“Bernadette knows what?” Sara asks, looking between the two of us with obvious confusion on her face. She isn’t wearing her uniform today. No, she’s trying to blend in and be the ‘cool’ chaperone in a short yellow dress and heels. To be fair, I doubt she’s all that much older than us anyway. Twenty-five, at most.
“That I’m pregnant with Neil Pence’s child,” Kali says, sniffling and dropping her head. She puts her hands over her face as Sara—predictably—reaches out to comfort her, taking the sobbing girl into her arms and rubbing her back. Sara’s face hardens into something terrible, and I just know what she’s thinking. She’s imagining that Neil raped Kali the way he did Penelope. In all reality, their wickedness was perfectly matched. Neil and Kali, likely soulmates. That is, if they have souls at all.
“You knew about this?” Sara asks softly, and even though she’s now fully aware of what, exactly, snitches get stitches means, I can tell I’ve lost some credibility.
“Look, officer,” I say, tucking my hands into the pockets of my pink lacy nightmare of a dress. It’s so short in the front that I’ll have to be careful if I sit down. Or don some rings so I can straddle a bitch and punch the fuck out of her. Likely, my panties might show in that case which is fine because I wore some good ones tonight, some white lacy ones that Hael bought for me.
Again, if Aaron hadn’t been missing, I might’ve appreciated finding a lingerie box on my bed that read From the H in Havoc on it. Gah. I need less time fighting monsters and more time figuring out boys.
I smile.
“Kali’s been screwing like, a hundred different guys. It’d be impossible for me to figure out who the father of her kid was without a DNA test,” I continue, keeping that pretty smile in place. The barb works and Kali’s head snaps up, her fangs bared, eight eyes glittering as she rears her arachnid-like body at me.
I am all about animal metaphors today, apparently.
“Like you can talk, letting five guys who hate you stick their dicks in your dry cunt,” she snarls, her words pitched intentionally loud for the room to hear. Things are quieting down around us as people start to eavesdrop. Good. I hope someone records this and puts it online. I’d gladly share every conversation I ever had with this girl with the entire world; I have nothing to hide. I did nothing wrong except maybe hesitate too long in clapping back.
“Oh, I can assure you that it’s never dry,” I purr, removing my hand from my pocket and running two fingers down between my breasts. Since I’m sure Sara is a bit of a prude, I keep my fingers at my belly button rather than going all the way for my clit. “And I wouldn’t need a DNA test anyway. We’re family. It’d just be a Havoc baby. You, on the other hand, don’t have any such arrangement. Does Mitch know about Neil, hmm? What about … Mack and David?”
As soon as those last two names leave my lips, I can see it register in her face: I’m right. She is meeting with Mack and David.
Also, she’s clearly furious about something else that must’ve happened before she got here tonight. Interestingly enough, I don’t think she’s all that butt-hurt over the guys Cal killed at the racetrack, the ones whose bodies we left behind.
Anxiety creeps up on me, despite knowing that the Charter Crew likely did away with their corpses. They can’t afford to be caught either. Still … I don’t like loose ends.
“Typical Prescott bullshit,” Stacey Langford says loudly, drawing the attention of the nearby crowd as she tips back a brown bottle labelled as root beer. It most certainly is not fucking root beer. Bet it’s not even beer. Vodka, probably. Or whiskey. We really like a cheap bottle of Everclear around here at Prescott High. Could be that. “Two girls trying to figure out who’s the bigger whore.” Stacey takes another swig, her blond hair crimped and hanging around her shoulders in thick waves. She’s got a mad nineties look going on tonight as she swipes her arm over her pale-pink painted lips, eyes locking on Kali. “But this isn’t even a competition: we all know what the answer is.”
Stacey cups her hands around her mouth and howls; the sound picks up across the room until nearly half the crowd is reverberating with the cries of Havoc.
Sara looks so confused. Some of the cops have their hands on their guns. I wish I could say they wouldn’t dare pull them in a room full of teens, but … eh. There’s private security here tonight, too. Always is, when this many Oak Valley assholes are in attendance. They won’t interfere unless one of their rich patrons is in trouble though.
