Devils' Day Party: A High School Bully Romance

by C. M. Stunich

  My thumb swipes down the screen of my phone, searching my contacts for a possible ride. Crescent Prep is about twenty minutes away from Devil Springs proper, and everyone I know is either prepping for the parties tonight, or going out of their way to avoid them. My aunt’s already left to visit a friend in Little Rock, and my moms are both at home in their studio, phones set to silent. If I call them, they’ll answer, but then they’ll want to know what happened to Little Bee and they’ll make a big deal out of it.

  I don’t have the energy tonight.

  Instead, I decide to walk to the bus stop.

  It’s a good thirty-minute walk, but I enjoy the peace and quiet, book bag swinging by my side as I cut through the woods, taking a shortcut past the creek and around the edge of the lake. The terrain’s a bit rougher, but there’s little chance of running into anyone out here, so the extra effort it takes is worth it.

  Fortunately, I make it to the bus stop just in time to hop on, sighing in relief as my ass hits the seat and I put my head in my hands, forgetting briefly about my mask. My fingers come away stained with glitter as I tear it off and clutch it in my lap. After the crap I’ve been through today, I’d be an idiot to attend the Devils’ Day Party tonight.

  I’d be an idiot not to.

  I can’t let the Knight Crew start dictating where I go and what I do; I never have.

  I lean my head back against the seat for the rest of the drive, not even bothering to open my eyes when we stop and several other people get on. After ten grueling stops in the middle of nowhere, we end up at the edge of Devil Springs, where the Diamond Point Mobile Home Park sits, surrounded by trees. It’s not a bad place to live; there’s not a resident here who doesn’t take pride in their home and yard. I’m not ashamed of it, despite what the Knight Crew might want to believe.

  “I’m home!” I call out, tossing my bag on the sofa and knowing that if my moms are in the studio out back, that they won’t hear me. I’m not sure whether I’m relieved or frustrated when Mama Jane peeks her head out of the kitchen.

  “I’m making tea. Do you want some?” I shake my head, and she frowns, slipping back into the kitchen to answer the whistle of the teapot. All around me, art fills the colorful walls from floor to ceiling. There are original oil paintings, framed prints, wall hangings made of metal, and mosaic tiles. The entire house is a spectacle, somewhere between a gallery and a maelstrom. “Are you sure you don’t want tea?” Mama Jane asks, reappearing with her dark hair coiffed on the top of her head, the only mark on her otherwise perfect clothes and skin a bit of blue paint on her left elbow. An elfin mask sits atop her head, just in front of her bun, the skin speckled with freckles, just like the ones on Mama Cathy’s face.

  “I’m sure,” I say, noticing as her eyes drift to my bloodied knees and stained dress shirt. Jane was raised in a house where people didn’t talk about their feelings. That means, of course, that we talk about our feelings a lot here.

  I brace myself for an interrogation, just before my little sisters rush in the back door, covered in paint and wearing matching butterfly masks. They’re not twins, but they might as well be. My moms decided to get pregnant at the same time, with the same donor sperm they used with me. The girls were born two days apart, and they’ve been a pain in my ass ever since.

  “What took you so long to get home?” Emma asks, sweeping her mask back from her gray eyes. They’re a bit bluer than mine, but less green than Katie’s.

  “And where’s Little Bee?” Katie asks, frowning, her own black and orange butterfly mask reminding me of the Diana fritillary necklace I received today. The broken pieces are still in my backpack, a mystery for another day.

  “Broke down,” I say, and Mama Jane cocks a brow at me, holding out the cup of tea I didn’t want. I take it anyway, just to get her off my back. I feel irrationally irritated right now, pissed off at the Knight Crew for my car, for hurting me, for making me feel like they might take things too far one day. I exhale sharply as Jane takes a step closer, opening her mouth to ask about the car.

  “It just wouldn’t start. No big deal. We can deal with it tomorrow.”

  “Karma,” she begins, her voice a warning, but I just need a moment alone to decompress. It’s been a long day, and I still have to decide if I’m going to the party tonight. It feels like giving up to stay home, but at the same time, I’m just so goddamn tired. If anything, that’s what the Knight Crew’s managed to do—wear me down. I could sleep until the end of senior year.

