by Rachel Jonas
“We’ll make it work,” she insists. “We can hit a few costume shops right when school lets out, and the party isn’t until late tomorrow, so it won’t mess up your work schedule.”
As soon as the words leave her mouth, Parker and crew slow-walk it past Lexi and me. I hadn’t even seen them come out to the courtyard, but here they are, staring down on us before exploding with laughter the second there’s a little distance between us.
I hate each and every one of those robots.
“Ignore them,” Lexi insists, clearly holding out hope she’ll convince me to go. “Just say you’ll come with me,” she begs.
I’m firm on my ‘no’ for about thirty seconds, and then give in.
“Fine.”
She squeals. “You won’t regret this.”
“Mm hm. I bet!”
Her response to the sarcasm is to give me the finger before she goes back to eating. Me? I’m filled with dread as I stare at the back of Parker’s head. West’s entire legion of demons will likely be there, but I kind of owe Lexi. She did help me steal all those pants.
Translation: I’m screwed and there’s no way out of it.
Glancing down at my phone, I hop to my feet. “Gotta run. Dr. Pryor wants to see me before fourth hour. I’ll see you in gym.”
Lexi nods. “For sure. And if your boyfriend comes looking for you, I’ll tell him where to find you,” she teases.
I roll my eyes playfully. “Yeah, okay. You do that.”
There are still a few minutes left of lunch as I approach Dr. Pryor’s door. She waves me inside and her expression’s blank, giving nothing away.
“Have a seat, Ms. Riley.”
I do as I’m told, nervously clasping my hands in my lap. She sifts through a stack of papers until finding what she needs. After scanning one sheet for a moment, she slides it across her desk.
“A permission slip,” she announces.
“For what?” I ask while looking over the paper, confused.
“You’ve been invited to join the football team on a little excursion.” She says that with a smile. One I don’t even come close to matching.
“I don’t understand.”
Pinching the bridge of her glasses, she removes them and looks me in the eyes.
“I’m sure you’re aware of our boys’ record this season,” she says. “So, it’s not unusual for the athletic department to plan ahead when the odds are high we’ll make it to regionals. We’ve already secured transportation and booked a block of rooms.”
During the brief pause that follows, I can’t help but wonder what this has to do with me and the permission slip in my hand.
“Listen, I’m going to level with you,” she continues with a sigh. “In a perfect world, I’d ask how you felt about this, ask if you were up to it, but … the school will need photos and you need to do everything you can to stand out in Journalism Club. So, that means this assignment is all yours.”
I say nothing, because nothing I say will change this decision she’s made. A decision that will stick me with West and his crew for an entire weekend.
“Figured I’d tell you sooner rather than later,” she adds, “so you can make the necessary arrangements.”
When she lowers her head, closing the discussion with that final statement, it’s like a nail hammered into my coffin. On my way out of her office, I reach for my phone to text Jules. If the boys make it to regionals, I’ll need her and Uncle Dusty to look after Scar sometime next month.
Here I am, backed into the corner again.
Nice.
West
“Your ma tells me you boys are undefeated. Keep that up and they’ll draft you straight to the NFL on graduation day.”
My grandfather—the legendary Boone Landry III himself—is the only one who’s drawn a smile out of me today.
“Thanks, Grandpa, but I’ll settle for making QB-1 at NCU. For now, anyway.”
“They’d be fools not to want you,” he insists, his thick, southern drawl ringing familiar in my ears.
Based on skill alone I’d agree with that. Only, there are other factors that could blow that chance out of the water and they’re never far from my thoughts.
“Guess we’ll see next year,” I say vaguely, making light of how much I have riding on going undefeated this season. Knowing that it still might not be enough if certain truths come to light.
“I also heard on the wind that you had an interesting game a few weeks ago. Something about some choice words painted on your uniform?”
Hearing him ask, I laugh a little as noise picks up in the locker room. “Yeah, ‘interesting’ is one way of putting it. And, technically, it was just one choice word.”
