Devils' Day Party: A High School Bully Romance

by C. M. Stunich

  “Thanks. Did you send it to me?” I ask, and now it's Barron's turn to laugh. The sound is nothing like Raz's crowing guffaws. Instead, it's slow and dark and dangerous. Barron rises to his feet, towering over me, several inches taller than any other member of the Knight Crew. He reaches out with his left hand, lifting the necklace off my chest and making me shiver. He fingers the butterfly for a moment and then snaps the chain off my neck. “What are you doing?” I whisper as Sonja and Raz laugh.

  “I'm taking back my gift,” he says, and my eyes widen. So Barron really did send the necklace? He cups it in his palm and then tucks it into the pocket of his Crescent Prep slacks, smiling at me in an empty, meaningless sort of way before walking off and leaving me gaping behind him. That’s Barron in a nutshell: gift something to me, and then take it back. Light and dark, just like his eyes. Just like his soul.

  “Ignore that asshole. He has impossible standards,” Raz says as I sit down on the bench, my heart beating frantically, trying to figure out why I'm so upset. Why would Barron send me a necklace at all? Most especially, why would he take it back?

  “Impossible standards for what?” Sonja asks, sliding off the tabletop to sit on the bench beside me, her hair as red as Raz's eyes. “It's not like he'd ever date Trailer Park over here. Fuck her, maybe, but that's about all she's good for.”

  “Says you,” I growl out, my face flaming, my fingers curled around the edge of the bench seat. People are staring at me, their faces covered in masks, some of them pretty, some grotesque. I prefer the latter ones. Pretty things lie. Pretty things glitter and sparkle and beckon. At least the ugly ones just portray on the outside what's already on the in. “But then, you don't know shit about me, do you?”

  “Oh, I know plenty, sweetie,” Sonja purrs, leaning over and pressing a red kiss to my cheek. I turn to look at her as Raz smirks, eyes flicking between the two of us in sadistic pleasure. “I know you like your clit licked counterclockwise, that you shed tears when you come, that you actually enjoy anal.”

  I turn to look at her, my chest heaving as I let my attention continue past Sonja to Calix. The only way she could know any of those things is if he told her.

  “You're a real piece of work, Calix Knight,” I snap, thinking of his hands on my hips. He was frenzied for me. Truly wild for me. But yesterday feels like a million miles away. If I'm the only one that can remember it, what's the point?

  “At least I don't pretend to be anything other than what I am,” he says, glancing over at me like I mean as little to him as the Knight Stars (Luke’s term for the minions) circling his orbit. The bell rings and Calix gives me an awful sort of smile. “Happy Devils' Day, Karma. Bon voyage.”

  My eyes widen as Raz and Sonja grab onto my arms from either side and drag me across the courtyard. Fuck! No matter how many times I change the course of the day, some things stay the same.

  The two of them carry me over to the cellar door as I struggle, my phone falling from my pocket and hitting the stone ground with an unpleasant cracking sound. Fucking great. Just great.

  During prohibition, the school staff actually made the students of the school cook up moonshine. The old, damp cellars are still there, locked unless they're being used for a history assignment.

  But of course, Calix has the key.

  Raz and Sonja carry me down the steps as I flail and kick, throwing me to the sandy ground the way Raz and Barron did on the first day of this never-ending nightmare. I gasp at the pain in my knees as I spin around, just in time to see Raz and Calix pushing the metal grate back over the hole in the ground.

  The latter crouches down to look at me as his horde of pretty goblins titter and float around him in glittering masks and cruel laughter.

  “You will never be a part of the Knight Crew, Karma. No matter what you do. No matter how hard you try. You are cut from a different cloth.” Calix slides my broken phone into his pocket as anger, hot and wild and untamed, sweeps over me.

  “Fuck you, Calix!” I scream as Sonja and Raz high five each other and take off for class. “Fuck all of you!” I put my hands over my face and sink back to the floor, sobs taking over me as I realize that I've ruined Pearl's day for nothing. That I shunned my own friends for a piece of the dark glittering fruit that the Knight Crew poisoned and held out to me like Snow White's apple.

