I don't know what fucking day it is when my alarm goes off the next morning.

With a groan, I grab my phone to turn it off and freeze at the sight of a new notification. Everything comes rushing back, cold water splashing me awake. I spent several hours studying half-heartedly with one eye on my phone, waiting, waiting, before calling it a day and setting my alarm for five in the morning. The plan was to review one more time before school, which seemed like a good idea at the time.

Now all I can think about is this text.

💰💰💰💰💰

sorry i got held up

He got held up.

That makes sense. The dinner ran late and . . . I look at my phone again to check the timestamp of his message. Okay, midnight is pretty late, so something else must have happened. He just didn't have time to text me. That's it. No big deal. I mean, it really shouldn't be. He has a life. So do I. (Ha.) It's fine.

Except Margie's words won't get out of my head.

Haley Sinclair will never be your friend.

I don't know where we stand now. It's been weird ever since Haley walked up to me at lunch, and I can't even blame him; it's not his fault that no one can fathom why he would do that. I have to force myself to stop thinking about it so I can prepare for my test, but when I get to school, I run into the Harding twins. Predictably, they stop me.

Before either of them has said a single word, I already have a bad feeling.

"Hey, Gus," says Sam/Davy. "Come to the restroom with us."

Yeah, no.

I shrug, trying to keep it light. "Sorry, I don't need to use the restroom."

"Yes, you do."

"Fine," I sigh.

Daniel Gonzalez is waiting in the restroom when the Harding twins and I walk in. His arms are folded across his chest, showing off his muscles, and the twins close the door behind me, blocking the exit. I almost let out another sigh. Of course this would happen. I watched a lot of kids befall the same fate back in St. Richard.

People in Larkwood seemed less hostile, but I suppose that's only because nobody was stupid enough to test the boundaries. Until Gus Reed came along.

"Let me guess," I say. "This is about Haley."

Daniel hums. That's all he does. Words are beneath him.

I drop my backpack on the ground. "Can we just move on to the part where you beat me up? Or will you leave me alone if I say I'll leave him alone? I've just kind of been minding my business since I got here and I'd really like to keep it that way."

I don't even know if that's true, but I say it anyway.

The twins look at each other for a moment before one says, "Listen, Haley says you've been hanging out together, and I find that hard to believe."

"He said that?"

"Last night at the benefit dinner," says the other twin. "At least, according to Nela."

I have no idea who Nela is, but the fact that Haley is telling people we're friends makes me nervous as much as it comforts me. Didn't I say it would be better if we kept this out of school—ah, fuck, I guess this wasn't at school. Piece of shit.

"Is it true?" Daniel asks.

"If I say no, will you believe me?"

The twins share another look. They share it with Daniel, too. Then the latter says, "Nah. We'll give you a second chance, though. If we spot you with Haley again, we'll . . ."

I tune the rest of the threat out.

Since it appears I won't be getting my ass kicked today, I pick my backpack back up from the ground and wait until they move away from the door. In another universe, I might have been able to take them on, but my size means nothing when I don't know how to defend myself against three opponents. Especially three guys who clearly spend all their free time in the gym. It's moments like these that I wish I could just change into a bear and swat them like flies. It's tempting.

When I learned about my powers, I was warned it would be difficult to keep my bear inside when I was feeling intense emotions—anger, fear, and pain, especially. I was told I might need to extract myself from the situation in order to calm down, and that was true at first. As soon as the itching started, I knew I was in danger. It took a few years to get that under control. It got a lot easier once I stopped taking everything so seriously.

Daniel and the Harding twins are rich. They have power. They can really fuck things up for me. But at the end of the day, they're just boys who repeat shitty lines from shitty movies, and that's pretty amusing. If they want to waste their time beating people up rather than doing any real damage, that's on them. Obviously, I'd rather not leave the restroom with bruises, but it's not worth panicking over. It's not worth risking my freedom and safety for.

I'm definitely gonna talk to Haley, though.

Once the triad of stereotypes lets me go, I take out my phone and text him.

abenefit dinner huh?

what did you tell your friends exactly?

💰💰💰💰💰

?

where are you?

My phone starts buzzing in my hand, and five money bags appear on the screen. I press the answer button and press it to my ear. Haley immediately starts speaking. "I'm parking. What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about your friends," I tell him, looking over my shoulder to see if they're still around, but I don't see them anywhere. "They ambushed me in the bathroom and threatened to beat me up if I kept hanging out with you. Wanna explain how they know we're hanging out? I've gathered that someone named Nela is involved."

He groans.

"Remember I said we should only be friends outside of school?"

"Yeah, well, I never agreed to that."

"I would appreciate it if you did."

"I'll talk to them."

"Haley, no—"

"Hold on." The sound of his engine dies. Keys jingle. A door slams. "It's ridiculous," he continues, the distant sound of laughter accentuating his words. "It's not illegal for us to be friends. In fact, it's illegal to beat people up, so they should leave you alone."

"They're—look, can we talk about this later? And can you keep yourself from telling anyone about me until then? Please?"

"Alriiiight," he sings. "Bye."

