Good Girls Never Rise: A Dark Boarding School Romance

“I am,” I agreed, pushing back on my anxiety harder than it pushed on me. My fingers clasped my journal, and I almost wanted to just give it to Sloane to show her just how troubled I was. But I didn’t. Instead, I pulled myself back up and smiled. “If I wasn’t messed up, I wouldn’t be at St. Mary’s, right? Wasn’t it you that said we were all a little fucked up?”

Her features relaxed, and she laughed. “I did say that. It should be the school motto.”

I laughed too before watching Isaiah run down the field with his stick in hand. “They should put it on the pamphlets.”

She laughed, but it faded quickly. Her voice was shaky and not at all like the confident girl I knew as my roommate. “I hate Cade because he’s part of the reason why Journey is gone.”

“Journey was your last roommate, right?”

She sighed, pulling another Twizzler out. “Yeah, we were close. She and Cade were starting to…” She nibbled on her lip. “Date, I guess? I don’t know. It was weird. Super intense. Kind of secretive. Kind of like you and Isaiah.”

I said nothing, even though I wanted to deny that something was going on with me and Isaiah. Everyone assumed there was something going on with us after Saturday night, which was his plan all along. Some assumed we’d had sex and that I was just another notch on his bed post, whatever that meant. Some whispered that we were dating. No one ever said anything directly to me, though—aside from Sloane and Mercedes, of course. I didn’t know what to tell them, and I had been too occupied with fighting with myself for most of the day on Sunday, debating whether it had actually meant something to him or not, to tell them anything. But instead of denying it right now, with Sloane staring out onto the field, looking conflicted, I stayed silent as she continued.

“I don’t know the full story. Cade said he doesn’t know either. But…” Sloane’s head turned toward mine. Her eyes were muddied and wet, and my stomach dropped at the hurt that flashed within them. “Isaiah had found her…Cade came right after. They found her with her wrists split wide open, Gemma. She had tried to kill herself.”

I gasped, and my hand latched onto hers. I squeezed tight as a chill wracked through me. I wasn’t expecting that to come out of her mouth. Her eyes had dipped to my wrists again, and within the blink of an eye, I made sense of her question the other night.

“That’s why you asked if I was hurting myself.”

She nodded and worked a small swallow down her throat.

My shoulders fell, and I looked her dead in the face. “You don’t have to worry about that with me, Sloane. I’m not suicidal.”

“Then why do you cover your wrists?” Her voice was wobbly, and I squeezed her hand again. A part of my wall cracked, and I felt the rip down to my very stomach.

I looked down at Isaiah again for a split second and saw his eyes on me. Trust, a voice whispered in the back of my head. Trust. Did I trust these people? Did I trust Isaiah? And Sloane? Mercedes? The headmaster?

On shaky legs, I stood up, still holding Sloane’s hand. I was half glad Mercedes had to retake a test today so I didn’t have two sets of eyes on me when I gave another piece of myself up to someone I wasn’t entirely sure I trusted.

But how could I learn to trust someone if I didn’t give them a chance?

“What are we doing?” Sloane asked as I pulled her behind the bleachers. A few groups of students eyed us as we rushed away. I mostly knew all the faces that surrounded me now, especially since a lot of them seemed to track my every move when I was with Isaiah, but other than that, no one really messed with me—well…except for Bain. But that, too, was because of Isaiah.

“Showing you why I cover my wrists.”

I spun Sloane around so quickly her plaid skirt fluttered upward. She said nothing, though. She kept her pink lips crushed, and her face was a blank canvas as she waited for me to spill.

“Can I trust you?” I asked, one hand on my sleeve. “This is not something I have shown anyone. Ever.”

She gave me a look. “Like…ever?”

“Never,” I confirmed. Her brows puckered, and a slight breeze wafted around u

s.

I pushed my sleeve up, letting the cool air coat my hidden skin, and waited for her reaction.

Sloane’s mouth went slack. “What…what are those?”

“They’re scars.” One on top of the other. Over and over again.

Sloane didn’t even ask before she grabbed a hold of my arm and jerked me closer to her. Her eyes widened as she turned my wrist and saw that the pink shiny skin wrapped all around my tiny joint. “Scars from what, Gemma?”

I jerked my hand back and shoved my sleeve down. Anxiety clawed at my throat, and my stomach revolted. I didn’t know how to answer her, so I was as vaguely truthful as I could be without lying.

“The past,” I said, grabbing a hold of her hand and bringing us back over to the bleachers. “I broke the rules.” A knife twisted in my stomach. “And I was punished.”

“Oh my God.” The words were no more than a breath of air, but they packed a punch so hard my chest caved.