Page 96 of Anarchy at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 4)
“Um, I’m the laundry lady, and I washed that shirt myself. It wasn’t blood, it was red wine. I’m the suspicious type, so I think he’s having an affair with someone other than the maid.” Pansexual Girl at least deigns to reply to me, the alcohol she’s been drinking slurring her words a bit. The girl’s friend smacks her shoulder and rolls her eyes.
“You’re not supposed to say I’m the suspicious type. You just act that way. It’s how the game works. You’re terrible at this, Amy.” Nose Job rolls her eyes, and I frown. This girl is trouble, clearly a friend of Trinity’s. She likes to brag, obviously, so she might be a good source of information.
I move away though before I decide to throw my drink in her face and then punch her in the gut.
I notice that James has left and is talking to another girl.
My eyes lift up and meet Vic’s, and my breath catches and holds in such a way that I feel like I’m being strangled. It’s not fair that he can do that to me with just a look. I sip my drink and pretend like I’m not miserable, all the way across the room from him. He’s turned you into a bitch, Bernadette, I warn myself, turning away and heading straight for James.
“The fuck?” I ask him, grabbing onto his shoulder to get his attention. He turns a dismissive look my way and shrugs one shoulder. “You give up that easily?”
“I’m not going to waste my time chasing around a bitch who doesn’t want to be caught,” James tells me, and then he smiles. His eyes remind me of a reptile’s. Not the color, but the way his Jurassic reptilian instincts control his every move. “And you can call me Jimmy.”
He turns back to the group in front of him as my fingers reach up to touch my waist, feeling the knife I hid under the loose fabric. Something about the movement draws Jimmy’s attention.
He stares at me, black hair slicked back in a way that tells me he’d literally kill to have some of Victor’s charisma. Just an ounce. A teaspoon.
“Aw, did I hurt your feelings?” Jimmy asks me. Maybe he thinks I’ve put my palm flat against my belly to control something other than blind rage. I already feel like a failure because of what happened with Kali. The first chance I get to right that wrong—even if it’s at the most inappropriate possible time—I’m going to do it. I’m going to kill someone without even meaning to. I’ll blink, and it’ll all be over, and someone like Trinity or James-Jimmy-whatever or Nose Job girl is going to be on the ground in front of me in a pool of blood.
“You have no idea what you’ve just done to me,” I say, moving back from the group while I try to catch my breath. Jimmy smirks at me, rubbing his hand over the lower half of his face. He thinks he’s turned me on by being a dick. While I can’t deny there’s a certain charm to it when Hael does it, or Vic, or Oscar … this guy is nothing to me. He barely registers.
“Oh yeah?” Jimmy asks as I turn, making sure to toss my blood-dipped hair as I do. I head straight for the French doors that open into the entryway. There’s a hallway on one side, with a bathroom and a single guest bedroom. That’s where the costumes must be, based on the people coming and going from down the hall with props in hand.
I decide to start there first, timing my steps so that I enter the room just as the last couple exits the hallway. There are costumes everywhere, all carefully labelled. I bet Trinity hired someone to set up this party for her. There’s no way in fuck she, like, found a game on the internet and printed the character cards. That’s far too rachet.
“I’m the master of the house,” Jimmy tells me, flashing his card as proof. “I hear we’re having a sordid affair.” He looks at me like he thinks he’s got me again.
“I shouldn’t even be talking to you,” I murmur, finding the maid costume. It’s in a package, clearly a Halloween costume, but much nicer than the ones at the Hellhole or Spirit Halloween. It would look good on me; Hael would love it.
“Oh baby,” Jimmy starts, stepping up on me like he thinks I’m examining the costume for his benefit. His hands slide up my waist, and I do what we like to call at Prescott High the poor girl turn. It’s called that because when some skeezy guy comes up to you, thinking you’re nothing but southside trash, and he puts his hands on you, you can spin around and carefully extract his unwanted grip at the same time. It seems flirtatious and fun, so it doesn’t trigger the worst guys right off the bat.
