Page 77 of Devils' Day Party
There's a queen-sized bed to the left, with a nightstand on either side. On the opposite side of the room is a kitchenette with golden oak cabinets circa 1995, and a countertop in a particularly … interesting shade of granite, a pale beige with orange and black streaks through it. The room reminds me of a motel room, save for the few pieces of furniture that Luke has put her personal touch on. That, and the art on the walls. The rest of the stuff—issued by Crescent Prep—is shabby at worst, standard and unremarkable at best.
I'm the only student in the whole school who lives at home, further setting me apart as a target. I imagine a lot of the hate I receive has to do with jealousy. Raz himself admitted that was the case.
“If you call this messy, what did you think of my room?” I say with a cocked brow. I know that Luke regularly cleans April's apartment for her. It's pretty cute actually, the way she clucks around like a mother hen, albeit one with bright blue hair and an obsession with Japanese anime.
“Good point,” Luke says with a laugh, moving over to the small fridge and withdrawing several cold bottles of kombucha. I accept one gratefully. April, on the other hand, clamps a hand over her mouth.
“Please take that away from me; I feel like I might be sick.”
Luke backs away, holding her hands up and out in surrender, the bottle of kombucha clutched in one fist. She swirls in a spin of purple plaid skirts and shakes her head.
“No kombucha, got it. Is there anything you do want?”
“Celery with peanut butter and little raisins,” April groans, letting her head fall back in bliss, her glasses sliding up her nose, brunette braids hanging behind her. “Please. I'd do anything for it.”
“My moms used to call that snack 'ants on a log',” I say with a grin. “Like, the celery is the branch, the peanut butter makes it brown, and the raisins are the ants …”
“Don't say ants,” April chokes out, shaking her head. “I've got strange triggers right now. Everything makes me feel sick.”
“How's Thad doing?” I ask, realizing that I haven't been giving my girls much attention. What's the point of living in an endless cycle if I don't use at least some of it to catch up? Thad is April's boyfriend and baby daddy. They have that pure puppy love thing going for them. I'm not sure if it'll last, but for now, the only things keeping them apart are their parents. They're both head over heels for each other, and they both wanted to keep the baby.
“Thad,” April says with a girly little sigh. Both Luke and I exchange a glance, wrinkling up our faces in mock disgust. It's hard to ignore what I know about Sonja and Luke, but I can't spend an hour everyday convincing Luke that I’m living in a time loop, and therefore know about her and Sonja, even if the boys don't take me to the cabin in the morning. “He's living in Paris right now. His dad owns an artist cooperative where he steals paintings from the artists for like, pennies on the dollar, and resells them for millions to his rich buddies as a tax write-off …” April trails off, and shakes her head, caught up on a tangent. “Anyway, Thad is staying there. They gave him his own apartment. He actually said they've been spoiling him between attempts to convince him that we should give the baby up to them for adoption.”
“You're kidding me,” Luke says, horror tainting her voice as she does something on her phone. Peeking over at her screen, expecting to see Sonja's name in her texts, I find her doing an online grocery order for celery, peanut butter, and raisins, with a rush delivery to the dorms. My lips twitch into a smile as I look back at April. “Obviously you told them to go eat their own toenails, right?”
“Thad and I want to get married and have a family.” April shrugs her shoulders, rubbing her belly affectionately. “Maybe it doesn't make me a feminist, but that's what I want. To raise a bunch of kids with Thad in a cute pink house with a yard and a pet ferret. That's it.”
“Oddly specific,” I say with a soft smile and a laugh. “But that's what feminism is about: you make your own choices, whatever makes you happy. If it's a fucking ferret, it's a fucking ferret.”
“Oh, the ferret is the most important part. Maybe I could get a t-shirt that says Ferret-Loving Feminist Housewife? That'd work for me.”
“I will silkscreen you that shirt!” Luke says, finishing the order and then pointing at April in enthusiasm. “We'll all wear them when we go out for our weekly luncheons.”
