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Moving

|BLAKELY POV

As I headed downstairs, I spotted Blanche taking a big, dramatic bite of an apple. The second she saw me, she scoffed, grabbed her backpack, and walked right out the door. Like we weren’t about to leave for school in the same car. Honestly, the thought of sitting next to her for the next fifteen minutes made me want to stay home. But, as usual, I didn’t have a choice.

Not like it mattered much anyway. Today was nearly my last day at school. My transfer letter would be ready soon, and then I’d have to figure out where I was even going.

I picked up my tea mug, took a quick sip, and grabbed the phone charger I’d left on the counter. Tossing it into my handbag, I headed out the door.

The Rolls-Royce was parked right in front of the house, which was weird—the driver usually liked to keep it a little further from the entrance. I didn’t think much about it, though, just stepped outside and climbed in.

Blanche was already inside, legs crossed, totally glued to her laptop. Probably finishing up the homework we were supposed to work on together. Not that it mattered now—I’d be gone soon. She’d take over the cheer team—my cheer team—and probably end up leading the Bellaire Girls Society too. She’d walk away with everything I’d worked for, and as much as it bugged me, there was nothing I could do. It was out of my hands.

The car’s engine hummed to life, and I pulled a piece of gum from my bag, popping it into my mouth as we drove off. We stopped at the usual café, where I got my morning iced caramel macchiato. As we headed toward school, I scrolled through my phone, checking on Aura by Blakely—my beauty, fashion, and wellness brand. It had been doing so well, but ever since the whole Marcus incident, things had been shaky.

The car screeched to a stop in the school parking lot, and Blanche was out the door before I could say a word. I stayed put for a second, pulling out my mirror and reapplying my lipstick.

---

The first two periods flew by in a blur of paperwork in the principal’s office. I signed a pile of documents for my transfer, each signature making it feel more real. By lunch, I grabbed my bag and the stack of papers to take home, then headed for the cafeteria.

The gossip spread like wildfire, and honestly, if there was one thing I couldn’t care less about, it was people talking behind my back. As I walked in, my heels clicked loud on the marble floors, echoing around me. I spotted Zoe just as she picked up her tray and walked toward her table with a bunch of girls from the cheer team. She flashed me a wide, mocking smile, her eyes shining with satisfaction.

Childish.

"Look who’s here—the fallen queen,” she called out, just loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. “So, quick question: did you really kill Marcus?"

Her frizzy hair bounced as she talked, and her long legs made her look like some wannabe model. I gave her a disgusted look, because, well—I was disgusted.

I shot her a cold stare. “You think me leaving school brings you up to my level? You wanna reach this high? Climb, bitch.”

Her smirk faltered, a pink flush creeping up her neck. She opened her mouth to respond, but I cut her off.

“Oh, and by the way, this?” I pointed at her outfit. “This is never the way to style Chanel. It’s not fashion; it’s a cry for help.”

Her face went red, and she huffed, clearly not expecting me to hit back.

"Good thing you’re leaving," she snapped, her voice shaking. "I hate the whole Torres family with every fiber of my being."

She scurried off with the other girls, visibly embarrassed.

Zoe always sucked at—wait, what?

Good thing you’re leaving?

Uh…had I missed something?

I shoved the stack of files into the arms of a passing junior and gave her a glare. “Take this to my driver.”

She nodded quickly and hurried off. Without wasting time, I left the cafeteria and headed to the outdoor lunch area. Where, of course, Blanche and her group of friends would be gathered.

Sure enough, there she was. I shoved past one of her friends, a brunette who’d been staring into her pocket mirror for way too long, and she yelped. I gave Blanche a look of pure disbelief. She muttered a curse under her breath, handed her half-eaten cupcake to one of her friends, and folded her arms under her chest. It was annoying that she had a bigger chest than me.

“Do you know anything about us moving?” I demanded.

“Uh…what?” She rolled her eyes, and the light caught them just right, making them flash that familiar amber. It was one of the few traits we shared, which was why people sometimes assumed we were biological sisters—even twins. But her jet-black hair was nothing like my blonde, and I had freckles. If my eyes were blue, I’d practically be a walking Barbie. Besides, she was her dad’s kid, and I was my mom’s, and our parents had only met when we were both sixteen.

“What do you mean, moving?” she asked, like I was the idiot here.

One of her friends—no idea what her name was—leaned an elbow on Blanche’s shoulder. “You didn’t know? You’re the ones moving, and you didn’t know?”

Blanche and I both stared at her, waiting for her to finish. She just stared back, smirking.

“Are you going to spill, or do I need to shove that wig down your throat?” I snapped.

She looked offended but sighed. “Keep being rude, and I’ll just walk away.” She paused, then went on. “My dad said your dad mentioned something about it at the board meeting yesterday. I think he was prepping them so they wouldn’t be shocked when you guys moved.”

“Be for real,” Blanche muttered, carefully pushing her friend’s arm off her shoulder.

Oh, they must be fucking kidding me.

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