Page 88 of Anarchy at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 4)
“What does Oscar think about what?” the man in question asks, coming in the front door with Hael on his heels. I show him the invitation right away, and he plucks it from my fingers like they’re poisoned, like he’d rather not touch me. He sighs and hands it back as soon as he sees what it is. “We’re going.”
“This is fucking stupid,” I say, letting Hael take the invitation next. He looks at it for a moment and then cocks an eyebrow.
“A murder mystery party, huh?” he asks, shaking his head like he’s as perplexed as I am. “Fuck me, rich people are weird.”
“And you’re an idiot,” I tell Vic, pointing at him first and then Oscar next. “Both of you.”
But they’re not.
And if they want to go to this party, I have to go, too. Not just because I know how fucking smart and crafty they both are, but because we’re Havoc. Even if it were a mistake, we’d be making it together.Mr. Darkwood gives me an F on the poem because he found one of the notes I wrote him about the word ebon. He hates being wrong, so he punishes me with a terrible grade. I spend the rest of the class imagining what it would feel like to wrap my hands around his throat. Jesus Christ, what is wrong with people? Why can’t they just say sorry, I was wrong and move the fuck on. It doesn’t have to be a production either way.
After school, we get dressed for the party at Aaron’s house, and I decide to be a total asshole and wear a black hoodie dress that says Ouija across the front with a picture of a spirit board on the back. It’s got a planchet necklace that I always pair with it, one that I made with the piece that came from an old version of the game that I stole from the thrift store.
I’m sure it’s nothing like what anyone else might be wearing to the party.
“This is a party for teenagers?” I ask, because sometimes I forget that we are, in fact, all still teenagers. I mean, technically speaking. In actual years. In experience, I’m a crone. No, no, I’m a corpse buried in a shallow hole. I finger the planchet necklace as Oscar turns to look at me, gray eyes so empty I just know the look is intended to make me back off.
“It is,” he says, narrowing his eyes briefly for a moment. “I think it’s supposed to be Trinity’s birthday party.”
I curl my lip in disgust.
Trinity.
That’s the name of a book villain if I’ve ever heard one. Actually, if I read it in a book, I’d call bullshit and laugh. Instead, I get to deal with the nightmare of that girl in person, the girl who didn’t even scream when I slammed the heel of my hand into her nose and made her bleed.
“She doesn’t want a Ferrari cake and an episode of My Super Sweet Sixteen?” I ask, and Oscar almost smiles. I can tell because his poisonous line of a mouth, like the long blade of a rapier, twitches slightly. “How about her own private island and a gold tampon to shove up her designer cunt?”
“Bitter much?” Oscar asks me as I continue to play with the necklace. If Trinity were a villain in a book then I guess I’d be the motherfucking witch, the one who lights the planchet necklace around her throat up with power and summons demons from another world.
“Maybe,” I offer, not sure how far I should go with this man. This man who lost his virginity to me and left me to clean up bright, red period blood off the couch. This man who got a second chance from me, tied me up, fucked me in his bed and left me there. He’s running out of chances to prove himself to me before I just give up and beat the shit out of him. Or … try anyway. I thought before that I might win against Oscar. Now that I know him better, I’m not sure of anything. “Tell me: what does Ophelia have to gain from having her son marry this girl? Does she really think that if this happened, and they got divorced, that the girl would give her any of the money she may or may not win in court? Even then, I doubt Ophelia is going to leave Victor alone with half the fortune. They hate each other too much. One of them has to die.”
“You bring up valuable points,” Oscar tells me, adjusting his bloodred tie. It matches my hair tonight, but I can’t tell if that’s intentional or not. “Ones that we’ve already been over, many times. Do you think I haven’t thought of all of those things?”
