Page 80 of Mayhem At Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 3)
But, but, but … that being said, we do all look forward to that Friday before Christmas break. In fact, we’ve readjusted our traditions here at Prescott High so that ‘the winter formal’ is now known colloquially as ‘Snow Day’.
Here’s what happened: once, in the early nineties, this stuck-up dickface from Oak Valley Prep decided he wanted to get into a coveted Prescott party. Back then, Prescott students didn’t allow Fuller High or Oak Valley or anyone else to attend their parties. You’d have to be invited by someone who knew not only where the party was being held but also someone at the door, so you could get in.
Anyway, this too-rich-to-shit asswad bought a ton of cocaine, drove it out to the party in his sportscar and used that as a bribe to get himself and his dickhead friends in.
Ever since, we’ve been tolerant of other schools at our parties—provided they behave. Oh, and provided Oak Valley Prep ponies up and brings the goods to Snow Day. They donate a shitload of money, too, so that we can have our gym decked out with a DJ, catered food, and decorations.
The only thing that stays rachet are the Prescott students.
Freshman year, I wore an adorable pink dress that Penelope stole for me from Pamela’s closet. But junior year? I wore red leather pants, a black leather bra, and a black denim jacket with stilettos. Stacey Langford stole a four-hundred-dollar gown from Nordstrom, but her best friend got caught and lost her gear. She came in her PE clothes, hair and makeup done to the nines.
Where am I going with all of this?
Well, unlike last year, I have people I can actually dance with on Snow Day. In freshman year, I had Aaron, and not having him the two years in between … that killed me. Not having Penelope around … that wrecked me. She was just a year older than me, so at least this time, I can pretend like she graduated and that my senior year is everything it’s supposed to be …
I shake my head and rub my hands down my face.
I’m standing outside the hall to Studio C at the Southside Dreams Dance Company. Last time I was here, I was furious. I threw Oscar’s iPad at the wall, broke the mirror, nearly rage-screwed Callum Park … Okay, Bernie, focus, focus, focus. It’s only been four days since Vic gave us the go-ahead.
None of the other boys have touched me since Tuesday morning, but the tension is starting to get thick. I feel it every night when I crawl into Victor’s bed and let him mount me like an alpha in heat. Gah! I shove open the doors to the studio and find Callum stretching on the floor in the middle of the studio.
“You going to teach me to dance today?” I ask, heart thundering. Now that we know Sara Young is following me around, we have to be extremely careful with what we do. Having me come here to dance, now that’s a great way to throw her off our trail.
“More like … I’m going to show you how to find the dancer inside of you,” Callum murmurs, leaning over and folding his body in half. He presses his chest into his thighs, hands wrapped around his feet. Impressive. “Get changed and start the playlist on my phone.”
I nod, and head up to the front of the room to dig through his duffel bag. He’s packed me some pink leggings with a matching sports bra, and a loose black tank to go over the top of it. The ballet slippers with the ribbons are in there, too, just waiting to kiss my toes and carry me across the dance floor.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you all week,” I say, facing the mirror as I strip down, watching as Cal lifts his head up from his stretch so that he can watch me right back. We’ve been here, done this before, but now … things are different.
Now, he’s the only letter in that dark acronym I haven’t fucked.
Now, Victor’s given his blessing and there’s nothing shady or underhanded to this.
So why the hell do I feel so nervous? I guess getting harassed by cops at school could be part of it. Or it could be because Sara Young follows me every-fucking-where I go now. But … it’s none of those things, is it?
It’s because Cal and I both know we’re not just here to dance today. If we were, I wouldn’t be sweaty, and my hands wouldn’t shake as I yank the sports bra over my head and do my best to wrestle my breasts into it.
“This feels like a tourniquet for my tits,” I choke out, trying to lighten the mood. Callum chuckles, and the sound feels much closer than it should be. When I lift my head up suddenly to look in the mirror, I can see him standing right behind me. “Jesus, Cal, how the fuck do you do that?”
