“Because they're fucking cowards is what,” Spencer snorts, swinging his gray shoes up onto the bench and leaning back like he owns the place. He sort of does, in a way. Nobody gets weed on campus without going through him. That's why I'm not overly concerned with the upcoming debates. The boys are going to kill it, I just know they are.
Then again, they don't know what's coming.
None of us do.
“Mm, no, I don't think that's it,” Church says, turning his attention back to us. “They're very clearly willing to attack in public places—like they did to Chuck in California. That, and they've obviously got an in with the police. So why? I've been asking myself that since we were at the onsen.”
“And did you come up with an answer?” Ranger asks, squeezing me close and putting his face up against the side of my neck in just such a way that my toes curl inside my shiny new shoes. Dad sent over several boxes of Mary Janes with Adamson Academy logos on the heel. I'm not a huge fan of them, but they look better with my new uniform than the brown loafers I had on before.
“I did,” Church says, flashing one of his high wattage smiles. “It's because at least one of them doesn't go to this school.”
My brows go up as I scoot my lunch tray closer to the edge of the table, so I can reach my lemonade. They make lovely strawberry lemonade here, with little umbrellas, glass straws, and bits of candied fruit on the side of the glass. I'm also aware that Ranger is most definitely not letting me off of his lap, so I better get used to sitting here while I eat.
“Meaning?” the twins ask in unison, picking up a banana each and peeling it. They both immediately go for blow job miming jokes and I roll my eyes.
“Meaning that I think we should check out Jeff Rabot, and the other holdouts in Nutmeg.” Church pauses as the doors to the cafeteria swing open and several girls walk in.
The entire cafeteria goes quiet as Aster clasps her hands together in front of her champagne and honey colored plaid skirt and smiles at everyone.
“Hello boys,” she says, beaming like crazy, her frizzy orange hair fluffed up around her face. “I hear today's the assembly where students announce they’re running for Student Council?”
“Oh, shit,” Spencer murmurs, paling a bit and reaching up with a single finger to loosen his tie.
Oh, shit. Oh, shit is right.
Because the only thing that could possibly convince the students to vote out their only party drug supplier … is a hot chick in a skirt.“They can't do this,” Spencer grumbles as we move through the dark shadows of the woods together. It's late, not obscenely late, but late enough that we're most definitely going to be missed during the nightly room checks. Nathan's going to be pissed. Micah suggested we bribe him, but Church just shook his head and the case was closed.
I feel like he knows something.
I feel like he's always known something.
Zipping up my sparkly hoodie with the rainbow on it (a gift from Ranger), I turn back to the trail we're following—one of Spence's secret trails, courtesy of his brother Jack—that lets out on the road that curves down the mountain, away from Adamson and toward the tiny little nothing town of Nutmeg, Connecticut.
“They can, and they are,” Church muses, hands in his pockets, a black knit sweater on his lithe form, paired with jeans that probably cost more than my dad's wedding band—the one he's still wearing, by the way. Despite the divorce, despite the fact that Mom's dating Mr. Dave. “It's going to be tough, with the three girls running against us.”
“And they put Mark on the ballot? I mean, that's just fucking insane,” Spencer groans, picking up a stick and swinging it around like a sword. “Mark Grandam for secretary. The dude can't spell the word idiot to save his life. And then adding Gareth in as treasurer? What a joke. He can't even count the number of balls he doesn’t have.”
“Who's Gareth?” I ask, picking the long, reaching limb of a blackberry tendril off my black skinny jeans and then shrieking as Ranger lifts me up and carries me admirably through a mud puddle, not giving a shit about soaking his black combat boots. He sets me down on the other side, but not before pausing to look into my eyes.
“Gag, much?” Spencer asks as a stray shaft of moonlight catches on his silver hair. But he doesn't sound that mad about it, not anymore. He really reined in the jealousy after our talk, and the effort isn't lost on me. “Gareth McConnell,” he continues, tossing his stick aside and then lighting up a cigarette before handing one over to Ranger. “Pretty sure he's related to Mark's girlfriend, What's-Her-Name.”
