The queen bees of All Saints had turned against my sister, now that she was no longer under the protection of The Knight Cole.

The year had been crappy with a side of shite to me, but Poppy actually liked it here before the whole Knight debacle. I’d made no friends, gone on no dates, and collected no memories. In a lot of ways, it felt like a long, excruciating night, with no dreams or even nightmares to occupy my mind—a big, fat nothing of staring at the ceiling that made me wonder if I really even existed.

At least we were nearing graduation. I still hadn’t applied to any colleges, in Europe or elsewhere, praying for that internship. Wherever Vaughn went, even if it was to England with me, I’d be in my home field. He wouldn’t have so much power there. Anyway, he still wasn’t done with his piece, and who knows what he’d actually sent them when the internship application was due. It had been a month now, at least. But I had bigger fish to fry.

Knight wasn’t a bad person, but as a boyfriend, he was rubbish, and I thought Poppy deserved a lot more than what he’d offered her.

“Let it all go.” I stroked Poppy’s light hair, kissing the crown of her head while she nestled in my arms on her bed. She had a canopy-style princess bed, all baby pink and white, and a vanity desk the size of my entire room. I didn’t care about those sorts of things, but Poppy did.

I didn’t fault her for that. We were who we were. She had to take care of me at school because I got into trouble all the time.

Poppy blew her nose into the hem of my kilt, and I let her.

“He is such an arsehole!” she exclaimed, bursting out in a fresh bout of tears.

“A world-class one.” I nodded, rallying behind her statement. “He should be internationally recognized for the level of arseholeness he exhibits.”

“But he’s so gorgeous.”

“Sure, if you’re into that Shawn-Mendes-meets-Chase-Crawford look. But there are a lot of gorgeous guys, and you deserve one who will recognize just how special you are.” I gently removed the hair that stuck to her damp cheek, tucking it behind her ear.

Poppy sat up, patting her eyes with a tattered tissue.

“Am I, though?” She narrowed her puffy eyes at me.

I plucked some fresh tissues from her nightstand and handed them to her, along with a bottle of water.

“Are you what?” I asked.

“Special. You are special, Lenny. With your art and quirky attitude and the way you pretend not to care when gorgeous, rich guys like Vaughn Spencer make you a walking target. But I’m not like that. I’m not talented or strong or particularly interesting. I don’t have any special looks or clothes or abilities. I’m not even book smart.” She sniffled, eyeing me with a suspicious frown now, like it was my fault she chose to wear mainstream, high-end brands and put highlights in her hair and have normal, popular “friends.”

“You can be talented and completely horrible,” I said cautiously, thinking of Vaughn. “And you can also have not even one artistic bone in your body and still be the rarest thing in the universe. It’s in your actions. It’s your soul. You are special, Poppy, because you make people feel good. No one can take that away from you.”

She sank into my arms, and we sat there for what seemed like forever, hugging and rocking back and forth, relishing the bittersweet agony of loving a boy who didn’t love her back—not that I knew anything about that. Heartbreak was a mystical, double-edged sword from where I was standing. And I had no desire to experience the full range of emotions in a car crash of feelings. Not ever going there.

That day in the janitor’s closet had rattled me. Not that I’d found Jason’s…member appealing, but there was a thrill there. If I was being honest with myself, the thrill had more to do with biting Vaughn’s lip and watching as he licked his own blood with a little smirk, and less to do with Jason. I liked that Vaughn had pulled me away from Alice’s boyfriend, that he was possessive of me. And even though I’d heard of his antics since then—disappearing with girls into rooms during parties I wasn’t invited to—I also knew he wondered.

He wondered who I was seeing.

Who I was with, and what I was doing with them.

I fed his curiosity and played his mind games.

I was always on my phone at school. I texted Pope, my best friend from Carlisle Prep, and smiled at the phone. I put a hand to my cheek and pretended to blush.

On nights I knew Vaughn would show up at my house—because my father was already in his studio, preparing his tools—I’d go out, even if just for a drive, and come back with my hair messy and my black lipstick purposely smeared.