Disgust twisted low in Violet's belly, a sickening churn that made her want to throw up. She'd seen a lot in her old school, but this was on another level of twisted. Her anger zeroed in on one particular comment, the idiot who had moaned about not getting a peek under her clothes.
Her skin crawled. She noted his username with icy precision, already plotting a way to track him down. When she did, he would regret the day his mother hadn't used protection; his existence was a mistake she intended to fix.
For a moment, Violet wondered if Mary had been right when she'd warned her to keep her head down and avoid drawing attention. Maybe this place wasn't a real school after all, but some warped social experiment or a rehabilitation center for budding psychopaths, where scholarship kids were just thrown in as entertainment. The thought felt wild, but here… maybe it wasn't so far-fetched.
