The Game You Play (Rixon Raiders 2)

“He just wants to provide for us, baby, for you. A strong work ethic is so important these days.”

“I know,” I murmured the words, suddenly feeling guilty. Dad did work hard for his family.

“One day you’ll understand.” Her eyes held nothing but warmth, as if she was doing me a favor. Protecting me. Keeping me safe from the monsters of the world. But what she failed to realize was, she was stifling me.

I was stifled.

But I couldn’t tell her that.

Not unless I wanted to break her heart.

So I pressed my lips together and smiled, hoping she couldn’t see I was already tainted by a monster.

A monster who wore a blue and white jersey and ate girls like me for breakfast.

“Miss Giles,” the gruff voice startled me. “Just the girl I hoped to find.”

My brows pinched as I gawked at Principal Finnigan, trying to rack my brain for any recent indiscretions he might be here to reprimand me for.

When the silence went on for a second longer than normal, I finally found my voice and said, “I’m sorry, did you want me, Sir?”

“Indeed.” He smiled faintly. “This is Mya Hernandez, a transfer student from Philadelphia. I was hoping you could buddy up with her and help her settle in.”

“Me?” I blinked, certain I’d misheard. “You want me to buddy up with her?”

“Well, I don’t know of any other students called Felicity Giles, do you?”

“No, Sir.”

“Well, then,” he said, “I’ll leave you girls to get acquainted. Mya already has her class schedule. If you have any issues, please see Miss Hampstead.”

He smoothed down his blazer and took off down the hall, leaving me and the new girl staring awkwardly at one another.

“Listen, it’s cool,” she said with a hint of a Latina accent. “I don’t need you to babysit me. Just point me in the direction of,” she scanned the paper in her hand, “AP History, and I’ll tell Miss Hampstead you were more than helpful.”

“Mya, right?” I asked, ignoring her brush off. “I’m Felicity. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, whatever.” She hitched her bag up her shoulders and glanced around.

“I love your hair, is it—”

“Natural?” Mya rolled her eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, I’m sorry.” Her hard expression softened. “That was rude of me. It’s just hard, you know, transferring partway through the semester of senior year.”

“You’re from Philadelphia?”

“Badlands,” her voice lowered significantly.

“Isn’t that like…” The words lodged in my throat.

“The ghetto?” Her brow went up as she gave a strangled laugh.

“That’s not…” My cheeks flamed. “I didn’t…”

“Badlands is not The Hamptons, that’s for sure, but it was still home, you know?”