Page 175 of Devils' Day Party
“We can't predict the future,” Luke says, blushing, but the way her eyes seek Sonja … It's fate, it seems, that my best friend and I would fall for another pair of besties. Pretty sure she didn't figure me falling for three assholes though.
Three jerks, all to myself.
“No, we can't,” I agree, thinking on my own experiences. “And every day, we make a dozen decisions that affect everyone around us. Today, I'm going to assume we're all moving to New Orleans to live happily ever after. That's good enough for me, that I'm happy right now, here, today.”
“Whoa, when did you get so profound?” Luke asks, but I just laugh.
“I'll explain it all later, I promise,” I say, fingering my butterfly necklace and closing my eyes for a brief moment. “Tomorrow, actually.”
Tomorrow.
What a novel fucking idea.
I actually have a tomorrow coming, and it's the best thing that's ever happened to me.
“Okay then, weirdo,” Luke snorts, ruffling up my hair as I open my eyes. “Whatever you say.”
Footsteps sound behind us, and I turn to see the Knight Crew waiting.
“Did you like my drawings?” Barron whispers, sliding the sketchbook from my hands. “I dream of you every night, and then I sketch what I see.”
“I love it,” I tell him truthfully as Raz approaches, hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks. He has idle hands, that boy.
“Love what?” he asks, blue eyes narrowing in on me.
“You,” I respond, looking right at him and then turning my attention to Calix as he moves over to us. “And you.” My gaze moves to Barron. “And you.”
“I don't know how to process that,” Calix tells me, but I notice he has to pause and swallow a few times before he can keep talking. “But this year, you can do what you want. We owe you that, at least.”
“After this year … come to New Orleans with us,” I say, gesturing back at my friends. “Don't think too hard about it. Just say yes. If you change your minds later, that's okay, but for now, just say yes.”
“I'm down for New Orleans,” Raz says, hands still tucked in his pockets. “Party central.”
“Vibrant art scene,” Barron adds, giving me a secret smile.
“And you,” Calix says, nodding and then taking off down the hallway.
I can't decide if he's saying and you as another bullet point on the list of why New Orleans would be an interesting place to live.
Or if he's telling me he loves me.
Either way, it doesn't matter.
Because he does.
And so does Raz. So does Barron.
I know because they told me.
I know because they showed me.
The bell rings, and I take a moment to reach up and fix my tie, straighten my blazer, and adjust a button on my shirt.
“Shall we?” Raz asks, holding out an elbow for me to take. “C'est l'heure d'aller à notre putain de cours de français à la con.” It's time to head to our stupid, fucking French class.
“I'm impressed,” I tell him, and he grins back at me, nice and sharp, as devilish today as he was on September 25th. Just as naughty. Just as full of tricks. “Let's go.”
We head down the hallway, April, Luke, Barron, and Sonja just behind us, Calix just in front.
To them, it's just another day.
For me, it's a tomorrow I never thought I'd see.
And I thank the universe with every single breath I take for giving it to me.
Each moment we have here on this earth is worth being thankful for because it's more than we're owed.
I wave goodbye to Calix and Barron, Luke and April, before Raz, Sonja, and I step into the classroom and into our own version of tomorrow.Two years later …The full moon casts a silver glow on the gravel as the boys and I move across the frozen ground together, heading for the stone steps that lead up to my aunt Donna's cottage.
“God, that was weird as fuck,” Raz snorts, lighting up a cigarette and pausing near the retaining wall as he inhales. “No wonder I've never done a ghost tour before.”
I push my mask up and off of my face, giving Raz a raised brow and a look.
“Theodore Rasmus Loveren,” I scold, and he shudders as Barron chuckles and Calix smirks, enjoying his discomfort. Just because they're no longer bullying me, that doesn't mean they're finished being bullies to each other. “Were you afraid?”
“Like hell I was,” he snorts as Barron pushes the hood of his red sweatshirt back. “I just don't believe in ghosts, so really, we just forked over cash for a boring-ass history lesson.” I grin, but Raz can complain as much as he wants; during our tour of the old morgue in the basement of the Crescent Hotel, he grabbed my hand and squeezed. The little pissant was scared, whether he wants to admit it or not.
