for her, it doesn’t suit us to give out this secret either. We intend to hold it nice and tight—until the time is right, of course. Obviously, at some point, we’re going to tell the whole motherfucking world.

Just not quite yet.

“Alright,” I continue, because we’re not really here to have any sort of normal conversation. Just extortion and threats today. “Well, the next thing you’re going to do is get Gramps to tell Ophelia that you and Victor are legally married. We know how to get ahold of a very convincing marriage certificate to help the ruse along.”

She just keeps staring at me in that creepy way of hers, the wind rustling her skirt around her pale thighs.

“And how am I supposed to convince him to do that?” she snaps, but I just laugh because that isn’t my fucking problem.

“Look, this benefits you just as much as it does us. Ophelia will rat your ass out if you don’t comply, am I right? You must’ve figured out by now that she’s a vindictive psycho.” I start to turn away, but Trinity makes a hissing sound that stops me in my tracks. Her eyes dart to Oscar as he pauses beside me in a black-on-black-on-black suit, shirt, and tie, like he’s attending another funeral. Might as well be. This is basically the end of everything I’ve ever known. I’m trying to be positive here, but … just look at this place. Look at it. Pompous wealth built on the subjugation and abuse of others. That, and half the rich daddies that send their kids here participate in the GMP’s pedo ring.

I almost gag but manage to keep my reaction schooled to one of mild annoyance.

“I’m your student guide for the day,” Trinity bites out, like a rubber band snapping against my skin. “Follow me and I’ll show you to your … room.” She sneers at us, but I just grin. Leave it to Victor and Oscar to arrange for us to be housed in one of the vacant staff apartments.

Apparently, having proof that two of the schoolboard member’s wives are pedophiles gets us a lot of extra goodies. Also, according to Vic, our contacts seemed relieved at being able to shove us into a forgotten corner away from the other students. So I guess this works for everyone involved.

I wonder what Sara Young thinks about all this? Does she really believe that the six of us just happened to snag half of the twelve scholarship positions given to Prescott High? Nah. She must know my grades—and Hael’s and probably Cal’s—aren’t nearly good enough. But oh well. Not my problem either.