“You’re supposed to touch your toes,” the blond girl next to Hardin says. “Trying,” he says with an overly saccharine smile. Why did he even respond to her—and why am I so jealous? She giggles at him while the image of me slamming her head against the wall plays on repeat in my mind. I always lecture Hardin about his temper, but here I am planning this whore’s murder… and calling her a whore even though I don’t know her.
Good lord
