TWISTED (Tanglewood Elites #2) by Ivy Rush

Author:Ivy Rush [Rush, Ivy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-01-26T18:30:00+00:00

Raider drives me back to campus.

On the way, we pass a couple of cops coming out of Yoyo’s, slipping notebooks back into their pockets, their gaits easy and loping. If they’re rushing off to the police station to issue a warrant for Raider’s arrest, or if they’re trying to find him, they definitely aren’t showing it.

I gaze out the window despondently, disappointed that Raider was right when he declared he could get away with anything.

He drops me off in front of my dorm, not looking at me, his gaze steady out the window and then drives away without saying goodbye.

It’s cold and dark out, and I shiver, shoving my hands into my coat. I glance around me, at the barren trees and the dark sidewalks. The thought of going up to my room to my now-bare mattress is depressing, so I turn left and head for the dining hall, figuring I should eat something.

The only thing I’ve had today is a couple of spoonfuls of frozen yogurt, which at the time tasted delicious, but now seems ridiculous given the cold weather and what happened while I was at the frozen yogurt shop.

The dining hall isn’t that busy, since it’s that weird time between lunch and dinner, and I’m able to get a bowl of corn chowder and some crusty bread pretty quickly.

I take my food and head for a table in the corner, a small two-seater that’s near an elaborate looking coffee station.

I sit down and send quick text to Tyler, asking if he’s okay and apologizing for what Raider did to him. I know I’m not the one who did it, but it still feels like my fault somehow.

I wait a few minutes to see if he texts back, but he doesn’t.

I pull out my notebook and review the reading I have to do so far, and then decide to start making notes for the project I want to do for my semester-long project in Social Issues. The last thing I want to do is wait until the last minute to start, especially since it’s supposed to be a two-person project, and I can already tell that Raider is going to be useless.

Twenty minutes later, I’ve filled several pages with notes on the story I want to write and finished my soup –the food here is surprisingly delicious, much better than anything I would have gotten at home, and I marvel again at what a divide exists between the rich and the rest of us-- when I hear giggling.

At first, it’s just on the periphery of my awareness, quiet and sort of far away sounding. But as I get pulled out of the notes I’m writing and into the real world, the giggling becomes crystal clear.

I glance up.

Sitting a couple of tables over is Amabel and her three camp friends. I can’t remember their names – they all look vaguely the same, with shiny blond hair and poreless skin that’s always naturally tan, even in the winter, probably from the trips they take to the Caribbean or Greece or wherever it is that rich people go.

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