The Merciless Read Online Free

one-time thing. They took pity on me and wanted to show me that Adams High wasn’t all animal mutilation and satanic rituals. Still, I fumble with the lock and push the door open.
    Riley leans over one of the sinks, adjusting the silk scarf tied around her neck. She looks like Audrey Hepburn in her sleeveless button-up shirt and high-waisted pants. The fluorescent light flickers overhead.
    â€œLove the necklace,” Riley says, catching my eye in the mirror as she pushes a perfect brown curl behind one ear. I touch the cross hanging from my neck.
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œWe saw you come in,” Alexis explains. She sets her white leather purse next to the dingy porcelain sink and digs out a tube of peach-colored lipstick. Her wispy blond hair trails over the counter as she paints her lips. “Thought we’d say hi.”
    Grace shuts the door, and Riley slides off one of her leather ballet flats and wedges it beneath the frame. She tests the door, but it doesn’t budge.
    â€œThere. Now no one can surprise us.”
    I open my mouth to ask who’s going to surprise us, then think of Brooklyn and the dead cat and close it again. Grace leans against the avocado-green counter. Today she’s tucked her black braids behind a leopard-print headband, and she’s wearing gold platform sandals that add an extra five inches to her height.
    Riley puts her hands on my shoulders. “Sof, do you know how pretty you are?” she asks. “Guys, isn’t Sofia pretty?”
    â€œYou’re so pretty,” Alexis purrs, capping her lipstick.
    â€œThanks,” I say, studying their reflections in the mirror. Are they messing with me? My hair is shiny, and my skin can sometimes look golden in the sun, but these girls are perfect. Their skin looks dewy and fresh and completely poreless, even under the bathroom’s harsh fluorescent lights, which are scientifically designed to make everyone look like a zombie.
    I smile, shaking my head. Clearly they’re just being nice.
    Riley slides the hair tie off my ponytail and finger-combs my curls.
    â€œLook how much better it is down,” she says. She’s right—it is better down, but I’ve been pulling it back so the Mississippi heat doesn’t make it frizz. Already, a thin line of sweat forms on the back of my neck.
    Alexis puts her lipstick back into her purse and removes a flask. I’ve never described a flask as cute before, but hers is tiny and silver, with flowers and vines engraved around the sides. She takes a swig and hands the flask to Grace.
    â€œYou guys drink?” I ask.
    â€œWe’re taking Communion,” Grace says. She closes her eyes and lifts the flask to her lips.
    â€œDon’t you go to church, Sof?” Riley frowns at my reflection, her fingers still tangled in my hair.
    â€œMy mom doesn’t like church,” I say. “But my grandmother’s Catholic, so I know about Communion.”
    Alexis giggles and holds out her flask to me, but Grace snatches it from her hand before I can reach for it.
    â€œWait,” she says. “Sofia can’t have any. Remember? You two wouldn’t even let me touch that flask until I was ‘baptized in the blood of the lamb.’”
    She says the last part with a thick Mississippi drawl. Alexis throws a wadded-up ball of toilet paper at her. “I don’t sound like that,” she says.
    â€œGrace is right. You can’t have Communion until you accept Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior.” Riley’s voice is light, but there’s a chill in her eyes. She wrinkles her nose at me.
    â€œRight, my grandmother told me that,” I say. Mom never let me get baptized, but I used to go to church with Grandmother all the time. When it was time to get Communion, the priest put his hand on my head and prayed for me instead of feeding me the host and wine.
    When I look up again, Riley’s staring at my reflection