Page 105 of Havoc at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 1)
“Hey, Mr. Peters!” Aaron calls out, smiling and waving to the old man across the street, his faux smile fading into a very real frown as soon as the neighbor grumbles something under his breath and disappears into his house. “Fucking nosy fossil,” Aaron murmurs, lighting up a cigarette. “What's going on anyway?”
“Brittany's pregnant,” I say again, like I'm trying to make myself get used to the idea. Why do I even care? Because the Havoc Boys were always supposed to be mine. The thought pops into my head, and I shiver. I hate it when my subconscious calls out the lies I tell myself. Fuck Havoc. I don't care about Havoc. I'm only here for revenge.
All lies.
They've always been lies.
“Pregnant?” Aaron chokes out with a groan. Oscar just narrows his gray eyes and taps the fingers of his left hand on the face of the watch he's wearing on his right. “Hael, man, come on.”
“It's not mine,” Hael repeats for the hundredth time. “If I thought it was, I'd …” He trails off and shrugs. “Jesus.”
“Jesus isn't responsible for sleeping with that brain-dead whore,” Oscar says, crossing his arms delicately over his chest. “That was all you. Now, what's our plan?”
“Why do you think Brittany's in love with Hael?” I ask Callum, and he shrugs again.
“She has been since the lake trip last year. It's all in her face. She cares too much what Hael thinks. It might not be his baby, but she wants it to be. Maybe even believes it.”
“What are you, a fucking mind reader?” Hael asks, scowling at his friend. “Where do you come up with this stuff?”
“So, if she's not in love with you, what's her motivation?” Callum retorts, giving a snippy little smile in response to Hael's glower. “Tell us, we're waiting.”
“I warned you not to fuck that girl,” Vic says, shaking his head like a disappointed father. He sighs like he's beyond exhausted. Maybe he is, considering how little sleep we got last night. “And now we have yet another problem on our very full plate. Let me think this over for tonight. Go home to Marie. She's threatened to report you as a runaway again if you don't show up tonight.”
“Fine,” Hael snaps, moving over to his Camaro and climbing inside. He slams the door and peels out of the driveway. Marie … I feel like I know that name. Pretty sure Marie is the name of Hael's mother. For as long as I've watched these boys across the playground, I've never been able to get close. They're all mysteries, even Aaron. Especially Aaron.
“Take my girl home, Aaron,” Vic says, casting one, last glance my way, like he's waiting for me to acknowledge the hot ache between my thighs, the finger-shaped bruises on my hips, and the bite marks on my neck.
Aaron grits his teeth; there’s no way he missed the word my in that request.
I say nothing, give Vic nothing. Eventually he turns away and heads inside.
And I … I get ready to return to the gates of hell.Neither my mother nor the Thing are home when Aaron drops Heather and me off at the house, so I make the best of it by getting my sister's lunch ready for tomorrow and laying out our outfits.
In the morning, I wake up early and bundle Heather into warm clothes. Fall is in full-swing, and the air is crisp, a layer of frost teasing the pumpkins on our neighbor's lawn. They do fun things like that, the people who rent the other half of this duplex. They go to the pumpkin patch and carve jack-o’-lanterns, rake up piles of leaves and dive into them. They make fall seem fun. For me, it's just another season I have to survive.
Prescott High is in usual form, a fight breaking out between Stacey Langford's girls and some of Billie and Kali's friends. Good. They've been walking around like they own the place. I feel like Stacey's being smart, throwing her towel in with the winning side. Havoc won't forget that.
During English, I listen to Mr. Darkwood drone on and on, my attention focused on the back of Kali's head as she plays with her phone under her desk. She wasn't involved in the fight this morning. Neither was Billie. Instead, they let their friends fight Stacey's girls for them. Pathetic.
I turn my attention back to the half-finished poem in front of me. It's a haiku this time, because Mr. Darkwood doesn't like originality or experimentation. He prefers neat, clean, and formulaic.She cannot have you
Not when I have yet to taste
Passion on your lipsStill no good. Lazy writing. I scribble it all out and start over.Bad girls like bad boys
Sometimes they even love them
Not understanding their truthUtter horseshit.
I turn the poem in anyway, dreading lunch as soon as I see the look on Hael's face in the hall. He's tight, angry, cagey. When he sits by us in the cafeteria, he may as well be in another universe. And Victor … Fuck. The way he looks at me makes it feel like my skin is splitting, like I'm crawling out of a cocoon with fragile, wet wings.
