She looks fabulously glamorous, like a femme fatale from a French film. All that’s missing is a fog machine for extra atmosphere. Still, the pale trail of smoke, curling upward around her, adds an extra touch of sophistication. “You are a busy girl, Scarlett,” Plum says, smiling evilly. “I never saw any hint of this at St. Tabby’s. You were always hanging around with those two little friends of yours. We all thought you were gay for each other. Terribly sweet.” I jump off Jase’s lap and stand in front of him, my hands on my hips, shielding him from her sight. “From what everyone tells me, you and Taylor got together the moment you came to Wakefield Hall,” Plum says, strolling toward me, her glossy knee-high leather boots definitely not approved school wear. “It’s lucky Jase isn’t the jealous type, isn’t it?” I see her staring closely at me, her long, slanting green eyes narrowing as she assesses the effect she’s having.
