“Bad?” I ask, looking over at April with her brown hair plaited and slung over one shoulder, her green eyes dark in the shadows of the cave. It’s strange, looking at her in that uniform with her dress shirt untucked, taut around her swollen belly. I think that was her parents’ plan all along, to shame her by forcing her to stay in her school uniform every day. “I don’t feel bad. I didn’t put us in here and lock the door; they did. I figured you of all people wouldn’t be one to victim blame,” I say, looking directly at Luke.
She frowns heavily, her brown eyes dancing with carefully repressed anger.
“You know why I’m mad, and it’s not because the Knight Crew is a bag of diseased dicks. It’s because you started things today. You hit Calix’s car; you stole that key; you promised me you wouldn’t fuck with them.” Luke scoffs and shakes her head in disgust, reaching her fingers up to tousle her blue hair. “And the goddess only knows what you did with Barron to get that key.”
“What the fuck are you implying?” I ask, turning away from the bars and the masked revelry beyond so that I can look her straight in the face. My own is burning with shame, but I just hope it’s too dark in that cave for her to see it. “That I screwed Calix last year as some sort of Devils’ Day Party prank? That I wanted to be naïve enough and desperate enough to believe he really did like me?”
“You brought up Calix,” Luke snaps back, moving away from me to stand at the opposite end of the cave entrance. “I was talking about Barron. Did you steal that key spur of the moment? Or was it something you planned? Either way, you’d already made your promise to me, so it was wrong, no matter how it happened.”
“As if you wouldn’t have shoved your tongue down Sonja’s throat at the first opportunity.” I gesture at the glittering green beetle brooch clinging to the front of her shirt. “You wore the jewelry she sent, didn’t you? Maybe I wasn’t the only one planning on seeking out the Knight Crew against my better judgment? They were already planning on locking me in the treehouse, Luke. The fight was already on.”
“If they locked you in, we would’ve let you out, and they would’ve been too drunk to notice. Stealing their key, pepper spraying them, and then trying to lock them up in the Devils’ Den is a whole different animal. You messed up, Karma. Just admit it.”
“At least I tried to do something about it,” I snap back, my hands shaking, bits of purple hair sticking to the sides of my sweaty face. “At least for once, I attempted to fight back. Unlike you. Since freshman year, you’ve been letting the Knight Crew push you around, and you just take it. The worst you’ve ever done is report them which just makes you a snitch.”
“A snitch?” Luke laughs, harsh and low, shaking her head like she can’t believe I just said that. “What is wrong with you, Karma? Because you’re not acting like the person I thought I knew. The cool, quiet artist who didn’t give a shit what anybody else thought. Even the thing with Calix … I mean, I was surprised, but I understood. Lately though? I feel like you hate the Knight Crew and worship them at the same time.”
“I don’t give a shit about the Knight Crew,” I say, but it feels like a lie, tumbling off the end of my tongue like a boulder, heavy and dangerous and unstable. “I’m not the one who cries myself to sleep every night because she’s so desperate to fit in.”
Luke’s eyes widen, and I know I’ve gone too far, throwing one of her secrets back into her face. It’s like earlier, when I shouted at my mom, when I stabbed my canvas. I don’t mean to do it; I don’t want to do it. Hell, as soon as I say it, I wish I could take it back.
“Come on guys,” April says softly, but it’s too late. Luke turns away from me, one shoulder propped against the wall of the cave. A few moments later, a girl in a pearlescent white mask appears, holding up a key. It’s not the same one that Barron had—this one’s much less rusted—but it fits into the lock just the same, and the gate swings open.
“This is only because I hate them so much, not because I like you,” Pearl Boehringer says, her blond hair orange in the strange half-light. She takes the key with her and walks away, her mask glittering with eight gemstones set to look like a spider’s eyes. The effect is eerie, especially when paired with the derisive sneer on her face.
Told you: everyone at Crescent Prep is an asshole. Including me, apparently.
