by MV Ellis
“Gimme that.”
I take the blunt from her and hold it up to my lips, closing my eyes and forcing myself to calm down as I take a drag.
“Okay, now hold it in a little, before releasing it slowly” Geneva coaches as I try to work out what to do. “Okay, you are onto something here,” I giggle like a ridiculous child, because I can’t help myself.
My laughter is infectious, and soon Geneva joins right in. My eyes tear up and I clutch my aching stomach, fighting the urge to pee. I take a few more puffs, and before I know it, I’m giddy.
“I told you,” Geneva laughs. “Don’t you feel so much better?”
“Your sister must have access to the good kush,” I declare, my eyes still watering from the fits of laughter.
Geneva looms over me. Her ponytail inadvertently brushes up against my cheek.
“You’re so much more fun when you’re a little buzzed.”
“What are you trying to say?” I pretend to take offense. “Just because I’m nothing like the rest of you delinquents, doesn’t mean I’m not fun.” I’m only kidding with her, and smile so she’ll know it.
She tries to give me a little playful push, but she ends up losing her balance and falling off the windowsill.
“Oh my God, you’re a fool.”
I die laughing again as Geneva fumbles to grip my sheets and pull herself up off the floor.
“Shut up,” she laughs. “Lightweight.”
“Hey!” I toss my pillow at her again, but I miss her entirely, instead hitting the lamp on her nightstand. It topples over and onto the floor, but thankfully, doesn’t break.
“Nice aim,” Geneva cackles.
“I meant to do that,” I say.
“Maybe we should just keep you in here until your buzz wears off and you are safe to go out in society again,” Geneva taunts. “Especially as you seem to have a bad habit of “accidentally” wandering into Zeph’s lair when you’re straight, let alone now, while you’re enjoying your lightweight’s high.”
“Maybe.” I lie down on my bed and close my eyes, attempting to make the room stop spinning. Geneva’s right, I am a lightweight.
Chapter 23
We’re Coming For You
Zeph
* * *
It’s lunch time and I’m in the cafeteria between classes. I’m tossing an apple up and down in the air, catching it methodically before throwing it toward the ceiling again. On about the hundredth time, Lennon catches it midair and hurls it at my head.
“Watch it, asshole.” I spring from my seat and put him in a headlock, which causes him to knock over a chair as he attempts to wrangle himself free.
“That’s enough,” Mr. Smith, the Chemistry teacher warns in a stern voice as he walks by our table. “You’re not animals.” Little does he know that we really fucking are.
“Thanks a lot,” Lennon grumbles once the teacher is out of earshot again. He adjusts his shirt-collar as he slinks back into his seat, shooting me a scowl.
“I’m already on Smith’s shit list this week because of that explosion, remember?” How could I forget? The whole mess was funny as fuck.
“That was your own fault,” I remind him. “We all told you not to mix those chemicals together.”
“I couldn’t help it, I wanted to see what would happen.” Lennon shrugs.
“Well, now you know what happens. You ended up nearly blowing the place sky high, got a D on the paper, and the side eye from Smith every class since. Besides, you started it, by flinging my apple at me, dipshit. Next time, don’t let your hands write checks the rest of your body can’t cash.”
“It was getting on my nerves.” Lennon stabs a piece of meatloaf with his fork. “I fucking hate meatloaf, but I still want to eat it in peace without your apple falling on my head.”
“Why did you get it, then?” Jagger asks from across the table.
“I don’t know, I thought it was a better option than the salmon and horse pellets—” Aka brown rice. “At least the meatloaf comes with mashed potatoes. Of course half the skinny bitches here wouldn’t touch a simple carb if someone held a gun to their head, but that just means more for me.” He scoops up a forkful of potatoes and shovels it into his mouth, as though to make his point.
“Don’t eat too much. I have a whole bunch of edibles upstairs,” I remind him. “We’ll need them later when we’re bored out of our minds.”
The rest of the guys laugh. “You’ve got that right.”
