CHAPTER 1

My hands are shaking as I grip the dry-erase marker. Twenty-two years old, brand-new teacher, first day at Westridge High, and I already feel like the room is closing in on me. Twenty-five seniors stare back, but only one pair of eyes matters.

Lila Vale sits dead center in the front row, legs crossed high, plaid skirt short enough that the hem barely covers the tops of her thighs. She’s eighteen. Just turned, according to her file but she looks at me like she already knows every filthy secret I’ve ever tried to hide. Her lips are glossy, parted just enough that I catch the pink flash of...