“Do you want to apologize before I give you a ride home?” Luke says, grabbing April by the hand and pulling her out of the maw of the Devils’ Den. “Because you know I’m going to give you one either way.”
A lump of pride gets caught in my throat, and I say nothing. I’m too frustrated by the way the party’s gone, too pissed off at the Knight Crew, and quite frankly, hating myself too deeply to say anything at all.
With a scowl, Luke leads the way back to her car, this beautiful white vintage Cadillac. Her parents thought this was a punishment, buying her an old car like this. It’s worth maybe thirty thousand dollars at most, so to them, it’s basically garbage. But Luke’s the one that asked for it. For her, this is a dream car. It’s one of the things I’ve always liked about her, how she’s unapologetically Luke. I should say that, along with I’m sorry, but instead, I sit quietly in the backseat as she takes me home and drops me off just outside the entrance to Diamond Point.
I’ve barely hopped out before Luke is speeding off into the night, leaving me alone in the quiet darkness.
“Jesus.” I rub a hand over my face, suddenly so tired that I could collapse right here in the cold and sleep for a week. Something rustles in the bushes, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Could be a cougar or a bear … or worse—a person. I force myself to walk slowly but confidently back toward the front door of our pale pink house. The mural the girls started earlier is hard to see in the weak porch light, but when it’s done, I’m sure it’ll be visible to every single car that drives down this road. The Horned God, in a state where most people are likely to think it’s the devil. Fantastic. That should help with my popularity.
I let myself in and find both of my mothers waiting for me.
Mama Jane stands up right away, her long dark hair unbound, face twisted into a frown. Mama Cathy stays seated on the couch, her own mouth tight with worry.
“What?” I ask, because it isn’t that late, is it? The Knight Crew took my phone from the gatekeeper (so we discovered on our way out of the party), so I look toward the clock on the wall instead.
It’s after three in the morning.
Shit.
“Did you enjoy the party?” Jane asks carefully, looking at me like she has no idea who I am anymore. It’s the same way Luke looked at me earlier, like maybe there’s something seriously wrong with me that I didn’t notice until right this second. I pause in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, when I notice the ruined canvas sitting on the coffee table. Is that what this is about?
“Not really,” I say, stepping inside and pulling the door closed behind me. Despite everything, I’m still wearing my mask. I’m not sure why. Maybe because I don’t feel comfortable without it right now? Like the emotional mask I’m used to wearing is starting to fracture in places … “Why?”
“Honey, come sit down,” Cathy says, her green-gray eyes studying me with an even mixture of pity and parental frustration. I don’t like the way this is going. My gaze flicks back to Jane, clearly the more furious of the two.
“I don’t feel like sitting down,” I say, wishing I’d climbed in my window instead of coming through the front door. All I want right now is to be alone. “I’d rather just shower and go to bed, why?”
“Please sit down,” Cathy repeats, looking pleadingly in Jane’s direction. Cathy’s orange-red hair is braided, much like April’s, and splattered with paint. Her hands, too. Some of my earliest memories involve paint-covered arms enveloping me in lilac-scented hugs. Right now, however, the sight of Cathy wringing those colorful hands is filling me with dread.
“What is it?” I ask, my heart fluttering, my head spinning. I start to th
ink of worst-case scenarios, like something happening to one of my little sisters, or finding out one of my parents was diagnosed with something awful …
“Do you know a boy named Calix Knight?” Jane asks, clearly struggling to maintain her composure. The blood drains from my face, and I feel my hands curling into fists at my sides. Is this about the Aston Martin? It has to be, right? But how could he say anything, after what the Knight Crew did to Little Bee?
“He goes to Crescent Prep,” I say with a shrug, trying to feign nonchalance when all I feel is dread. “Why?”