“Yeah, but if you have a full stomach, you’ll white out.” Lennon nods absentmindedly.
I finish up my food a few minutes later and adjust the straps of my book bag. “I have to head to Spanish. I ditched it three times last week and I got a referral yesterday. If I miss it again, she’s going to flunk me for the trimester.”
“Who the hell are you, and what have you done with the real Zephyr Cross? Since when do you give a fuck about shit like that?” Thunder ridicules.
I jab my fist into his shoulder, and he grimaces, clutching the spot where I hit him.
“What the hell was that for, man?”
“Nothing’s changed. I still don’t give a flying fuck, but my dad called me and reamed me a new one, which ordinarily I wouldn’t bat an eyelid at, and it definitely wouldn’t persuade me to change my behavior. But he’s threatening homeschooling if I don’t ‘get my head straight, and go to my fucking classes.’ His words exactly.” I use air quotes.
“All those schools I’ve politely been asked not to return to, and he only wants to give a fuck about me staying at this one, because it’s the last chance saloon, and we all know that neither of my parents want me under their feet being homeschooled, even if they’re not the ones actually doing the teaching.
“My mom makes herself scarce if I’m around and can barely stand to be in the same country as me, let alone have me living under the same roof twenty-four seven. Not only that, but I’m pretty sure there’s only room for one asshole in that household, and Xavier Cross already has the role on lock. So yeah, for once, I kind of need to toe the line, at least for a few weeks, anyway.”
“Sucks to be you,” Thunder says, and slugs me in the shoulder as payback.
I’m just getting ready to stand up when I notice Blake walking down the center aisle of the cafeteria with her tray of food. Her head is down and her movements are stiff and seem self-conscious. She’s not looking at anyone, instead, keeping her eyeline fixed firmly on the floor.
Her hair is pulled back, but a few loose curls have rebelled, sprung free from the ponytail holder, and are twisted at her temples.
I try—and fail—to refrain from letting my gaze sweep her body. Jesus, her figure is banging.
I take a deep breath and look away, not wanting my friends to see the pull this girl has over me. They are talking among themselves, so I subtly let my line of vision stray back to her.
My eyes wander south again to her plaid uniform skirt. It’s the same skirt that all the other girls wear, but somehow it seems different on her. No, not just different, better. I particularly love the way her ass looks in it. Next, I stare at her thighs, firm and golden brown, sexily exposed and just waiting for me to run my fingers up and down them.
I wonder if she’s secretly a freak in the sheets. Not in the obvious way that Trinity and Divinity try to go to extremes just to spite their father, but more in the ‘I look and act uptight, but I’ve seen and done more than I like to let on’ kind of way. How she carried herself with me on Saturday would definitely suggest so. So fucking hot.
My stomach lurches as I watch her move, and I think back to our encounter in the hallway, which gets me instantly hard. I let my imagination run, and get the strongest urge to wrap my hands around her curves before reaching into her panties and sliding two fingers into her as she moans my name. I shift in my seat a little to adjust my pants around my throbbing boner. Jesus Christ, this chick is killing me.
Blake turns to leave the center row and heads to the left, but Trinity
, or is that Divinity?—I don’t know, and I don’t care—is there, walking in the same direction. The girls are on a collision course, and if they run into each other, it’s not going to be pretty.
The twins did their usual off-the-charts sugary-sweet welcome for Blake when she first arrived at school, but it didn’t last. As soon as they realized she was more like Geneva than them, and probably not about to sit around discussing eyelashes and boob jobs for hours, or follow them around like a lost puppy like the rest of the Hoes, they let their true colors shine bright. They unleashed their inner—and not-very-well hidden—bitches on her, stat, and it’s been claws at dawn between them all ever since.
This is going to be good, and I wish I had some popcorn to watch the whole hot mess unfold. Sure enough, as I predicted she would, Blake digs her own grave without even realizing it as she slams into Whicheverthefucktwin, who happens to have a fountain soda on her tray. The drink topples over on impact, and spills right over twinnie’s chest.
