Killing Ruby Rose

Начало книги

I hid in the shadows, scanning the dark parking lot to assess the threat level. So far I’d identified three potential informants I’d have to evade when making a break for it. I didn’t need my 4.0 GPA to know that being seen leaving the city library at 9:00 on a Friday night wouldn’t win me any points on the SPA (Social Point Average), on which I was definitely flunking. Avoiding detection was key.

Maintaining position under the library’s dark awning, I took a quick breath of briny ocean air to gain my bearings. The parking lot’s sickly yellow lights flickered behind the suffocating fog, making it hard to tell whether the rain was misting down from above or wafting in sideways from the shore. In any case, the blacktop lay slick, full of potholes, and speckled with math-club kids who would have just loved to report a sighting of Reclusive Ruby Rose.

With a practiced stealth, I dashed through the night. Even in my new Prada peep-toe pumps—aka my Penelopes—I had speed. I moved light-footed through the blind spots, like I was navigating one of my dad’s SWAT obstacle courses, until I found cover in the driver’s seat of Big Black, my overly tinted SUV and current best friend. I gripped the steering wheel. “Ready to do this?” I asked Black, ignoring my therapist’s voice in my head telling me to stop personifying the things in my life and start concentrating on the people. She didn’t understand. Things couldn’t break my heart.

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