Page 84 of Anarchy at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 4)
Instead, it’s Hael who gets irrationally upset. Part of me feels it’s because he has abandonment issues, because his father chose dark instincts and murder over his son. But what the shit do I know? I’m just a no-nothing from Prescott High. Wearing that red-and-black gown the other night, sitting in the back of that limo, it was easy to forget. I feel huge on the inside, like a star that’s burning so hot it’s pulling planets into orbit.
Every teenager feels like that, Bernadette, I think to myself as Hael slams his palms on the cafeteria table and leans in to glare at Oscar.
“This is all you, man, I can smell it all over you.”
“How so?” Oscar asks, acting like when I arched my back, stretched my arms above my head, and yawned this morning, that I didn’t press my ass into him and fuck the first man I found. Wasn’t even sure who I was screwing at first, not until he curved long fingers around my throat and drove into me like I was the be-all, end-all of his existence. I never got the chance to ask him how we ended up in bed together in the first place, considering I was sleeping with Vic.
“You talked him into this nonsense,” Hael growls, standing up and shaking his head with a laugh. “Seriously, man. I get we have to play our hand carefully, but this is the coward’s way out of this.”
“You don’t actually think I’m going forward with the plan to give that genteel, little trollop my money?” Vic asks, but his voice is strange, too, a bit hollow. But then he glances back at me, his purple-dark hair slicked back, a single piece loose and falling across his forehead. If someone told me he was a ghost from the fifties, I might believe them. Well, except for the sleeves of tattoos that color his muscles. He looks sure of himself, as always.
“I’m not the one freaking out,” I say, which is totally a Bernie thing to say. My bloodied red hair hangs over my shoulders as I blink, nice and slow, holding Victor’s stare.
I never wanted to be anybody’s wife. I don’t even care about being Vic’s wife. It’s just a piece of a paper. It’s a contract to marital slavery, a pair of shackles sent by the patriarchy to choke and chain me. Yet now that the idea’s been brought up to dissolve it like it was nothing, I feel sick to my stomach.
“So, you go to dinner tonight and tell her yes? Then what?” Aaron asks, but I’m not listening to him. I’m focusing on my breathing like Callum taught me. My eyes slide to Oscar’s. He’s sitting on the tabletop, long legs folded at the knee, wearing a suit and tie and looking like the president of the country instead of a student at a shitty, no-nothing high school.
He knows I’m freaking out, does nothing. I’m not even sure where we’re at in our relationship. He said he’d give himself to me, but what does that mean? What do I have to do to crack this nut?
“Just for the record, I don’t like this plan,” Cal offers up, echoing Aaron’s words from the club as he sips a Pepsi and freely smokes a cigarette. The cops in here are not the normal school cops, but they’re here for a reason much more serious than smoking inside. They’re here for murder, for the murderers … for us. “Feels too much like pandering. It’ll mess with Havoc’s reputation.” Callum pauses and then turns his head slowly to look at me, blue eyes like swords, cutting right to my heart. “Besides, don’t you give a shit how you’re making Bernadette feel?”
“I know how Bernadette feels,” Victor says, slow and calm but laced with menace. He’s annoyed with Cal. He should be. Because I feel like Callum understands me in a way none of the other boys ever will. He and I have a connection that I can’t put to words. He just gets me. “Because I feel the same way. But it doesn’t matter. Those same sorts of feelings will get us killed if we let them. We agree to the annulment and move forward from there. Maybe I marry the girl, maybe I don’t. We’ll see.”
He stands up from the table as Aaron frowns and glances over at me, as if to ask if I’m okay. See, that’s what sets him apart from the other boys. He’s thought to ask me, even if it’s just with his eyes. But Cal already knows. Oscar either doesn’t care or cares so much that he has to sit there like a goddamn statue to keep from showing it. Hael is upset for me, and Victor … he’s right. He probably feels exactly like I feel, right down to the whole not going to say a damn thing part.