  “Karma, come paint with us,” Emma blurts before Jane gets a chance to continue. “We’re making a mural in the carport. It’s the Horned God.” Cool, a pagan deity on the side of our house in a deeply religious small town. I decide to voice my opinion aloud.

  “Great. Another visible sign to tell the world how weird we are.”

  “Karma,” Jane repeats, the softness in her face hardening just a bit. “Your sisters are excited about this project. They’ve been waiting hours for you to come home and look at it. I know you have the party tonight, but can you spare a minute or two please?”

  “You’re right,” I snap back, knowing that my anger’s misplaced, that I should be yelling at Calix or Raz or Barron or Sonja, and not at my family. The stress is just wearing down on me; I can’t take it anymore. “It’s my fault my car broke down, and I got detention for fighting with Raz Loveren, so I’m late. Maybe if you checked your messages as much as you stare at your art, you’d know about it?”

  I turn and storm down the hallway, slamming the door before either of my sisters or my mom can follow. The locks slide into place, and I stuff my headphones in my ears, using my phone to blast the band New Years Day until my head begins to ring.

  I have a text from Luke waiting for me.

  What’s up with the party tonight? April wants to go, but I don’t feel comfortable with her being there. Can you talk some sense into this girl?

  With a sigh, I sink down to the edge of my bed and rub my forehead with my fingers. My easel sits quietly in the corner, mocking me with a tiny canvas covered in black paint and silver stars. I’ve been working on it for months, adding layer after layer until the designs began to pop up off the surface. There’s a crescent moon in the center, a lone tree shining silver beneath it. I’m not sure what I’m going for with the piece. Mama Cathy says all art starts with intention, so if that’s the case, I guess I’m fucked.

  Staring at the piece, I feel my anger start to ride hot and heavy through me.

  Before I can think better of it, I stand up and tear it from the easel, using an X-Acto knife from my desk to score the canvas over and over again, imagining it as Raz’s face. Barron’s. Sonja’s. Calix’s. And then I throw it against the wall and sink to the floor.

  One more year, Karma, that’s it.

  One more year and I’ll be free of the Knight Crew and this stupid, shitty town.

  But for now, I’m here, and I have to make the best of it.

  I’m going to the party tonight, I tell Luke, tapping out a quick group text to her and April. If you guys want to come, meet me at the bus stop at seven.

  It’s a bit of a copout, ignoring the message that Luke sent me about April—she’s probably right about April staying home—but I’m just not in the mood to deal with it. Instead, I stand up and throw my closet open, looking for something to wear tonight. You know, since my goddamn dress was stolen from the clothesline this morning.

  Whatever I wear, it has to be good.

  Because whatever Devils’ Day tricks the Knight Crew thinks they can pull on me, I’ve got to do better.

  Or worse, rather.

  Much, much worse.

  The Devils’ Day Party is always held at Devils’ Den, a remote spring in the bottom of a shallow cave. Just behind it, there’s an old steam train and several passenger cars, sitting on a bit of broken track that leads to nowhere. About a five-minute walk from the spring are several glamping treehouses, locked up and waiting for the spring and summer rush. During th
e Devils’ Day Party, they’re inevitably broken into and defiled. The owner’s tried everything: security cameras, plywood over the windows, and even once, he sat outside with a shotgun.

  Didn’t matter.

  Somebody—nobody knows who—hit the man in the back of the head with a baseball bat and left him inside one of the treehouses until morning. After that, he pretty much gave up. We have exactly two police officers in Devil Springs, and they have far more important things to worry about on Devils’ Day than a bunch of teens getting drunk and fucking in some stupid luxury cabins made for tourists.

  I’m standing at the edge of the clearing, the bonfire leaping and dancing in front of me, reaching orange claws up to the heavens where a crescent moon sits—much like the one on the Crescent Prep logo. Much like the painting I just destroyed. My heart aches a little at the thought, but I push the emotion aside, eyes scanning the gathered crowd for any signs of the Knight Crew.

