She arches a brow. “Have you looked in the mirror lately? You look like a homeless person.”

Sometimes, I think she treats me so shitty because of how her husband and daughter treat her, like she’s deflecting all her bottled-up aggravation on me. It used to hurt. Now it just pisses me off and makes me want to annoy her.

“Yeah, well, it’s better than looking like a skank,” I tell her.

Her eyes widen in horror. “My daughter does not look like a skank. How dare you say so?”

I raise a brow at her. “Who said I was talking about your daughter?”

She shakes her head furiously. “You know what? It’s time for you to get out of this car. I’m sick of looking at you.”

I’m more than ready to get out, but as I peer outside at the school, a drop of anxiety rises inside me.

Dixie May was right. It’s a really small school. Way smaller than the one we used to go to. I don’t know whether to be nervous about that or not. On the one hand, it means fewer people will mock me. But it also means people will be nosier.

“Get out!” Aunt Beth snaps. “And I’m not giving you any lunch money. You’ll have to use your own.”

“I’m not stupid enough to believe otherwise.” I reach for the door handle.

Her lips curl into a sneer. “That’s very debatable.”

I push open the door. “So is Dixie May’s IQ.”

“Dixie May isn’t stupid.” She rotates around in the seat to glare at me. “She just prefers fashion and guys over schoolwork. That’s not that uncommon for a teenage girl. You’re the anomaly, Raven.”

I give a shrug. “I wasn’t trying to argue that I wasn’t an anomaly. I was merely pointing out that, if you think I’m unintelligent, then you must think your daughter is an idiot.”

“Dixie May isn’t an idiot,” she scoffs. “She just gets distracted because she has a life.” She flashes me a smirk. “Unlike you.”

“I may be a social outcast, but at least I’m not an idiot. And when this last year of hell is all over and I graduate, I’m going to take my good grades, go off to college, and make something of myself, while Dixie May probably ends up having a shotgun wedding because she can’t keep her legs closed.”

Her nostrils flare. “You little shit—”

I hop out of the car and slam the door shut.

She starts to roll the window down as I hurry toward the sidewalk that leads to the front doors, knowing she won’t make a scene. It’s not her style. No, her style is to tell my uncle, who’s going to either be annoyed with her that she’s being a tattletale or pissed off at me, depending on his mood. Either way, there’s going to be shouting in the house when my uncle Don gets home tonight.

“You can get your own ass home, Ravenlee Wilowwynter!” she shouts from the car. “I won’t be picking you up!”