Heidi's breath comes out shaky, but she squares her shoulders. No way, absolutely no way she's letting Sierra see how rattled she is. That girl already walks around like the universe put her on earth just to remind everyone else they're pathetic. Heidi won't give her that satisfaction.
But her palms are clammy, even though her jaw is tight, and that strange itch has returned. It's like a restless animal is pacing in a cage within her. Her pulse is whipping so loudly she swears Sierra can hear it.
The queen bee's voice is high-pitched. "Now that I have something that can ruin your entire school life," Sierra says, lips curling into a smile that doesn't reach her eyes, "you'd better listen to me."
Heidi forces herself to breathe evenly, but her lungs are shallow, and almost useless. A bead of sweat slips down her temple. She can't look away from Sierra's painted smirk.
