The Lies we Steal (The Hollow Boys Book 1)

Briar

If I saw one more welcome back poster I was going to hurl my coffee at it. 

The Christmas break was over, which meant waking up at the crack of dawn instead of going to sleep. It would take me months to get my sleep schedule back in order after the three weeks I’d had off. 

Between Lyra and Alistair I rarely went to sleep before five in the morning. My boyfriend and best friend were night owls that had pulled me over to the dark side. Now I trudged up the steps of my first lecture hall, Lyra skipping in front of me like she isn’t sleep deprived. We both were taking a foreign language class this year and we’d thankfully ended up with the same professor.

I slumped down into the chair, slamming my head down onto the desk in front of me and shielding my eyes from the bright lights inside the room. All I wanted was to be curled up in bed sleeping and Alistair’s hoodie was doing nothing at all to wake me up. 

The scent that stuck to it only made me warm, sleepier.

When he told me he didn’t have class till ten, I debated on throwing a textbook at him. Whoever thought Latin at 8:30 in the morning was a good idea could fall in a hole. 

“I’m going to die of sleep deprivation.” I groan. 

“How about you don’t do that. Alistair will be up our asses with depression if you die.” I lift my head just an inch to see Rook sliding into the row with us, sporting a black eye and busted lip. 

“I hope the other guy looks worse than you do.” Lyra notes. 

He just shrugs, giving us a lopsided grin before sitting down, and leaning back in his chair. I can smell weed sticking to his clothing like cologne, the red rim of his eyes making the color stand out. 

Myself, Lyra and the rest of the boys had slowly started to become friends. I say slowly only because of Thatcher, who I still had a love-hate relationship with. There were times I could envision myself strangling him to death and other times I didn’t know what the group would look like without him. 

I’d spent an entire day at Thatcher’s house, meeting his very normal grandparents for Christmas. When I tell you it was the oddest day of my life, I mean it. Four of the most chaotic, damaged men I’d ever met acting like the perfect gentlemen for a little ol’ lady named May. 

It just proved even more that they all had souls, no matter how hard they tried to conceal them. 

Our professor chose this time to walk in, gathering all of our eyes to the front and pointing to the chalkboard where she began writing. The Latin words were nothing but gibberish in my head, from lack of sleep and understanding. 

Second semester had finally begun. What that meant for me was a new set of courses, another step closer to my future, but it always meant stepping into the unknown. 

As normal as the past few weeks had been, I knew what Alistair was doing when he stayed out with the guys. Plotting, planning, devising a plan that would end with the mayor of Ponderosa Springs six feet under. 

Except now, there were investigators looking into it. The stakes were higher and even though it made me nervous, it barely phased them. They knew what they had done and they would be willing to pay for those actions if the time came for it. 

I squint my eyes, reading the words in the chalk, 

Temet nosce 

“Does anyone know what this means?” The middle-aged, successful looking woman asks from the front, scanning the crowd for a brave hand. 

When nothing but silence answers her, she sighs, ready to give us the translation only to be interrupted by the lecture hall door opening with a heavy creak. It’s human nature to be curious, to uncover the unknown. 

It’s why everyone turns their heads to the entrance looking at the person who is walking in late. 

Strawberry blonde hair hangs in a blunt shoulder length cut, brushing the tops of her shoulders as she walks in holding books close to her chest. Walking with practiced grace and femineity that I would kill for. It’s not her beauty that has piqued my interest, it’s the way everyone in the class gasps and stares. 

Everyone seems to be frozen, staring at this poor girl who doesn’t know what to do but stare back. It’s like they’ve seen a ghost. 

“Who is that?” I ask Lyra in a whisper. 

I hear the clock on the wall tick. 

One. 

Two. Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

Three. 

“Sage Donahue.” 

Rook

Remember when you were a child and they would yell at your for poking the fire? Told you that you’d piss the bed if you kept doing it or worse, it would hurt you. Then you grew up in fear of the crackling heat, knowing if you touched it, there would be repercussions.

I am that fire. The flame. The blaze.

Unpredictable in ways you could never imagine. There is no taming me, it’s impossible. I burn way too high, way too hot, to ever be put out.

You play with me and you are left burned. Roasted alive left only with seared skin and blisters to remember me by.

The match in my mouth snaps, clean in two between my teeth. Split right down the middle, the only sound to be heard in this class.

I thought it was the weed that was making me trip, my brain playing a sick trick. But everyone else seemed to be trapped in my hallucination as well, meaning my worst nightmare had just walked right back into my fucking life.

She was back.

Lyra and Briar sat adjacent to me, whispering about the new student that had stolen everyone’s attention.

Yeah, she used to be really good at that. Being the apple of everyone’s eye with that natural strawberry tinted hair that always looked like flames wrapped around my hand.

Everyone’s golden girl, queen bee, rally girl, homecoming sweetheart. All sweet and sugar that had gotten stuck in my teeth, before I ripped it out. I’m sure I was the only one who hated her. Probably because I was the only one who really knew her.

Miss Americana had demons. Skeletons. Things she’d die if anyone found out about.

Empty, ruthless, blue eyes drift to mine and I feel the twitch in my hand start. Blue eyes like the hottest flame and I of all people knew, what playing with that flame felt like.

Ticking in my muscles began building as I refused to move my gaze from her. I was seconds from grabbing my lighter and torching this place. Ready to burn all the memories she brought inside this room.

Memories that danced around me like shadows.

The urge built higher and higher.

It was a part of me.

I was born to make things burn.

Dainty limbs, peppered pale skin with flame colored freckles, heart shaped lips.

My greatest kept secret.

My worst mistake.

The girl that once burned my sad memories, only to become the gasoline that fueled them.

Tomorrow the birds will sing, Sage.

I repeated the words her voice said the last time we spoke.

And I will set every last one of them on fucking fire.