“Miss Veronese.” Peppe, my chauffeur nods, holding the door open for me.
Without meeting his gaze, I slip into the back seat.
The drive to our house is about half an hour, and I usually spend that time aimlessly gazing out the window. Now, however, I can’t seem to sit still. Although the windows are up and the AC isn’t on, a shiver races across my skin, and the fine hairs on my bare arm stand on end. Flashbacks of that scene in the school hallway flood my mind. I’d love to be able to talk to someone about it, just so I could call the s**t-for-brains Kenneth a douchnozzle out loud. If my brother, Elmo, was alive I’m sure he would beat the s**t out of Kenneth. He wouldn’t let anyone touch me or call me names. Or at least, that’s what I choose to believe. I barely remember Elmo, but Nera do