The call ends, and I roll my eyes.

This was such a bad idea.

☽〇☾

We meet behind the school after class. Haley's Destrier rumbles and shakes on the side of the pavement as I get into the passenger seat. The air smells like fuel. It reminds me of Kurt's work clothes, except it's much stronger. Haley must have been waiting for a while.

I put my seatbelt on and turn to him with a raised eyebrow.

He lifts his hands. "I take no responsibility."

"This is literally your fault."

"No, it's Nela, man. She's always looking at my phone."

I drop my brows. "Who is this girl?"

"I fucked her once." He puts the Destrier in first gear and pushes it across the street. It roars in protest. "Twice, maybe," he amends. "I don't remember. She doesn't like that she's not the only person I've had sex with."

"Oh, so the rumors about you fathering three children are true?"

He laughs.

"Do you pay child support?"

"Oh, absolutely. They need the money more than I do." He grins at me. "Seriously, though. People love talking shit about me, but most of it is complete bullshit. When was I supposed to have gotten someone pregnant, exactly?"

I shrug. "I don't keep track of all the women you sleep with."

"I would hope so."

"Well, I don't need to. That's Nela's job."

"Ha. You can tell her her assistance is no longer needed. Anyway, you know the stupidest rumor I've ever heard?" he says, lifting a hand from the steering wheel to make an irritated gesture. It strikes me I don't know where he's going, but I don't ask. I'm too intrigued to distract him. "Someone said I took a shit in the school parking lot," he scoffs. "I don't know what sick fuck did that, but it wasn't me."

I let out an amused snort. For all the questionable hobbies Haley Sinclair has, that one does seem rather out of character. I smile and ask, "Any more rumors you feel the need to clear up, now that we're here?"

"Oh, yeah. First of all, I've never set anything on fire," he says emphatically. "Neither do I plan to, in case you're wondering. Also, I do not have a tattoo on my ass. I don't have any tattoos, actually."

"You might have to get naked to prove that one."

"Yeah, you would like that, wouldn't you?"

I laugh. "What about the rumor that you're a cannibal? It's not that far from the truth, considering—"

He points a finger at me. "No."

"What about the sex dungeon?"

"What do you think?"

"There are a lot of rumors about you involving sex," I observe.

"Not because I have a sex dungeon! I think people are just obsessed with the idea of getting with someone rich. And the people who were with me like to spread shit because they're salty that it ended, I guess." He shrugs and looks over his shoulder to check for traffic, which may be for the best because he says, "They love telling everyone about my small dick."

I clear my throat. "Uh . . . yeah, I wasn't gonna bring that up."

"I mean, it's true."

"Oh."

"They talk about it as if it makes me bad at sex or whatever, but like, grow up, man. If you wanna talk shit about me, at least pick something that actually matters." He glances over at me and makes a face. "Sorry. I guess you didn't need to know that."

"You've got a problem, man."

"I know."

Strange as it is to have that knowledge, his openness is refreshing. None of my friends in St. Richard ever talked with me about these things: sex, girls, or boys, for that matter. Normal guy talk. Although, I guess Haley is not really a guy, is he?

"Well, it's good that you're not ashamed of it," I say. "What's it like when you're someone else? Can you, like . . . can you have sex with their body parts?"

"No idea. Never tried, but I'll tell you when I do."

"When?"

"Well, I gotta try now, right?"

I sputter a laugh. "Right."

There's a moment of silence, and I'm about to bring up the reason for this meeting when I realize Haley's rolling up on the driveway of a large house—a mansion, really. It's old and elegant, with stone walls and tall, bright pillars, surrounded by the sort of plants that take hours of meticulous labor to maintain.

The driveway is so much longer than it has to be, winding around the house to the garage on the far side, but Haley drives all the way to the end and waits for the garage door to go up before he parks the Destrier next to a mahogany red Terreaux-Chants. It's longer and flatter than the Destrier, with an open roof and white leather seats.

When Haley notices me looking at it, he asks, "Can you do me a favor? Tell me if that car is really red."

"Why?"

"It could be green, for all I know. My dad likes to mess with me."

I laugh and assure him, "It's red."

He nods, satisfied, and gets out of the Destrier. I follow him, feeling the odd urge to leave and come back wearing a suit as he leads me inside. The house is full of furniture that looks like it could be either at least two centuries or two weeks old, and I could probably eat off the floors. The hall has stairs on either side, dark carpet runners along the lengths, and a large, twinkling chandelier high above our heads.

I smell a dog before it comes running down the left staircase, barking and panting. Haley bends down to ruffle its ears with a surprisingly accurate imitation of a growl. The black shepherd tries to lick his face to thank him for his affection, and he jerks back, but he's too late. "Missy, no—gross," he groans. "Ugh. Gus, meet Missile. He will lick you."

"Nice to meet you, Missile," I say, rubbing the dog's head, which twists every which way to get a taste of my hands. "You have a weird name."

"Hey, now. I chose that with care."

"Of course you did."

He pretends not to hear this and pats the dog's behind. "Come," he says, waving at the stairs. "Let's go to my room."

☽〇☾