Page 21 of Devils' Day Party
With a scowl, Luke leads the way back to her car, this beautiful white vintage Cadillac. Her parents thought this was a punishment, buying her an old car like this. It’s worth maybe thirty thousand dollars at most, so to them, it’s basically garbage. But Luke’s the one that asked for it. For her, this is a dream car. It’s one of the things I’ve always liked about her, how she’s unapologetically Luke. I should say that, along with I’m sorry, but instead, I sit quietly in the backseat as she takes me home and drops me off just outside the entrance to Diamond Point.
I’ve barely hopped out before Luke is speeding off into the night, leaving me alone in the quiet darkness.
“Jesus.” I rub a hand over my face, suddenly so tired that I could collapse right here in the cold and sleep for a week. Something rustles in the bushes, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Could be a cougar or a bear … or worse—a person. I force myself to walk slowly but confidently back toward the front door of our pale pink house. The mural the girls started earlier is hard to see in the weak porch light, but when it’s done, I’m sure it’ll be visible to every single car that drives down this road. The Horned God, in a state where most people are likely to think it’s the devil. Fantastic. That should help with my popularity.
I let myself in and find both of my mothers waiting for me.
Mama Jane stands up right away, her long dark hair unbound, face twisted into a frown. Mama Cathy stays seated on the couch, her own mouth tight with worry.
“What?” I ask, because it isn’t that late, is it? The Knight Crew took my phone from the gatekeeper (so we discovered on our way out of the party), so I look toward the clock on the wall instead.
It’s after three in the morning.
Shit.
“Did you enjoy the party?” Jane asks carefully, looking at me like she has no idea who I am anymore. It’s the same way Luke looked at me earlier, like maybe there’s something seriously wrong with me that I didn’t notice until right this second. I pause in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, when I notice the ruined canvas sitting on the coffee table. Is that what this is about?
“Not really,” I say, stepping inside and pulling the door closed behind me. Despite everything, I’m still wearing my mask. I’m not sure why. Maybe because I don’t feel comfortable without it right now? Like the emotional mask I’m used to wearing is starting to fracture in places … “Why?”
“Honey, come sit down,” Cathy says, her green-gray eyes studying me with an even mixture of pity and parental frustration. I don’t like the way this is going. My gaze flicks back to Jane, clearly the more furious of the two.
“I don’t feel like sitting down,” I say, wishing I’d climbed in my window instead of coming through the front door. All I want right now is to be alone. “I’d rather just shower and go to bed, why?”
“Please sit down,” Cathy repeats, looking pleadingly in Jane’s direction. Cathy’s orange-red hair is braided, much like April’s, and splattered with paint. Her hands, too. Some of my earliest memories involve paint-covered arms enveloping me in lilac-scented hugs. Right now, however, the sight of Cathy wringing those colorful hands is filling me with dread.
“What is it?” I ask, my heart fluttering, my head spinning. I start to think of worst-case scenarios, like something happening to one of my little sisters, or finding out one of my parents was diagnosed with something awful …
“Do you know a boy named Calix Knight?” Jane asks, clearly struggling to maintain her composure. The blood drains from my face, and I feel my hands curling into fists at my sides. Is this about the Aston Martin? It has to be, right? But how could he say anything, after what the Knight Crew did to Little Bee?
“He goes to Crescent Prep,” I say with a shrug, trying to feign nonchalance when all I feel is dread. “Why?”
The moms exchange a look before turning back to me. It’s the way Cathy reaches for her phone that first sets me off. Please no, I think, exhaling sharply. One of my worst fears after being found naked with Calix in the treehouse was that he—or one of his awful friends—would have a video of some kind. Like, if it was all a trick, then surely he’d want evidence of it to hold over my head? For an entire year now, I’ve had this gnawing feeling low in my belly, this sense of waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Are you two seeing each other?” Jane asks, and I shake my head. My tongue feels swollen and numb. I mean, so what if they saw the video, right? They’re both progressive, understanding parents, aren’t they? And it was just sex … Or maybe I’m overreacting and there’s no video at all? “From what Luke tells us, he bullies you. Why have you never mentioned it to me or Cathy?”