I envision Southside’s handiwork and then my thoughts immediately shift to the incident in the hallway during the dance. The one where I’m turned the fuck on, and Southside turns me the fuck down.
Damn tease.
Since then, I’ve maintained the distance between us, for obvious reasons. It’s been weeks since I, personally, brought any hell Southside’s way, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t enjoyed watching Parker and crew put her through the wringer. Once my head is clear, once the lines between us aren’t so blurred, I’ll be back on my game.
“All right, level with me,” Grandpa huffs. “Tell the old man what you did to piss off whoever this poor girl is.”
“Not sure what you mean,” I lie, smiling because there’s no way he believes that. “You know me. Mr. Innocent.”
“Mr. Full-of-shit is more like it,” he corrects, bringing another laugh out of me. “This girl clearly wanted to send you a message, and that little stunt has ‘woman scorned’ written all over it.”
I don’t answer right away and, in the silence, I fuckin’ hate who’s in my head again.
“It’s … a long story,” I sigh.
“Well, if I were you, I’d shorten it up. And quick. Preferably, before she ruins all your clothes.” He pauses to let out a gruff laugh. “Take it from me, women don’t forget a damn thing, so just apologize, admit you’re a dog, and do whatever it takes to clean things up between you.”
I take his words to heart, because he always shares little nuggets of wisdom, but in this situation, it’ll never apply. I’ll never apologize when an apology isn’t owed.
“I hear you,” is all I say back, but decide to move on to a new topic. “How are the boys? Still raising hell?”
The exhausted sigh that leaves his mouth sheds light on where this is headed.
“Let’s just say moving on to high school hasn’t changed your cousins in the least. In fact, I’m convinced the more hair they get on their nuts, the worse they behave!”
“They can’t be that bad,” I insist with a laugh.
“Hmph. The little shits have all of Dupont Bayou shuttering their windows just at the mention of their names. Hell, probably the entire Parish!” he adds.
I hold back from laughing again, hearing the stress in his voice.
“It ain’t really Beau and Keaton causing trouble, but those other three? Whoo-wee! Those hellraisers pull everyone right into the mud with ‘em. Every damn time,” he complains. “I cannot tell you how many good dreams I’ve been yanked out of by phone calls from angry fathers, informing me they found one of my foolish grandsons sneaking around with their teenage daughters in the middle of the night. At this rate, I’ll be a great-grandfather or bailing them out of jail before I can even get these bastards to college!”
The statement has me wondering how my own missteps would be judged if he ever caught wind of them.
“If you need me to fly down and put the fear of God in them, just say the word,” I offer, pushing my own internal B.S. aside.
“Might have to take you up on that. Just keep that slick-ass father of yours away from my property and I’ll be all right. I’ve had a bullet with that son of a bitch’s name on it since the day I handed your ma off at the altar.”
Note to self: Let Dad know Grandpa’s asking
him to stop in for a visit. Should go great.
Hearing my grandfather talk, you’d think he’s raising the boys all on his own, but he’s just always been involved with us—all his grandsons—which makes it seem that way. In truth, all five of the cousins he’s complaining about live with their parents. However, my grandfather being the man down in Saint Delphine Parish, everyone sees us as his boys. Not the sons of his five daughters.
The twins—River and Stoney—are notorious troublemakers, and Linden’s anger issues made it easy for him to fall right in step. Then, like Grandpa said, the other two just seem to get pulled into whatever trouble these three are involved in.
“I blame my daughters’ godawful choices in men,” he cuts in again. “Poor girls couldn’t spot a good one if he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. Not even my little Rosalie, God rest her soul.”
I couldn’t argue with him on that point.
“Anyway, enough about all this. The real reason I’m calling is to wish you a good game, but I’m sure you already knew that.”
I did. “Thanks, Grandpa. I’ll call you after we win.”
He laughs in my ear. “That’s what I like to hear. Now give the phone to one of your brothers, would ya?”