  They’re not hard to find, clustered around a very familiar yellow car with mangled eyelashes. Calix lounges on the roof like a dark god, smiling at his worshippers, his dark mask fixed in place—both the physical one he’s wearing, and the emotional one he uses as a shield.

  “Karma, listen, I … don’t expect you to believe me.” Calix turns away, his face tight, raw with emotion in a way I’ve never seen. Either he’s a really good actor or else … “But I never hated you.” He looks up at me with a burning intensity, one that steals my breath away, makes my heart pound like thunder. “I’m in love with you.”

  I choke on shame and guilt, my hands curling into fists at my sides.

  “Hey, let’s not start tonight off with bad thoughts,” Luke says, outfitted in a sequin dress shirt, black slacks, and boots. If it weren’t for the hideous goblin mask on her face, I’d say she was as handsome as I’d ever seen her.

  “This is fascinating,” April murmurs, her green eyes sparkling behind her glasses as she takes in the scene like a grad student might observe subjects for their master’s thesis. “It’s so … wild.”

  “Hedonistic, isn’t it?” Luke asks, flashing a sharp grin. “Full of debauchery? A bed of licentiousness? Heathenish? Corrupt? Primal? Pagan?”

  “Okay, Luke, we get it,” I say with a small laugh, feeling a bead of sweat drip down my spine. I can’t believe they dragged my car over here, I think, seething on the inside, wondering how the fuck the Knight Crew managed that one when I couldn’t get a tow truck myself. My initial response is to freak out, and I’m pretty sure Luke knows it.

  “Look, you crashed into his car, this is their retaliation. Don’t react to it. That’s what they want you to do.” Luke looks askance at the Knight Crew, luxuriating on the remains of my car like it’s a chaise lounge in a faerie palace. I have to close my eyes to keep my murderous thoughts at bay. “My parents always give in at Christmas and send me money; I’ll buy you a new car.”

  I open my eyes and glance over at Luke and April, both of them watching me with wary expressions, like they’re prepared for me to fly off the handle. Because the three of us are Crescent Prep outcasts, bullied by the Knight Crew, always hiding in one corner or another, I sometimes forget that even among misfits, I’m the pariah. I’m the only one at this school who’s poor, who gives a shit about a five hundred-dollar junker.

  “Luke,” I start, but she cuts me off, putting her hands on my shoulders and giving me a squeeze.

  “I can you get a much nicer car than Little Bee—as much as I appreciated her lovely eyelashes.” She grins and I make myself smile back, even though that’s not what I want. I don’t want charity. I earned the money for that car by working at my mothers’ shop.

  Instead of saying any of that aloud, I just smile and give Luke a hug that she returns before pulling back and looking me over. I’m wearing black skinny jeans, painted with glitter, and an oversized red sweater that shows off a bit of midriff. Some of the girls here are dressed in designer gowns, their shimmering trains dragging through leaves and sticks and mud, and not caring that the outfits they’re destroying cost thousands of dollars.

  “I’m not up to snuff on the dress code, huh?” I ask as Luke cocks a brow, throwing a glance back at April, who’s still dressed in her school uniform. Her parents sent her to Crescent Prep with two pairs of pajamas, two PE outfits, and every possible combination of the academy uniform—the sweater vest, the blazer, the bow tie, the silk tie, the fur-lined boots, the Mary Janes. But that’s it. They won’t give her a cent for maternity clothes—or anything else for that matter—until she agrees to give up her baby. Clearly, they don’t know April as well as Luke and I do because, even though we’ve only known her for a few months, it’s clear she has every intention of keeping her child.

  “You look edgy, too cool for school,” Luke declares, turning back to me with another smile. “It’s April who’s not up to snuff.”

  “I’m pregnant,” she says with a loose shrug of her shoulders, slipping on a delicate pixie mask with sparkly antennae on the top. She’s cut out the bit between the eye holes, leaving room for her glasses. The effect is … interesting, to say the least. “I don’t have to participate; I just get to observe.” She takes off before Luke can stop her, wading into the fray. Most of the other students go out of their way to avoid her, unsure how far, exactly, they can take the bullying of a pregnant girl. Looks like some of my fellow students have scraps of morality still clinging to their hollow, wicked bones.

