IT STARTED like a million other Mondays. Sleepy. Late for school. A vague bad mood hovering. There was nothing to suggest that something was about to happen that would change my life forever.
Then Mac leaned across my desk during registration. ‘Meet us by the bins at break,’ he said. ‘Got something to show you.’ The gleam in his eyes triggered a familiar shiver—one part excitement, one part dread.
My stomach was jumping by the time I arrived at the back of the school kitchens two hours later. The others were already there—gathered around an old maroon Adidas kit bag, all scuffed up and covered in graffiti.
‘You dragged me here for that?’
Tash rolled her eyes. ‘Look inside,’ she said, grinning in a way that made me suspect I was being set-up.
All eyes were on me, so I shrugged like this was no biggie, then crouched over the bag, my guts squirming like a sack of snakes.
Knowing Mac, there could be ANYTHING in here—a dead cat, stolen booze, a live rat perhaps . . .
I pulled back the zip, bracing myself not to react.
I’ll be honest—of all the possibilities scrolling through my mind, none of them prepared me for what was actually inside.
I swore. ‘Is that . . .?’