  Putting my back against the wall, I close my eyes and brace myself for a long wait. I could scream, but nobody will hear me while class is in session. Instead, I try to fall asleep, figuring I could start the day over again.

  Unfortunately for me, sleep doesn't come easily. Instead, I end up thinking about Barron and the look on his face when he tore the necklace from my throat. What does he want from me? How dare he look at me like I'm the one that's done something wrong. He's been treating me like crap for years, and I'm supposed to feel bad because I'm not living up to his weird expectations? Screw that.

  I push myself up to my feet, exploring the two small rooms that branch off the narrow hallway. The walls are made of stacked limestone with alcoves along the bottom, just the right size to stack barrels of alcohol. Above those, old wooden shelves lie empty, stamped with barely visible scribbles from the bootleggers who used this place. Whiskey is written on one, Moonshine on another.

  I run my fingers over the old wood, exploring every possible means of escape before I settle on what I already knew: there is no getting out of here without help. Even though I know there's no point, I move up the stone steps and push against the metal grate.

  Using the bells between classes, I mark the hours until class is over, sitting on the top step and waiting until I hear the back doors of the school open up.

  “Hey!” I shout, waiting as the footsteps come closer. Raz appears, smirking at me through the slats in the grate. I frown at him as he unlocks it and shoves it aside, wearing only his white dress shirt, the sleeves pushed up, revealing strong arms corded with muscle. “I'm surprised you came to let me out,” I quip as I climb the steps and emerge squinting into the late afternoon sun.

  “None of the others wanted to let you out. You should thank me.” Raz leans in, much like he did this morning. I don't move away, and my defiance seems to amuse him. “Well, it's true. Let it be known that I appreciate ruthlessness.” He stands up straight, giving me some space. I can still smell him, this mix of laundry detergent, crisp pine, and zesty orange.

  “Just don't expect me to drop to my knees and suck you off as a sign of my gratitude.” I flip my hair and move around him, but Raz reaches out to snatch my wrist, grabbing too hard, holding too tight. I glance back at him, ready for a fight, but he's still smirking at me. We haven't transitioned into beating the fuck out of each other. Yet.

  “If it were up to Calix or Barron, you'd still be down in that hole. They wanted to leave you in there overnight.” Raz sounds like he's testing me, an action I don't fully understand. Looking at him now, with those red contacts over his blue eyes, his dirty blonde hair disheveled and sexy, his face painted with derisive antagonism … I decide to make him my first project.

  If I'm stuck on today, then I may as well use it to my advantage, learn what makes my enemies tick.

  “And that makes you a good guy? Because you let me out of the hole you trapped me in?” I clarify, turning back around. Raz doesn't drop my wrist, and I think about his face yesterday, when he caught me and Calix together. He was pissed. He was frustrated. He was hurt.

  But why?

  “Listen, Trailer Park. A deal's a deal. You told Pearl off, so you deserve something in return. Come with me to the party tonight. I'll make it worth your while.” He releases my wrist and tucks his fingers into the front pockets of his slacks, lifting his chin and smirking down at me like he owns the world. His father is a prominent senator, a deep red asshole with a family that favors nepotism over hard work. Raz might be the black sheep of the family, but he's set to inherit a billion-dollar company regardless. Maybe, in his eyes, he really does own the world? Or at least a substant
ial portion of it.

  “Yeah?” I ask as he pulls his red mask from his pocket and slips it on. “How so?”

  “You like weed and booze?” he replies, cocking a brow. “Because we've got top-shelf shit set up tonight. That, and a live band. How do you like the sound of that?”

  “Daddy sent you a little stipend to keep you happy out here in the middle of the woods?” I quip, and Raz's smirk turns into a grin.

  “You want to see what else he sent me? If you're lucky, maybe I'll let you drive it, too.”

  Raz takes me through the nearly empty halls of Crescent Prep, rolling his eyes dramatically as I stop at my locker for my bag, and then leads me down the front steps. There are only a few cars left in the parking lot, but it isn't hard to figure out which one must be his.

  A black convertible waits at the edge of the lot, a bow stuck to the hood that Raz tears off with little appreciation, tossing it aside with a bit of a scowl. There's something in his expression that says this gift from Daddy Dearest is a double-edged sword.

