Devils' Day Party: A High School Bully Romance

by C. M. Stunich

  The five-hundred and fifty-four-foot long bridge was built in 1947 and is the only remaining suspension bridge in the state that can still be driven across. It really does look like a San Francisco miniature, but miniature it is. There's only one lane that Calix doesn't seem to mind taking up, parking right in the middle of the bridge before climbing out. This early in the morning, in the off-season, we'll probably be okay.

  Table Rock Lake glimmers brilliantly in the early morning sunshine as Calix climbs over the railing and takes a seat on the edge of the bridge, legs dangling over the side. At least if he fell, he wouldn't have far to go. It'd be easy to jump down and then swim to shore.

  I decide to join him, sitting there in an old Falling in Reverse band shirt, streaked with paint, and paired with last year's Crescent Prep skirt. It, too, is spattered with paint in every color.

  “You look different,” Calix says with a long sigh, fingers curled around the wood planks of the bridge as he glances my direction. A flock of white cattle egrets alights on the lake, and I frown. They're technically an invasive species, a pest, but then, so is humanity, so who am I to judge? I'm sure the egrets do far less damage to the environment here than we do.

  “How so?” I ask, my pulse thundering in my head, so loud that the bird calls perfuming the air around us seem to blend into white noise. After everything I've discovered during this time loop, I thought I'd figured Calix out.

  He never liked me. He wasn't lying to his friends; he was lying to me.

  But … why would he have come to Diamond Point at seven-thirty in the morning if not to see me?

  “Never mind,” Calix says, turning back to the water and frowning with that gorgeous mouth of his. Does he even realize how pretty that mouth is? And how much prettier it'd be if he smiled? I yawn, and Calix flicks his dark eyes my way before turning back to the lake. “What are you doing up so late? Worrying about all the awful things I've decided to do to you, now that you fucked up my car.”

  “Not really. I actually haven't thought about you since I hit your car … yesterday.” I try the word out on my tongue and decide that I like it. I miss having todays and tomorrows and yesterdays and next weeks. “I spent the day with my dyke moms that you hate so much.”

  “I don't hate them,” Calix says with a sigh and a slight scowl, turning back to the lake. A fish jumps near the bridge, and I let out a small sound of surprise, putting a hand to my chest as my heart thunders. I've been awake too long. I could probably stay up later, if I overdosed on caffeine or something. Hell, Crescent Prep kids are really good at getting cocaine. If I wanted some, I bet Calix would know where to find it.

  “You don't? You shit talk them enough,” I say with a snort. Last night, the moms were content to leave their phones off for the whole of Devils' Day. After all, their kids were home and safe, so what could they possibly need them for? They haven't seen the video yet, but I'm assuming Calix has. “Anyway, I just took my phone out of airplane mode for the first time since last night. I saw Luke's text about Pearl, and then you showed up. What do you want, Calix?”

  He cringes slightly, and then curls his fingers in his dark hair, closing his eyes briefly against the shimmer of sunshine off the lake. I doubt that he's slept, so he's nursing a morning hangover paired with exhaustion. He looks like hell. And yet, I'm not sure if I've ever found him more handsome than I do in this moment.

  Stripped of his pomp and circumstance, there's that tired face I recognize from the gas station parking lot that fateful morning, the one that pissed me off so damn much. It's not fair for him to do that, to shed both his masks. When he looks like that, I start to question everything.

  “There's a video,” he says absently, looking back out at the lake. Eventually someone might come along and hit the Aston Martin in a much worse way than I did, but for now, everything is quiet. I pretend not to know how this conversation is going. “Of us,” Calix adds. “I don't know who took it, but it's everywhere online.”

  I'm pretty sure he expects something out of me, some iota of surprise. Instead, I just turn my face toward his and smile wryly.

  “Why am I not surprised about that?” I ask, trying to remember why I was so upset about it on day one. After living through seventeen time loops, I'd just be happy to see tomorrow, whatever it might bring.

