Page 3 of Slayer

“Okay. Thanks, Linda. You’re cool,” I told her.

My voice came out steadier than I expected, considering everything inside me felt like it was tilting.

She peered behind me again at a passing employee. “And if you ever need me, you can call or just check in. It’s not a bother.” She pointed to the personal number she’d just given me. “I’m rooting for you, Stella,” she finished.

It was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever said to me. That they were rooting for me. That they were proud of me and wanted me to succeed.

The words sat heavily in my chest in a good way, like warmth trying to replace all the cold spots that had collected there over the years.

I wondered if she planned this all day, if she sat here with her fourth cup of coffee and mentally went over what she would say to me, her favorite.

I pictured her here early this morning, cardigan slipping off one shoulder, hair tied up, scribbling notes to herself.

I decided then that everyone needed a Linda in their life.

I left her office walking a little taller.

I was eighteen, and I had a place to stay and a job. I’d been accepted into Spokane Community College’s diagnostic sonography program and was starting right after summer break was over. Even Linda believed in me.

What could go wrong?

CHAPTER

TWO

I dropped my duffel at Rae’s apartment downtown using the key she gave me and made a quick packet of Top Ramen for dinner, making sure to clean up my bowl and fork after. I didn’t want Rae thinking I was going to be a bad roommate. The apartment was small but neat, the kind of place where every piece of mismatched furniture had been scavenged from thrift stores or roadside freebies. A faint scent of dryer sheets hung in the air, mixed with whatever Rae had last cooked…something garlicky.

After eating, I got ready quickly, then took the bus to the Riverfront Park area before walking to my meeting spot with Rae. Crimson was an eighteen-and-up dance club that Rae worked at, and tonight she was throwing me a small birthday party there. I didn’t have many friends, mostly group home kids who had aged out and a few girls from my high school. I usually threw myself into books rather than partying. My ninth grade math teacher once told the entire class that our ticket to success was good grades and a working brain. I had both. But I did like to let loose every once and a while. What better time than on my birthday?

“Stop it, you look ah-mazing!” Rae catcalled as I crossed the street, grinning.

I was wearing black leather shorts, a red silky top, and my black combat boots. I wasn’t into dresses or heels, so this was about as fancy as I got. My long brunette hair hung in a braid down my back, and I was feeling good about myself.

The streetlamp above us flickered, shining across Rae’s face as she took me in. Rae was five feet tall and filled with spunk. She had an arm full of tattoos and a blond spiky pixie cut that made her look edgy and gorgeous. She looked tough as all hell on the outside but was a gooey marshmallow inside.

As I reached Rae, she kissed my cheek once because she was currently going through a French phase. She wanted to save up money to move to Paris. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that in Paris, they kissed once on each cheek.

“Bonjour, birthday girl,” she greeted me with a really bad French accent.

There was a line forming around the block as Rae hooked arms with me. The music from inside vibrated faintly through the brick walls, a steady thump you could feel in your ribs even from here.

“Did you sign the papers?” she asked.

I nodded. “Linda got all mushy and said nice things.”

Rae scoffed. “Lucky. My caseworker basically kicked me out of her office and probably had a party after I left.”

I grinned. Rae was known for breaking all the rules when we were in the group home together. She snuck out in the middle of the night, smoked behind the dumpsters, and even stole makeup once from a drugstore. But I knew Rae was a good person. Whenever someone at the group home was feeling down, Rae baked something. It didn’t matter if it tasted awful and was made with whatever janky, stale ingredients we had, it cheered them up. She stood up for kids who were bullied and always had your back. Rae was loyal, and I knew I could trust her.

We stepped away from the curb and walked past the line of people as we neared the door to the club. Neon lights reflected off puddles on the sidewalk, splashing color across everyone’s shoes.

“She’s with me, Matty,” she told the door guy.

A hulking man held out a hand to stop us. “This little baby girl? I need to see her ID. We can’t have trouble. Cops were poking around last night.”

Baby girl? Pshhh.

Rae rolled her eyes, and I grinned as I pulled out my ID, confirming I was in fact eighteen.