“Sure thing. One sec.”
Dane’s already reaching for my cell. As the patriarch on my mother’s side of the family, the man’s kept this same pre-game phone call routine since our dad put us on the pee-wee league as kids.
Lacing up my cleats, I get my head in the game, knowing Grandpa will be expecting that call from me in a couple hours. Only a few games left in the season, then I can breathe a little easier.
Dane wraps things up, then passes the phone to Sterling. By the time I get it back, it’s nearly game time.
“You got a text,” Sterling lets me know.
Clutching my helmet, I glance at the message.
‘Overheard Lexi and that bitch talking about plans to hit up Marcus’s party tomorrow,’ Parker wrote. ‘Mind if I get creative?’
She loves this more than she should, and that isn’t lost on me. Sometimes, I wonder if she sees it, the weird chemistry between Southside and me. It makes me question whether it’s the reason she volunteers for evil shit like this.
Probably.
I shoot her back a message then follow the rest of the team out onto the field.
‘Have fun. Just don’t almost kill her this time.’
@QweenPandora: Who’s ready for the annual Monster Bash? Time: 10:00 pm until the cops show up. Location: Nice try. You know I’ve been sworn to secrecy. Check back an hour before the soiree for an update. Until then, don your costumes, pile on a few layers of Mommy’s makeup, and meet me there! Can’t wait to count all the slutty devil costumes! Looking at you, Dance Squad.
Later, Peeps!
—P
Chapter 30
BLUE
Yep, she talked me into it. And here I am, in the middle of nowhere, walking uphill through the darkness to some centuries-old cemetery.
Condensed version: the whole thing is creepy AF.
“Dude, are you scared or something?” Lexi teases.
I peer up at her as we climb, seeing nothing but the moon’s reflection in her round, tinted glasses—the staple to her John Lennon costume.
“First of all, only a psychopath wouldn’t be scared,” I point out. “But there’s also the fact that I’m doing all this walking in go-go boots and a minidress. Because someone insisted that I come dressed as Yoko Ono tonight.”
Meanwhile, she’s sporting a white, bell-bottomed pantsuit with matching turtleneck sweater—looking very Lennon-esque. She sprung for wigs for us both, and I can’t remember a time I’ve ever been more uncomfortable in clothes.
“We lucked out with this weather, though, right?” she points out. “Otherwise, you’d be freezing your ass off.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that I’m trekking up a mountain in platforms.”
Laughing at my exaggeration, Lexi loops her arm through mine. “Come on, Yoko, I’ve got you,” she teases, helping me the rest of the way.
At the top of the hill, the scene has been set. As far as secret, teenage, Halloween parties go, it’s pretty decked out. Someone’s taken the time to set up and decorate snack tables, and a bunch of pumpkins have been carved with cartoon faces. Others are a bit more abstract. Like, the one of a penis, fully detailed with testicles.
Boys.
From what I can tell, there’s even designated security. Granted, those patrolling are merely underclassmen dressed in black t-shirts and jeans, but at least they’re keeping an eye on the food and drinks. I imagine this is the closest most of them will come to getting invited to a party like this any time soon. Basically, they’re likely elite hopefuls, vying for a spot within the ‘in crowd’.
Poor, disillusioned souls.
Dim lanterns hang on hooks near every other headstone. Most of the markers are aged and leaning to one side, which adds to the terrifying ambiance. Fake hands positioned on some of the graves give the appearance of the dead reaching out from the great beyond. It’s in poor taste, but creative, I guess.
Loud music blares from huge speakers at all four corners of the party space, and I refuse to scan for … him.
He’s definitely in my head, though.
Always.
“How’s your aim?”
I glance toward Lexi when she asks. “Fine, I guess. Why?”
Without further explanation, I’m dragged across the grass to a beer pong table. One with LED lights that blink to the bass pounding from the subwoofer beside it.
Lexi turns when I laugh. “It’s a little soon to start drinking, don’t you think?”