  Frankly, I'd rather have loving parents with no money than loaded parents with no love.

  I don't consider Raz to be a very lucky person in that moment. In fact, he looks as lonely as Calix did that first morning, when I drove by the gas station and noticed the empty, melancholic expression coloring his face, like a dark watercolor painting with bleeding ink.

  “I'm not much of a car person,” I begin, touching my palm to the white stripes on the hood. “Explain this to me.”

  Never one to miss a good quip, Raz lifts his head up to smirk at me, pulling a joint from his back pocket at the same time. He lights up, tainting the air with the bitter stink of weed before handing the joint over to me.

  “That's right. You act so high and mighty that I forget how fucking poor you are sometimes.” He smacks the side of the car like it's one of his groupie's asses and smirks at me, blowing out a cloud of smoke as he tosses me the keys. “This is a '65 Shelby Cobra. And it's worth more than you'll make in your entire life.”

  I purse my lips as I take a drag on the joint, closing my eyes as the THC sweeps over me. It happens quick, when you smoke, blurs the edges a little. I pass the joint back to Raz and open the driver's side door, climbing into the sumptuous leather seat and fastening my belt. Maybe I should be surprised that he's letting me drive it, but I'm not. The car—and me—mean so little to him that we're both fair game to be used for his amusement. He thinks it's funny, letting me drive. He might not think that if he knew I'd driven my parents’ Taurus off a cliff the other night.

  “A used car?” I ask, cocking a brow as Raz hops in and throws one leg over the door, letting it dangle outside of the car. I notice he doesn't bother with his seat belt, and I'm not his fucking mother, so I'm not about to ask him to put it on. “That doesn't seem like your thing, Raz. Tu n'aimes que les choses les plus raffinées de la vie.” You only like the finer things in life.

  “I have no idea what you just said, but this used car is worth a mill and a half. Start the fucking engine.” He takes two drags on the joint before offering it up to me again. I accept, puff twice and hand it back before checking my mask in the mirror. Once I'm sure it'll stay on, I put the key in the ignition, turn the engine with a sweet purr, and put us into drive.

  We crush the bright red ribbon on our way out of the parking lot, leaving it in the dust behind us, my purple hair whipping in the wind as I head down the winding dirt road toward Highway 62.

  When I get to the end of the road and start to turn right, toward the spot where the Devils' Day Party is being held, Raz reaches over and grabs the steering wheel.

  “Go left,” he says, joint hanging lazily out of his mouth. Since I've got nothing better to do than attend a party I've already been to twice now, I do as he says. We continue on, past the Diamond Point Mobile Home Park, and towards Eureka Springs.

  Raz doesn't elaborate on where we might be going, using his phone to connect to the fancy Bluetooth stereo system. The car might be from '65, but it's got a sound system that's more than current, almost futuristic.

  Feel Something, a collaboration song between three different bands—ILLENIUM, Excision, and I Prevail—starts playing. It's a slow song at first, amping up into a dubstep mix with some raucous screaming vocals. My brow goes up as the song continues playing. This is not what I expected from Raz. Usually, when I hear him and the Knight Crew blasting music, it's rap and hip-hop exclusively.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, but Raz just lifts a hand and gestures languidly, encouraging me to keep driving. When we approach the curve near Thorncrown Chapel, my heart jams in my throat, and my eyes go wide. This is where I died, I think, wondering if my actions that first night are what brought me to this point. That day was not a repeat. Not some cosmic joke. That was real.

  I died.

  I fucking died.

  If there'd been anywhere to pull over in that moment, I'd have done it. As things stood, I had to keep driving until we pulled into Eureka Springs proper.

  “Where are we going?” I ask again as Raz gets out another joint and lights up. He takes my cracked phone from his pocket too, wiggles it to get my attention, and then tosses it into a cup holder.

  “To get some guns,” he says, clenching the joint between his teeth. “We're going to shoot targets tonight at the party.”