The moms exchange a look before turning back to me. It’s the way Cathy reaches for her phone that first sets me off. Please no, I think, exhaling sharply. One of my worst fears after being found naked with Calix in the treehouse was that he—or one of his awful friends—would have a video of some kind. Like, if it was all a trick, then surely he’d want evidence of it to hold over my head? For an entire year now, I’ve had this gnawing feeling low in my belly, this sense of waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Are you two seeing each other?” Jane asks, and I shake my head. My tongue feels swollen and numb. I mean, so what if they saw the video, right? They’re both progressive, understanding parents, aren’t they? And it was just sex … Or maybe I’m overreacting and there’s no video at all? “From what Luke tells us, he bullies you. Why have you never mentioned it to me or Cathy?”
“When did you talk to Luke?” I ask, feeling my trepidation fade a little. The anger comes clawing back, raging through me like a monster on a rampage, like the mask on my face is a real thing, sweeping over and consuming me.
“We called you a few hours ago, but you didn’t answer,” Jane says, and I wonder how many times they called, and I didn’t notice, too intent on revenge against the Knight Crew. Because obviously they had to have talked to Luke before we dropped our phones at the gate. “So, we called Luke and talked to her about it. Apparently, she already knew.”
“Knew what?” I ask, looking to Cathy. Tears prick the edges of her eyes as she stands up from the couch.
“We’re not mad, honey,” she says, but Jane looks it. She looks furious. “But someone posted a video of you and that boy online …” My heart plummets to the floor and shatters, spattering the walls with metaphorical blood; my body begins to shake.
“Where? When?” I choke out, wishing I had my phone so I could look it up.
“We’ve been working to get the videos removed for hours,” Jane continues, “but it could be some time before they come down. Karma, is there something you want to tell us? Did that boy coerce you into sex? Did you give your consent?”
My head is spinning, and I have to put a hand up against the wall to steady myself.
“If he hurt you, baby …” Cathy starts, but I can’t breathe. Did Calix coerce me? Well, he lied to me, but that’s not a crime is it? It’s not against the law to be an asshole. And I wanted him. I wanted him so badly I couldn’t breathe. The way he cupped my face, put his fingers beneath my chin, looked into my eyes. The words he spoke were so raw and real, so impossible to fake, and yet …
“He didn’t hurt me,” I choke out, “not physically.” But into my heart, he stabbed a knife, twisted it, laughed as I bled. “It was consensual.”
Jane doesn’t look convinced. No, she looks about ready to storm over to the fancy dormitories that house every Crescent Prep student but me, and make some blood rain down from the sky. I should love her for that, for wanting to protect me. Instead, I just feel sick to my stomach.
“You don’t have to be afraid to talk to us,” Cathy says, moving around the coffee table to come toward me. But I don’t want to be touched right now. All I want is a hot a shower and to be left the fuck alone. Part of me wants to go online and search for the video; the rest of me knows what a terrible idea that’d be. How many people have seen it? Has it gone viral? Will this shit haunt me for the rest of my life?
“Can I go to my room, please?” I ask, but Jane frowns, not quite finished with our conversation.
“What happened, Karma? Why didn’t you come to us?” I give her a dark look that she returns. There’s a struggle in her face as she tries to figure out why I’d hop into bed with a bully. Whatever possessed you to do it? That’s what her face says. The answer though … I’m not sure I have that. I don’t know. I consider myself a strong person; I was raised to demand respect and give it when earned. Calix has never earned it.
“I don’t have to tell you every little thing I do,” I say, moving over to the table and snatching up the destroyed canvas. The words are an echo of what I told the Knight Crew earlier.
“What happened with your art, Karma?” Cathy asks, studying me as I clutch the painting to my chest. “You’ve been working on it for months.”
“Sometimes things just don’t fit anymore,” I snap, feeling frustrated, overwhelmed, trapped. And I’m going to kill Luke. She talked to my parents and didn’t bother to tell me? Betrayal sits like lead in my stomach, making me queasy. “It’s my art; I can do whatever I want with it.”
“Karma?” It’s Emma, standing in the hallway in colorful Pusheen pajamas, decorated with plump little gray cats. “Do you want to see our mural?” she asks, rubbing at her eyes, obviously missing the entire point of this conversation. Katie stands just behind her in Star Wars pj’s.
