Sloane
“Do you think she even washes her hair?”
“I doubt it. Look at her. She’s a f*****g disaster.”
I close my eyes and slam my locker shut before turning to face them. “Problem?”
“Yeah, I have a problem. Could you maybe bathe once in a while?” one of the she wolves asks me, looking me over as if I'm nothing more than something disgusting she stepped in and attached to the bottom of her shoe.
“And maybe comb your hair. Like have a little respect for yourself,” another says.
“Oh, you mean like you do? Should I slather make up on my face and throw myself at Alphas who don’t want me?” I ask.
The girls, there are four of them, laugh. “Oh sweetie. No Alpha would want you, no matter what you do to yourself.”
‘Shut them down,’ Aisling snarls in my head.
‘Let it go, Ais. They’re not wort