  Calix narrows his eyes to slits, looking at me like he's certain this is a Devils' Day trick. There's a darkness in his expression that I'm not sure I've ever seen before. It's as if, even in the sun, with that black makeup running down his cheeks, hair mussed, mask lifted, he's still the dark king.

  “I knew it was you,” he whispers, and my eyes widen slightly. “You posted that shit. Why? Are you as much a stalker as Erina?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I ask, but Calix is already reaching over to grab my shoulder, his fingers gripping tightly, bruising me. “I didn't upload anything.”

  “If you wanted to talk to me, you might've just done it, instead of hitting my car … or ruining my life.” He pushes me off the bridge even as I protest, and then just sits there staring down at me like a goddamn devil as I rise to the surface, my teeth chattering as I swim to the shore. I'm certain—certain—that he's going to drive off and leave me here, but to my surprise, he stays.

  When I stomp up to the Aston Martin, dripping wet and shaking, Calix tosses me a towel, some oversized sweatpants, and a hoodie that smells like him—like some unsweet dark-blooming flower—and smirks at me. When he looks at me like that, it's really hard to hate him.

  “You didn't leave?” I ask, not sure why I'm questioning my good fortune, but doing it anyway. If I can get close enough, I'm going to slap his ass, too.

  “Why did you upload that video?” he asks, blinking too long lashes at me. Calix reaches up and takes the crown of thorns from his head, tossing it over the railing of the bridge and into the water. Somehow, that only makes him look even more regal, like he's beyond something as earthly as a crown.

  “Because, Calix,” I start, knowing he's never going to believe me now. Protest is futile. “I like you, and I just … wanted you to like me back.”

  He stares at me for a long moment and then scrubs both of his hands down his face.

  It's as if … Raz was jealous of Calix all this time. Barron was judging me. And Calix cared too much what other people thought.

  I drop my gaze to the wood beams beneath my feet, the lake sparkling beneath them, then glance back up to find Calix watching me.

  “I'm pretty sure Pearl is dead because of me,” Calix says, dropping his arms to his sides.

  “Why would you think that?” I ask, and he just smiles bemusedly.

  “I suppose it doesn't matter either way,” he scoffs, shaking his head like he's going to turn away from this entire conversation.

  “Maybe you think it matters?” I ask, taking another few steps closer. Calix ignores me and turns back to the Aston Martin, opening the driver's side door before glancing back at me.

  “If you don't want to be left behind, get in.” And then he slips inside and slams the door behind him, leaving me little choice but to scramble over to the passenger side. There's no doubt in my mind that he really would take off and leave me out here.

  Another yawn escapes me as I plop my wet ass onto the leather seat, hooking my seat belt as Calix curls his hands around the steering wheel and stares out the window at the trees surrounding the lake. It's funny to me, how his parents think sending him off to Crescent Prep with a three-hundred-thousand-dollar car is considered punishment. I've never seen any of my fellow students hurting for spending money either. Even Luke's parents send enough to keep her in fabric and paint for her projects plus plenty of cash to take us out to the diner twice a week.

  “Do you want to go eat breakfast somewhere?” I ask, shivering a bit in my wet clothes. Calix glances my way, but I'm already one step ahead of him. “Somewhere that nobody will recognize us. Mud Street Café in Eureka Springs is always a hit with my family.” />
  Calix turns back to the front, putting the car in first, and peeling out as he sends the Rapide flying down the bridge. A small shriek of surprise escapes me as he whips us around the corner.

  “This baby corners like it's on rails,” I choke out as I find myself plastered to the seat. Calix is going fast, way too fast really, but I roll my window down anyway, the wind whipping my purple hair into a wet tangle.

  “My mother loves that movie,” Calix says after a few minutes, slowing down a bit as we near Eureka Springs. The small-town cops around here are anti-Crescent Prep. They really don't like rich kids being thrown into their neck of the woods to cause trouble, and none of the parents of the students seem keen on paying off local law enforcement like they probably did back home. I figure it makes them feel like they're sending their kids off for some real punishment, but then, a speeding ticket has never broken any of their backs, now has it?

