Angela didn't put up a fuss when I stomped off. Even now, she walks beside me, cool and relaxed.

  While I'm skulking around every corner, she could be walking through the mall. “So, what's the plan?”

  “Get to the office and give Lucy her meds.”

  Angela snorts. “Complex.”

  “No one invited you.” I glare before checking another corner. Sure, James is watching. No reason to be stupid.

  “Okay…” she draws out like I'm being petulant. It takes everything in me to ignore her. “What if James doesn't let you?”

  My glare finally shuts her up. We walk quietly down one hall. Then another. Occasionally a phone rings or someone whispers from behind one of the locked doors, breaking the eerie silence.

  “Why don't you just join one of them?” I jut my chin to indicate Science 203.

  Angela's laugh is short. “Why don't you make me?”

  I peer around the hall. “Your funeral.”

  Angela chuckles. “You gonna tell me why?”

  “Why what?” I grit out.

  “Why you’ve played victim this whole time?” Her eyes are keen.

  Something slimy twists in my guts. I haven't used my strength on anyone since my mother. Six years and my only victim was a pickle jar.

  “You gonna tell me what you did to Amy?” I glare at her.

  Angela’s grin turns cold, like it froze in place for a bad school photo.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  I keep staring, refusing to blink.

  “Fine.” Angela leans against the wall and pulls gum from her pocket. The loud chewing punctuates her sentences. “We took Amy's clothes out of her gym locker. Her parents never shelled out for a lock. After class, we waited until she was showering and threw everything into the hall. When she bent to pick it up, the towel dropped.”

  My cheeks flush and my hands tremble as Lance's final words come to mind. “You posted that online.”

  “Nope, someone else did that.” She shrugs, but it feels stiff. “Ramona and I were too busy laughing.”

  I shake my head. “I can't believe I saved you.”

  Amy was sweet. We weren't friends, but we'd been paired on a couple projects, and she was always nice to me.

  “What'd she ever do to you?” My hands tremble at my sides.

  “She called Ramona a dumb cow before class.” Angela sighed and blew a bubble, letting the mint green film pop before continuing. “I mean, Ramona is about as brilliant as a burger but she's still my friend.”

  “With friends like that,” I mutter.

  “Now that we’re sharing.” Angela waves her hand in a come-on gesture.

  We stay that way for a long moment, the hallway clock tick-ticking to track every moment I don’t answer her. Finally I sigh, “I’d rather deal with you than be a lab rat.”

  Angela’s face contorts in thought. Just when it seems like her face might actually freeze that way, she lets out a breezy, “Nope.”

  “Nope, what?” I start walking again.

  “I have to be careful who I torture.” Angela teeters her highlighted head in consideration. “My dad says I’m good at knowing my mark.”

  “Charming.” I sneer at the description, recognizing the phrasing from my mother.

  “You don’t have copyright on messed up folks.” She shrugs. “At least your knew when to quit. Anyway, I know you Griffin. You’re holding old.”

  “Gee, I wonder why,” I drawl.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Angela rolls her eyes. “I’m queen bi–”

  The intercom squeals and we both instinctively smack our hands over our ears. The piercing noise penetrates my skull and my head throbs. Something slowly rises under the rocket, vague and low. In the back of mind, I realize it’s the surprised groans and screams from classrooms.

  The feedback cuts out and a laugh takes over. “Sorry folks, still getting the hang of this thing.”

  I close my eyes and stare at the floor. I used to enjoy that terrible Porky Pig impersonation.