  “I’m gonna keep an eye on her,” Luke says, already nervous at the distance between them, and I nod. She gives me one, last look before she takes off after April, and I get the sense that I’m about to be admonished here. “Don’t go looking for trouble tonight, okay?” I just stare back at her and Luke hits me in the shoulder, a little harder than necessary. “Karma, please?”

  “Okay,” I say, but she narrows her brown eyes at me, unconvinced, and I reach up to flick the long, bulbous tip of her goblin nose. “I won’t go looking for trouble, I promise.” But that doesn’t mean trouble won’t come looking for me.

  She nods, once, satisfied and then takes off through the gyrating bodies around the bonfire. The crowd doesn’t part nearly as easily for her as it did for April. While they might hesitate a little at bullying a heavily pregnant girl, Luke isn’t afforded the same protections. I frown as she squeezes between them, and one of the girls grabs onto the gauzy fairy wings on Luke’s back, the ones she made herself, and rips a hole in them.

  I move forward to help as the girl dances away, laughing, but Luke gives me another look from inside the crowd and I pause, right at the edge of the fire’s light, where the shadows live.

  “Happy Devils’ Day,” Barron whispers on my right side, startling me. He’s sucking on another lollipop, an infuriating habit of his, clicking the candy against his white teeth as he looks up at me. He’s crouched low, still wearing the red leather mask on his face, his outfit akin to something my mother might paint on a troll prince, this white jacket with long tails that drag across the ground, even as he rises to his full height. The ends are curled and dashed with a bit of black glitter. Of course, he’s shirtless underneath, wearing tight leather pants and boots covered in charms.

  He looks like fucking trouble.

  See, I knew it’d find me, and much quicker than I’d thought.

  “What do you want?” I ask, feeling a drip of sweat trail down my spine. It’s cold out here, fall leaves still clinging to the trees but threatening to let loose at any moment and welcome winter in. But the fire? It burns hot; I can feel it on my face, a singeing, violent sort of heat.

  I take a step away from Barron, and he follows.

  Around his neck, he wears a rusted, old key. I’m pretty sure I know what it goes to … and I want it.

  Licking my lips, I lead Barron just outside the edge of the firelight, leaning my back against a tree and popping my boot up to rest against the bark.

  “I think you should come over and talk to us,” he says, his face bereft of emotion
, like a cold slate. His eyes—one a warm, auburn brown and the other a pale blue—watch me carefully, like he thinks I might bolt. Instead, I reach up to adjust my mask, making the glass beads and metal charms in my hair tinkle. It’s the only real bit of dressing up I did besides putting on some makeup. Last year, I sewed myself a new gown for Devils’ Day, but then I let Calix defile me in it, and I can’t bear to look at it.

  I decided this year that a sexy, modern look might work a bit better.

  “Maybe I will,” I say, as if I have some choice in the matter. If I don’t go, eventually Barron will just drag me over there. “But I should warn you, I’ve had a bit to drink.” Lie. But I don’t feel bad lying to him, or any of the Knight Crew for that matter. They don’t deserve my honesty or anyone else’s. Stepping forward, I slide my hands up Barron’s bare tattooed chest, enjoying the sweaty planes of his muscles as I curl my fingers together behind his neck. God, this is painful, I think, lying even to myself. I’m pretending I don’t like touching him, like this is some sort of chore … but it’s not.

  “You must’ve had quite a bit to drink,” he observes, but he doesn’t move, reaching up to pull the candy from between his lips. I raise up on my tiptoes, skirting my tongue along his bottom lip. He lets me do it, too. Even though he hates me. Even though I hate him.

  Our mouths slide together with a surprising amount of heat, making my skin prickle with gooseflesh. This is all an exercise, I tell myself. But that’s not true, is it? I’m … enjoying this. And I’m disgusted with myself for it.

  Barron leans forward, pushing the kiss a step further, sliding his own tongue between my lips. I use that moment to snap the key from his neck, tucking it quickly into my back pocket as I return his attentions with a sweep of my own tongue.