  “That sounds like a really bad idea,” I respond with a roll of my eyes. “Besides, where are we going to get guns? Neither of us is a legal adult.” I don't remember dealing with guns at the previous Devils' Day Parties. I can only assume that some action I've taken today has spurred Raz onto a different timeline. “My head is fucking killing me. Why don't we get coffee or something instead?”

  “Coffee?” Raz scoffs, turning to look at me with those unnerving red eyes of his. “You want to get coffee with me?” He throws his head back against the seat and laughs, the bottom half of his face cruel enough that the devil mask looks like just another part of him. “What on earth would make you think I'd say yes to that? This isn't a date, Trailer Park. Take me to the Riverside Gun Shop. My dad has a friend who works there.”

  “I'm not your servant,” I snap back, feeling my face heat. There's something between me and Raz that I can't figure out. I've never had the luxury to examine what that is, this tense, achy hot feeling beneath our back-and-forth insults. May as well use the time I have to dig deep into the lives of the people around me. At the very least, if I ever get to see tomorrow, I'll have emotional ammo to use against the Knight Crew. “We're not going to the gun shop.”

  “Have you forgotten whose car you're driving? I'm taking you to the party tonight as my guest. Try to be grateful you're not spending the night in the school cellar.”

  Without warning, I turn the wheel sharply and send us flying down a narrow gravel road toward Black Bass Lake. One of my aunts—I have a lot of aunts, only one of which is actually related to me, while the rest are just good friends of my mothers—owns a house down here that she rents out on Airbnb. It's usually unoccupied at this time of year and stocked with plenty of coffee for future guests.

  “What the actual fuck?” Raz snaps as we hurdle down the road and turn right toward the open gate. Two other neighbors live down this way, and they usually don't bother closing the gate. We come to a screeching stop in front of the house—this adorable little two-story cottage full of old wood floors, quilts, and happy memories. I need this right now.

  I turn the engine off and snatch the keys away from Raz when he lunges for them.

  “Get your ass back here!” he shouts as I take off up the steps toward the front door. There's a keycode lock for the Airbnb guests and since I know the code, I'm inside in a matter of seconds. Part of me considers locking Raz out of the house, but that's something regular old Karma would do.

  Whoever it is that I am today is reckless. Uninhibited. Fuck it. Let him come in here and rage at me. He needs someone in his life to tell him no for once. Maybe it'll straighten him out a bit
?

  I shove the keys between the pages of the guest book as I pass by, heading into the kitchen to start up some coffee.

  We're about two hours away from the woods where the party's being held, so we're likely to be late, but screw it, it's Devils' Day. Nobody cares what time we show up.

  The screen door slams closed as Raz storms into the house, pausing briefly in the living room before moving into the kitchen to glare at me. He takes his lit joint and stabs it out on my aunt's rustic table, making my blood boil.

  My eyes snap up to his and fury takes over me.

  I know in my heart that I'm not getting away with my shitty take on today. I'm not waking up tomorrow. No, I'm going to open my eyes and find blood on my steering wheel. My Aunt Donna's table will be fine.

  But I don't care.

  Raz needs to learn that the world is not a playground for his arrogant ass.

  “Why would you do that?” I ask, gesturing at the table, surprised at how calm I am right now.

  “Where are my fucking keys, Trailer Park? We're going to the gun shop and then heading back to the party.” He takes a menacing step toward me, but I'm not afraid of him. Raz thinks he's some terrifying force to be reckoned with, but in reality, he's nothing but a spoiled rotten brat who needs a good spanking.

  “We? Why don't you just find the keys and leave me here?” I grind out, watching his feral face as he moves up to the peninsula and slams his palms on the epoxied brick surface. My brow goes up as he curls his lip into a sneer.

  “Because it's more fun with you around, Karma. What good are tricks with nobody to play them on? Get the keys. Now.”

  “Get fucked, Loveren,” I snap back, pushing the button to start the coffee maker. It gurgles to life as my eyes stay locked with Raz's in a life or death struggle. When he moves to come at me, he's almost too quick. I have barely enough time to grab the bag of coffee grounds and throw them in his face. Raz howls in pain, much the same way he did when I threw sand in his face that first day, and takes off after me as I snatch the keys and flee out the side door.