She pops a shoulder. “I figure, the sooner I get a little tipsy, the sooner I’ll forget I’m mostly partying with a bunch of losers. Then, from there, the possibilities are endless.” A huge grin brightens her face.
She steps up for a turn and I pat her on the back with a laugh. “This one’s all you, Mr. Lennon. Rock on.”
With another shrug of her shoulders, she takes a ball and it doesn’t take long for her to find a willing partner to take on the twosome across the table. After that, the next twenty minutes are a blur of flying ping pong balls and red cups going bottoms up. It becomes super clear super fast that this girl can drink most under the table. It’s Lexi’s turn and she sinks the ball into one of the other duo’s cups with ease, and those gathered around cheer her on.
“I’m gonna go grab a drink,” I lean in to tell her. “Be right back.”
She catches my wrist before I go. “Don’t take anything that isn’t sealed,” is her warning, although that’s not something I’d ever forget.
When I salute her and walk away, there’s more cheering at my back and I laugh. You’d never conclude she’s not the social type. Guess she was right. Get a few beers in her and she’s the life of the party.
One of the mini security guards eyes me as I snag a bottle of water from the cooler, and then stop to scoop some snack mix from the bowl into an orange sandwich bag. I shoot him a coy wave and keep it moving. The platform boots make walking over the uneven terrain a challenge, but I’m pretty sure no one sees the couple times I nearly face-plant into a head stone.
The music’s good and, so far, no one I hate has ventured too close to me. Parker and her girls are always lurking, but they’re mostly concerned with being seen in those red horns and the skimpy, red lingerie they’re passing off as costumes. I almost wish we weren’t experiencing a mild heatwave, so the sluts could freeze their nipples off right here in the cemetery.
Being so abundantly mature, I imagine it, their nipples slipping right out from underneath those see-through teddies and landing in the grass while each one screams in horror.
Who I haven’t seen, though, are the Golden boys. My first thought is that they’ve decided to skip the festivities this time, but no sooner than I think those words—
“Who the hell are you supposed
to be?” There’s a laugh in West’s deep voice when he startles me, and it grows watching my snack bag slip from my hand. I only got to eat a few pieces out of it, and now it’s in the freakin’ dirt.
When I turn, thinking I’ll only glare at him, I suddenly wish I’d kept my eyes straight ahead.
Bare chested and solid, he’s oiled all the way down to that damn V. He looks like some sort of strip-o-gram fantasy and the thought of it has me rolling my eyes at him. You don’t get to be a complete ass and sexy, too. Just isn’t right.
He’s dressed as Egyptian royalty—black and gold, striped headdress that rests on his shoulders and matches our school colors. Then, a black kilt-like thingy, trimmed in gold. On his feet, a pair of black and gold sneakers that don’t go with his digs, but somehow make him look even hotter. I’m willing to bet that what’s on his feet costs more than my house.
I peer out across the cemetery and spot Dane and Sterling already raising hell, both wearing the exact same getup.
Freakin’ hot douche bags. All three of them.
At Dane’s side, and dressed as Cleopatra, is Joss. Her braids are down tonight, and they look like part of the costume. She’s so pretty it hurts, and I always get the impression Dane thinks so, too. I also find myself hating Joss least of all, because she seems mostly neutral.
Not any help, but not so much part of the problem.
“You gonna answer me or just pretend I’m not standing here?” West perks up again.
He sounds less … venomous than usual. Almost happy.
Almost.
“Aren’t nightmares supposed to disappear if you ignore them?” I shoot back, sipping my water, because it’s all I have left.
In my peripheral, I see the gleam of white teeth when he smiles. “Come on. Don’t be like that.”
I scoff and roll my eyes, but don’t engage.
“How’s Scarlett?” he dares to ask next, and this time, his comment has earned him a hard glare from me.
“Don’t ask about her. Or anyone else in my family,” I clarify.
The sound of West’s quiet laughter grates my nerves, but I hide it.