She’s wearing a black bra under the standard-issue white school uniform shirt, and I can see her perky nipples through the wet fabric, even from my ringside seat on the other side of the room. Now wearing most of her lunch, Heels Up turns as red as they soles of her fuck-me shoes, and screams at the top of her lungs in horror.
It’s the kind of sound a sane person would make if they were being stabbed to death in a back alley, and something similar to what I imagine an abattoir sounds like on slaughter day. The entire cafeteria goes silent. Not a single soul is talking, and the spotlight is on the spectacle unfolding.
The twin throws Blake an entire ocean of shade, a livid expression taking over her beautiful, but overly made-up features. Hell hath no fury like being on the Queen Hoe’s shit list. She’s literally the worst person that Blake could have barreled into, apart from the second twin, of course. Which has me wondering where the other one is. They’re never normally seen apart for so long.
Either way, Blake doesn’t stand a fucking chance against their vindictive wrath
“What... the... fuck?” The twin shouts, gasping between words, no doubt, due to the shock of the cold liquid on her skin. “Look what you did.”
“Oh my God… I’m sorry,” Blake offers up, looking and sounding genuinely apologetic.
“Why don’t you look where you’re fucking going, you idiot?” the twin wails, stomping her foot like the sullen, bratty child she is. That seems to be the secret juju call to summon the other twin, who magically appears apparently from nowhere, at her sister’s side like some kind of apparition.
“Oh my God, Trin, are you okay?” So, the wet twin is Trinity. Without even needing to be filled in on what has happened, Divinity immediately jumps to her sister’s rescue, taking the tray from her, and dabbing at her soggy shirt with a napkin before turning the force of her attention and anger on Blake. “Jesus, you’re such a fucking bitch.”
“For Christ’s sake. It was an accident. They happen. I said I’m sorry; what more do you want, my head on a fucking stick?” Blake goes from calm and apologetic to hella pissed in no time at all, and I can’t say I blame her. She’s right—the twins are overreacting.
I’ve seen the fiery streak in her in the way she deals with me, and I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t heat my blood and harden my dick. Turns out that contrary to popular belief, and even my own, I like girls who don’t just throw themselves at my cock, or hang on every word I say and do whatever I tell them to. Go figure.
Still, something about the way she carries herself has my dick standing at attention and raring to go every time I think of her. She just pushes my buttons, and makes me want to pound hers.
I start laughing. It’s funny, but not funny, and even as the laughter slips out of me, attracting every pair of eyes in the room, I feel a sliver of guilt, just a tiny sliver. It’s gone almost as quickly as it arrived, but it still takes me by surprise, and not in a good way.
Really the only other person I’ve ever felt any kind of guilt or remorse toward is Aster, the pain of which weighs so heavy on my heart that most days I can barely breathe as a result.
Thunder is sitting next to me and he starts laughing too. Blake looks at me with a wounded expression, but once the laughing starts, we can’t stop.
To be fair, I’m also laughing at Trinity. Apart from the fact that she looks like a drowned rat with her headlights on, it’s funny when she’s mad, because she always blows shit way out of proportion. Both twins are queens of dramatic exaggeration.
Under the definition of batshit cray-cray in the dictionary, there’s got to be a picture of them, looking psychotic over nothing, for sure. This whole incident is a classic example. Anyone with even a little common sense can see that it’s a literal accident. Blake’s biggest ‘crime’ is not looking where she’s going, which seems to be a regular occurrence with her.
I grab my book bag. “I’ll see you guys later.” Nodding to my friends, I stroll toward Blake and Trinity, who along, with Divinity, is still frantically attempting to dry her shirt.
Blake narrows her eyes and glares at me, as I approach, right before she kneels down on the floor to start picking up the food that has fallen from her tray. As she grabs at it, her hands are shaking—probably out of fury, more than anything—and she refuses to look up at me, even though it’s obvious she knows I’m here, hovering above her like a circling vulture, waiting to swoop on its prey.
