The Help (Kings of Linwood Academy 1)

It’s grim, but it feels like I have limited chances to do that now.

As always, the moment I ease open the door to her bedroom, she stirs.

“Hey, sweetie,” she murmurs, still half asleep but holding out her hand to me anyway.

I crawl up on the bed beside her, nestling into her arms. “Hey, Mom.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” No.

“You sure? You’ve seemed distracted lately.” Her voice gains strength as she becomes a little more alert, looking over at me in the dark.

“Yeah. Just busy with school and stuff.”

She nods, seeming satisfied with that answer. “Yeah. I’ve been a little distracted too. I don’t like it though. I miss you.”

“Me too.” I lift my head off the pillow a little. “Hey, whatever happened to that guy you went on a date with?”

“Oh, him.” She grimaces and yawns at the same time. “We had one more date, then it… fizzled. He was a nice enough guy, but there just wasn’t much chemistry there. He was a little too much of a big shot for me.”

I huff a laugh. That doesn’t surprise me. My mom might be a little flighty sometimes, but she’s a very down-to-earth person. She’s not impressed by money or prestige, so whatever this guy thought he had going on, it definitely wasn’t enough if he didn’t have a good personality to back it up.

Just one more reason I can’t wait until we’ve saved up enough money to get out of here. We don’t belong with these kinds of people.

“His loss,” I say as I shift a little on the bed.

“Yeah. That’s what I told myself as I polished off a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.”

I chuckle. Her weakness—mine too, actually—is good ice cream. It’s gotten both of us through some rough times. I take comfort in knowing I’ve got good genetics, because I probably don’t exercise nearly enough to counterbalance all the ice cream I consume.

We talk in low voices for another few minutes, and this little bit of normalcy helps drive away the lingering fear and the memory of the man’s large body pressing me against the car. The feel of his hands on me, of his arm wrapping around my neck. Even though I don’t think Mom can hear it, I notice my voice sounds scratchy and rough, pitched lower than normal. My throat still hurts when I swallow too.

When I go back to my room, I turn on all the lights.

I know it’s the only way I’ll be able to sleep.

I don’t go anywhere over the weekend, and neither does Lincoln. We don’t speak much, but I know he’s watching me like a hawk. The bruise on my hip is ugly and purple, and I have little scratches on the palms of my hands. But although my throat is sore for a couple days, there are no visible marks on my neck. Nothing to draw attention.

His parents returned from their trip on Wednesday, so his mom is back to roaming the house like a ghost on Prozac, and his dad seems to be everywhere, his overly jovial voice filling the large rooms. I notice him chatting up Mom on the terrace on Sunday afternoon, but the groundskeeper is out there too, so it’s not like they’re alone.

My mom was smart enough to end things with the guy she was seeing when he turned out to be a dud, so it’s not like she?

?s helpless. But I do need to give her a heads up, just so she knows to keep her wits about her around Samuel Black. Things that might seem totally harmless if you assume a man is happily married and faithful take on a slightly different meaning when you know he’s a philanderer.

On Monday, all four guys are back to sticking to me like glue, but I don’t complain about it anymore. I doubt someone would attack me on school grounds, but I honestly don’t know where the line is anymore—whether there’s anywhere truly safe.

Savannah, who’s hated me since the minute she met me, seems to have taken Iris’s death as an excuse to completely unleash her inner bitch. We play volleyball in gym, and she somehow convinces everyone on the cheerleading squad and several of the football players to forgo strategy and points in favor of trying to smash my face in with the ball.

Mr. Wartenburg gives several of them penalties when he realizes what they’re doing, but I still spend most of the period trying to fend off their attacks. It’s exhausting, and it pisses me off. Someone actually attacked me over the weekend, came after me with the intent to do me serious harm. Compared to that, this is nothing, but I’m sick of having to be on high alert all the time.

It only gets worse in the locker room. I don’t know what kind of bee crawled up Savannah’s vagina, but she’s pissed as shit today, and she’s not backing down.

As I emerge from the showers, she and a group of three other cheerleaders converge on me, following me to my locker as Savannah’s angry, high-pitched voice rings out behind me.

“I bet you’re happy Iris is dead. Aren’t you, you skank? You always hated her. You were always jealous of her, always trying to sabotage her.”

I open up my locker, trying to ignore her as I pull on my clothes. God, she’s such a fucking bitch.