AFTER ART CLASS, HILARIE walked out of school and let out a sigh, glad to be away from classmates who’d whispered snide comments about the red tie. “Does she think she’s Hester Prynne or Emma Stone?” Nina Werlin, daughter of a Christian film director, had hissed with an eye-roll. “She can call it social commentary or whatever, but it doesn’t change how she’s a cheating slut.”
Hilarie took solace in the fact that her still-life actually resembled a bowl of apples, unlike Nina’s, which looked more like a pile of dog turds.
“Hey.”
She wanted to curse. Timothy was standing next to her and glaring at her neck. What was he doing here? Was one of his goals for senior year to personally make her feel like s**t at least once a day? “Get out of my face before I take out the pepper spray.”
Not ta