  “Pretty Woman?” I reply, surprised that Calix even got my reference. It's a little weird, thinking of Julia Roberts and her character's rich benefactor with his fancy car. Too close for comfort, although my body is most definitely not for sale.

  “That's the one.” We slow down even more as we come up behind a van with a New Hampshire license plate. Several cars are heading down the opposite side of the road, leaving us zero room to pass. “Have you ever sat down to watch it? Or just heard that line in passing?” Before I question myself, I slip my wet t-shirt over my head, followed by my wet bra.

  Calix says nothing, but his dark eyes do flick my way briefly, taking in the hard pink points of my nipples. He's seen all this before, so even though my cheeks are burning, and my body's flushing with heat, I pretend like his stare doesn't matter.

  It does.

  I'm such a fucking liar.

  I yank the baggy hoodie over my head, glancing down at the Burberry Preparatory Academy logo on the front—a pair of griffins holding a shield—and cock a brow. Calix never attended Burberry; the only high school he's ever attended is Crescent Prep. I know because he's been there since my first day, climbing out of a red sportscar and staring up at the Tudor-style building with a scowl before he dropped his gaze and found mine.

  We didn't hate each other then.

  Or … anything else for that matter.

  I'm not sure what, exactly, Calix did to get sent to Crescent, especially since he seems so fucking concerned with what everyone around him thinks—much to his own detriment. He's a cruel asshole, but he's also subtle. I'm surprised that he was ever caught playing his devil's tricks.

  “I've seen it. Poor girl fucks her way into a rich guy's heart. What's so interesting about that?”

  With a scoff of my own, I chuck my wet clothes into the back seat, and kick off my skirt … and my panties. “Jesus.” The word is barely there, more like a surprised exhale than anything else, but I hear it. My lips twist into a wry smile.

  The clock on the dashboard screen reads 9:17 am.

  I am officially living September 26th—the day after Devils' Day.

  My heart swells with excitement, even as I slip my red panties over my toes, my bare ass heated by the seat warmer. Don't get too excited, Karma. This might not be it. And why would you want it to be? Pearl is dead.

  I glance over at Calix and, after a moment of consideration, slip my panties over his head. Not enough to obscure his vision, but more like a racy red hairnet. He narrows his eyes, but he doesn't bother to remove them.

  “These better be clean,” he says, but he doesn't sound entirely convinced by his own statement.

  “They're not,” I retort defiantly, yanking the sweatpants up my bare legs. They smell like him, the sweatshirt and the pants. My cheeks heat even further as I settle back into the seat. “And also, screw you.”

  “Screw me?” he asks, driving a luxury car—that I ruined with my yellow hunk of junk—with panties over his perfect ebony hair. “Screw me, how? You uploaded a sex tape of us. The repercussions of that will follow us forever.”

  “Aww, you can't be president now? What a shame.” I make a moue of disappointment before rolling my eyes. “Also, if forty-five could grab women by the pussy and still be president, I'm sure you'll be just fine. I'll even vote for you, how does that sound?”

  Calix says nothing, but what he has done is rile up some of my long-buried fury toward him. It's mixing with a new and righteous anger as I realize that I have no clue what this man's true motivations are, what's actually real and what's bullshit.

  “If you really think I'd upload that, after everything, then you're an idiot, by the way.” His mouth tightens, and his fingers curl even more tightly around the steering wheel as we slow even further, entering the historic downtown area of Eureka Springs. Nobody will know us here, so Calix and I can eat together without him freaking the fuck out about his reputation.

  “If you didn't upload it, then why weren't you surprised? I thought you'd burst an artery.”

  “Well, maybe you don't know me too well then.” I cross my arms over my breasts in challenge, turning another glare his way. He shouldn't be so pretty, sitting there with wet panties on his tousled hair, his eye makeup dried in black lines down his face. But he is. It's effortless for him, to look like he owns the world. “I don't regret what we did that night, and neither should you. There are worse things in the world than some stupid video of us having consensual sex. Pearl is dead. She killed herself.”

