Well, the only thing that’s changed is the fact that Dad used to be the only person who got me. Now, there’s no one.
The good thing about leaving Saint Clary’s today though is that I’m a lot drier than when I walked in. The blazing sun coats me in heat, and the dry air makes me take in a deep breath. I make my way down to the bike rack and pause. No bikes. Not a single one. If my math is correct, there should be at least one bike parked here: mine.
My hands fall to my sides. Having my hair up all day has given me a splitting headache, and I just don’t have time for this shit. A stolen bike? Who the fuck would want to steal that rusty piece of junk? I’m pretty sure it was my grandfather’s and squeaks the whole time I’ve been riding it.
“Oh, Blue’s Clues,” a sickeningly sweet voice calls out from behind me.
I turn to find Meghan standing next to Stone. Her arm lies loosely around his waist, as comfortable as can be. Jealousy spits fire inside me, matching the temperature of the desert heat. If I was a dragon, I could probably roast them right now. Roast the whole damn school, including Wyatt and Lucas who hang back behind the new power couple of Saint Clary’s. That can’t be right, though. It’s only been a couple of hours and already, Stone has something I’ve never been able to accomplish in Clary: Friends.
Their high school nickname for me burns like acid in my ears. My greatest enemies now know the truth. Dakota Wilder is a nobody, and she will always be a nobody. That’s my family’s true legacy. We may be good at one thing, but we fail at everything else.
This is not what I needed today.
“Missing something?” Meghan asks, a cruel tilt to her lips.
If I hadn’t already given up on Clary residents, I’d slap the smirk right off her face. How dare she.
The thing is, she can’t hide from me as much as I can’t hide from her. I know the only person who really loved her, her grandma, died two years ago in the trailer they live in outside of town. Her mother’s a drunk, has been ever since her husband ran off with her sister and moved to Sedona where they can be the artsy, spiritual people they claim themselves to be.
So, if you’re wondering what I’m getting at, it’s that I’m the better person. But that only goes so far.
Meghan takes a piece of paper from Stone’s fingers, wads it up, and throws it at me. It bounces off my chest and hits the ground. She sneers at it. “If I were you, I wouldn’t lose that if you want to see your bike again.” The way she says bike sounds as if she has a limo waiting for her when I know damn well she’s driving a shitty Ford Focus with an engine that barely starts.
I don’t lower myself to pick up the paper in front of the growing crowd. I don’t want them to see how weak I truly feel in this moment. Not only are Stone, Wyatt, and Lucas here, they’re apparently here to make me more miserable than I already am, enlisting the help of the people who’ve tortured me my entire life. Awesome. If I would’ve known today was going to hold this, I would’ve stayed in my dorm room.
The crowd disperses after Wyatt gives me a wink and Lucas looks past me like I’m not even a blip on his horizon. Both reactions dig their claws into me, leaving scars behind. When the loud engines and coughing mufflers leave the parking lot, I finally bend over to retrieve the paper. I unfold it, using the metal piping of the bike rack to smooth out the wrinkles.
I glare at what’s in front of me. It’s a map, crudely drawn to reflect a treasure map, including a big X. I can only assume that’s where my bike is, and their digs just keep getting bolder and bolder. Yes, of course the girl from the famous treasure-hunting family of Clary would need directions to her stolen bike in treasure map form. That’s the thing about the Wilders though. We’re big treasure hunters, we’re not big treasure finders.
If my bike isn’t where this X is, I swear to God... Yeah, I’ll probably do nothing, but the movie playing in my head where I gouge out Meghan’s eyes is good enough for me. The boys? Well, I haven’t quite figured out their punishment yet, but Meghan holds her looks close to her heart. I’d definitely go for uglying her up a bit.
I trek back into the school and find the janitor. I tell him my predicament, pointing toward the map which, according to the stark lines and offensively drawn landmarks, my bike should be on the roof of the school.
The janitor tears the map away from me, tells me to stay put, and then goes in search. Five minutes later, he curses as he tries to maneuver the bike through the stairwell exit at the far end of the hall. The heavy door closes on his fingers while he holds the handlebars, and a slew of insults pollutes the air. When he emerges, I hurry from my spot, profusely thanking
