Page 111 of Anarchy at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 4)
“Yeah, sorry about that,” she hazards with a weak smile. It quickly fades into a frown as she turns around in the seat and curls her fingers around the graffiti-stained plastic. Some of the tables in here are wood, and the splinters are so bad that only the lowest rung of Prescott High society will sit there. All the junkies and the addicts, they crowd around the three wooden tables, exchanging bullshit and narcotics. Well, that’s what they normally do; the campus cop looks the other way for a cut of every sale.
But today, we have ‘real’ cops onsite, cops like Sara Young.
I underestimated her for sure. I did to her what everyone always does to me. I saw a cute, little blond with a soft face and doe eyes, coffee cups with inspirational sayings, and a few carefully selected items from Pottery Barn in her kitchen, and I made a snap judgment.
“It’s your deal,” Vic says, more to himself, I think, than to me or Stacey. He hates that I spent all weekend with Hael; I know he does. But he’ll be the very last person on this earth to admit it. Stubborn fuck. I feel suddenly hot and strip my hoodie off, chucking it onto the tabletop in a black wad. “You’re the one that called us; you have the right to cancel so long as you haven’t accepted our price. What do you want us to do, Langford?”
She nods and exhales, looking over at her usual table. Her girls are gathered there the way they always are. One of them is essentially fucking a guy at the table while the others watch her grind, nice and slow, her tight jeans turning her ass into an apple bottom. The guy can’t keep his hands off of her.
I look back at Stacey, sucking on my milk as I sit there in leather pants and a half-shirt made from my boyfriend’s old t-shirt. Which boyfriend, you might wonder, but the fact that I don’t even know makes it feel edgier, so I don’t bother to think about where the item might’ve come from or who it smells like. I found it in the clean laundry, so it’s mine now.
“Look,” Stacey begins, running a hand covered in rings over her face. They’re not for show, obviously. I mean, this is the girl we paid a menial amount of money to in exchange for a riot. Her girl gang flipped cop cars, set them on fire, looted the entirety of Springfield’s Main Street. I’m surprised nobody got shot. “I’ll never be able to pay the price you’d ask in exchange for what I need.” Her brows knit together as Callum scoots just a bit closer to us, Pepsi clutched in his blue-tipped fingers. The fact that he’s crouching on the tabletop doesn’t seem to bother Stacey in the least; I see at least two other students shudder at the sight of him. “Anyway, I think it might be a bit out of your league.”
“Out of our league how?” Oscar demands, immediately latching onto the situation. The iPad is in his hand as I stare at him and try to reconcile the familiar image of him, distant and unattainable, with the man that fucked me from behind while all of his friends watched. We stare at each other, and I suck harder on the straw.
“I’ve always been straight with you guys,” Stacey continues, and her voice is heavy and dark, the voice of every woman, one that we grow into whether we like it or not, at that point where we realize that life is decidedly less pleasant for our gender. I frown hard, because I really don’t like the direction this conversation is headed. “So, I’m going to do you a favor and give you a heads-up.”
“Heads-up?” Victor asks, narrowing his eyes. “The fuck are you going on about? You called us weeks ago.”
I glance over at Aaron, but he’s not looking at Stacey. Actually, he’s staring right at me with eyes that are more gold than green. He’s worried. And when he gets worried, he looks at me like I’m the only thing that matters. Pretty sure that’s one of the reasons he tried to get rid of me, to push me out of Prescott and into a different life. Kara and Ashley should matter more to him, but … we both know that our love is so selfish and so deep that we may very well choose each other if faced with an impossible choice. I’m not saying that’s okay, or that it’s not fucked-up, but it’s a definite possibility.
I refuse to even think about it.
Stacey sighs, pulling her phone from her pocket. It’s a rose gold iPhone, also stolen I’m sure. I mean, come on, this is Prescott motherfuckin’ High.