“No.” I bite the word out, too harsh, too violent. “I don’t.”
I storm past them, ignoring Jane’s shouts for me to stop, and lock myself in my room. My phone is gone, but I stick my headphones in anyway and use Bluetooth to connect them to my laptop, blasting my music and hating my life.
Even though I know I shouldn’t, I Google the video. It comes right up when I type in Crescent Prep, Calix Knight, and Karma Sartain. It’s everywhere, under my real name, plastered on every social media site there is and then some.
My stomach drops, and I choke on bile as I click the first link that pops up.
The video begins to play, and I’m horrified to see that it starts right at the beginning, with me crossing my arms and demanding to know what Calix wants, with the soft tenderness in his face. “You don’t understand … for years, I’ve been wanting to tell you how I feel. It’s just … the crew, and Raz, and Barron …”
I skip further along in the video, watching his cool, pale hands undress me with reverence, watching as our mouths clash in a swirl of heat and desperate, clawing need. It gets worse after that, image after image of him entering me, going down on me, coming in me … I scroll past to the comments, choking on the vile hatred in them, the dark vitriol, the judgment.
A message pops up from Luke on the side of my screen.
I just saw the video. Are you okay?
I stare at her message for a moment, quiet and still on the outside, an explosion taking place inside of me.
Am I okay?
Fuck no, I’m not okay.
You spoke to my parents and didn’t tell me. How could you?
She starts to type a response, deletes it, starts over again.
Fuck you. Don’t talk to me for a while. I hit send, slam the lid closed on my laptop, and crack the window. I hop down, the icy wind blowing against my face, making the tip of my nose hurt. I’m shaking now, and I have the desperate urge to just get out, to be anywhere but here. The thing is, how can I run from something on social media? Even if that video gets taken down—it’s pretty goddamn sexually explicit so I’m assuming it will—people will have downloaded it, screenshotted it, shared it. It’ll be everywhere, always.
Always.
Forever.
Heartbreak clogs up my throat as I turn and look into the eyes of the Horned God, his outline painted on the inside wall of our carport. Seated in a throne beside him is the goddess, his lover. In one of her hands, she holds a chalice, representing femininity, and in his, he holds a knife, representing masculinity. I bet he never hurt you like this, I think, knowing that my moms probably put the outline up for the girls to color in.
“Karma?” I turn to see my sisters looking out their window at me, staring at the damage I’ve just done to their art. Katie is already crying. Because of me. “Why did you do that?” Emma asks, looking at me like she doesn’t know who I am. Not the first time I’ve gotten that look today.
Without a word, I drop the spray paint to the ground and head for my mom’s car. She has a tendency to lock herself out of it, and it’s old enough that it doesn’t have a key fob or auto-unlock or anything like that, so she keeps a spare key under a small concrete statue of a goblin. I snag it and let myself into the shitty ’95 Taurus with too many miles, starting the engine and backing out of the driveway fast enough to wake the whole park.
I don’t care.
I just need to move.
I start driving, with no particular destination in mind, the windows rolled down, the breeze whipping my purple hair around my face. And still, still I wear the mask. Because if I had trouble taking it off before, I most definitely can’t bear to remove it now.
Even though I know I shouldn’t, I head back to the Devils’ Day Party, parking next to Calix’s dented Aston Martin, and marching through the woods to the bonfire.
Even though it’s now close to four in the morning, the party barely shows signs of slowing down. The whole clearing smells like weed and booze, sex and smoke. I storm right through it all and back to the train cars, looking for the Knight Crew.
When I find them, they’re all sprawled out across the seats in the rear passenger car. Raz has a girl on his lap while Barron sits in the corner, sucking on a bag of cough drops and sketching. Calix, meanwhile, holds a bottle in his hand and smirks while some girls dance naked around a much smaller fire just outside the door, wearing their masks and panties and nothing else.
Devils' Day Party: A High School Bully Romance Page 6