  The car suddenly lurches forward as Calix whips the wheel to the side, taking us over the curb and throwing the Aston Martin into a parking space ahead of a car that had been waiting patiently for the previous occupant to pull out. They lay on the horn, but Calix pays them no mind, turning the engine off and then taking the panties off his head. He looks right at me as he sticks them in the pocket of the white velvet doublet he's wearing, unbuttoned and showing off his smooth chest and abs.

  “Did the Knight Crew have anything to do with her death?” I ask, trying to keep my voice soft. The way Calix scowls at me, I know I've pressed some serious buttons.

  “Stop calling my friends the Knight Crew. It's fucking stupid. They aren't my crew; we just like to hang out together.” He opens the door, and I search around for my shoes, realizing that I wasn't wearing any when I climbed in with him. Crap.

  I watch out the window as Calix takes off around the corner, to where the entrance to the café lies. As I sit there trying to figure out what to do—there's no way the café is letting me in without shoes—Calix comes back and yanks my door open. He thrusts a pair of flip-flops in at me, and then leans down, his forearm resting on the roof of the car.

  “Only in shitty teen novels does any group of friends have a name. You don't want to know some of the names Raz has for you and your shitty friends.” He steps back as I pull the plastic tag off the shoes, and slip them on my feet. Oddly enough, they fit. They're only half a size too big.

  I stand up, but Calix doesn't move back like I thought he would. Instead, we end up pressed fairly close together, with him staring down at me, crow-black eyes unreadable.

  “Hey asshole!” a male voice shouts, and I jump, terrified that one of the Knight Crew has found us, that our moment together is over before it even begins. Adrenaline floods me, and I decide that I might just kick the shit out of whoever it is. Why not? Today is the start of my new forever.

  Instead, we both glance over and find the couple that was in the car Calix just screwed out of a space.

  “You nearly crashed into us,” a woman adds as the pair of tourists storm up to us. It's a little late in the season, but we're never entirely without over here. How do I know they're tourists? Because they're wearing matching olive green tees with the shape of Arizona on them. Arizona Homegrown the words underneath the design read. “That was our space.”

  “I'm calling you into the police station,” the man snarls, his nostrils flared, face red with frustration. Rightfully so. Calix barreled right over the curb and snatched that space. The fact that he's driving a car w
orth more than most people's houses probably doesn't help either.

  “Why don't I give you some money to fuck off?” Calix says, completely deadpan, his eyes flicking to the woman as she gives his outfit a strange once-over. It's not often you see a hot dude dressed in a white doublet and leather pants with boots, black makeup streaked down his cheeks. As tourists, they'd likely be unaware of the existence of Devils' Day. “Would five hundred bucks help?”

  “Five hundred bucks?” the guy asks, glancing over at his female companion. Her eyes widen slightly, as if to say take the fucking money. I quiver slightly, gritting my teeth as I watch the situation play out. How can their dignity be worth any amount of money? Yet … I know what it's like to struggle. Maybe they really need the cash? “I want eight hundred.”

  “Fine. A thousand. Take it.” Calix throws a wad of cash on the ground, and the man and his wife scramble to collect it before the wind carries it away. Calix doesn't even bother to wait around to see if they manage to get it, grabbing my hand and dragging me away from the scene. My hand burns where he touches me, even as my heart simmers with anger.

  “You can't just throw money at people and get away with being a jerk,” I snap, yanking my hand from his, just outside the front door to the café. It's getting later and later, and I'm exhausted. As soon as I eat, it's going to be game over. I can't fight sleep forever.

  “Can't I though?” Calix asks, looking back at me with one dark brow raised. “It's worked for me thus far. Maybe those people need money more than they need me to smile and pretend to be nice?”

  My mouth drops open as Calix continues past the front entrance of the café and toward a storefront with men's clothing in the window. I jog after him and grab his arm before he can step inside. We both pause to look down at the spot where my fingers curl around the white sleeve of his doublet.

  “You don't need to buy new clothes right now,” I challenge, looking up into his ebon eyes.

  “I'm dressed like fucking Shakespeare,” he growls back at me, and one of my brows goes up. I redirect my gaze to his pants.