I’m not surprised that she’s freezing me out—I’m sure I’m not her favorite person right now. Or ever. As much fun as I find the challenge that she represents, I doubt she feels the same way about our interactions. Not that I care.
I don’t help her pick up the food, instead, enjoying the vision of her on her knees, momentarily imagining her bowing in front of me for completely different reasons, just like she was in the hall outside The Abyss.
I feel the weight of eyes on my back, and when I glance at the guys, they’re eyeing me skeptically. I start laughing again. It’s not difficult, given that Trinity looks increasingly ridiculous. “She really screwed up your day, huh? Possibly even your entire life. Does this whole episode leave you wishing you were never born? I bet it does.” I address Trinity who is still seething.
“Go to hell, Zeph; this doesn’t concern you.”
Two computer sciences teachers approach us. “Alright everyone, let’s keep it civil here, and Trinity, watch your language—you wouldn’t want your father to hear about your liberal use of profanity, now, would you?”
“No more than you would want him to hear about your liberal use of the lab desks when we”—She points to Divinity—“caught the two of you”—She points to the other teacher—“in a compromising position in there last week.”
That can’t have happened, but it really doesn’t surprise me that she’s lying like that. The twins are master manipulators, and know just how to get what they want, or need, especially from their father.
“We have receipts.” Divinity joins in with her sister, brandishing her phone like it’s a lethal weapon. “And we’re not afraid to use them. The camera never lies, and neither do we. At least, that’s what Daddy Dearest thinks, anyway.” As her harsh cackle rings around the room, both teachers blanch, looking absolutely terrified before scuttling away without another word.
Oh shit, it is true. In that case, those teachers need to watch their backs, or they are history. However, with everyone in the lunchroom witnessing that exchange, it’s surely only a matter of time before the school’s administration gets to hear about their “little” indiscretion. It’s a ticking time bomb, and something tells me that they have pink slips in their not-too-distant future. Not that I give a fuck. I have my own shit to deal with.
Blake is still on the floor, scooping up the remains of her meal.
“Take it easy, ‘Budget Barbie,’” I say to her as I begin to walk away. “It’s a little dropped lunch, not the end of the fucking world. I don’t know how things go at your old school, but here we leave menial
shit like this to the custodians. Unless of course you enjoy being on all fours in front of me, in which case, please do carry on—don’t let me interrupt you.” Another ripple of laughter swirls through the room.
Blake doesn’t look up or show any sign of having heard me, except to mumble, “Fuck you,” under her breath, though loud enough for me not only to hear her, but also to register the pain in her voice.
“Oh, and Trin?”
“Yeah, Zeph.” The grossly sickly-sweet baby voice is accompanied by batting of the eyelashes, pushing up of the cleavage, and flicking of the hair. The whole spectacle makes me gag a little, especially as she’s acting as though she wasn’t just outright rude to me before. It’s a decision she’s more than likely already regretting, even before I’ve given her good reason to.
It’s weird. I used to be indifferent to the twins’ bullshit, and vaguely appreciative of the fact that it comes with two of the biggest freaks between the sheets that the halls of St. Joe’s have ever seen, who are willing, compliant, and not unpleasant to the eye.
But lately, everything about their baby-doll/psycho Barbie routine suddenly gets on my nerves. Right now it’s like nails on a chalkboard, and I don’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out what’s changed.
“Something’s my business if and when I say it is, so watch your motherfucking mouth in future.” The look of shock on her face is priceless. “And so we’re one hundred percent crystal clear, when it comes to Budget Barbie, here, it’s always my business, got it?”
Right as I’m about to leave the room, I turn back to look at Blake one more time, just to torture my already aching dick even more, and to my surprise, and instant rage, I see Tyce bending down to help her the way I held back from doing moments earlier. I’m starting to wonder if maybe he has suicidal tendencies, the fucking asshole.
Chapter 24
Blake