Page 166 of Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 5)
She’s wearing a bright red dress, the color striking against her skin, but ominous, too. Like, who wears red satin to a graduation? Her dark hair is coiffed into a bun on the top of her hand, a few oil-dark strands framing her face on either side. Beside her, a man that can only be Maxwell Barrasso sits, legs crossed, hands resting on his knee. He’s got on a navy-blue suit that may or may not have pinstripes—I’m too far away to tell—that screams money and power. Add in the fancy watch, the large ring on his right hand, and the bespoke brogues on his feet and it isn’t difficult to imagine that he’s the head of a gang that makes Havoc look like small potatoes.
My gaze moves away from him, searching the crowd for more familiar faces. Hael’s mom is supposed to be here along with Cal’s grandma. The Peters—Oscar’s foster family—are also supposed to be in attendance, along with Alyssa, the little girl we saved. Nobody is here for Aaron, but it doesn’t matter because he has Kara and Ashley, me and Heather, and all the rest of the Havoc Boys.
As for myself … it’d be impossible to miss someone like Breonna Keating, the only person in that gala who isn’t wearing money like it’s going out of style. Instead, I spot her because she’s also the only figure there who’s wearing an old t-shirt under an unbuttoned suit jacket. Still, she looks professional and worldly and so much worthier of the space she takes up than anybody else in that crowd.
I’m surprised at myself for how happy I am to see that she’s actually come. I mean, when I texted her and asked, she enthusiastically agreed. I’m just so used to being disappointed by people—adults in particular—that I didn’t really let myself believe it.
With a smile fixed firmly in place, I turn back around just in time to catch the beginning of Heather and Kara’s play. It’s a short piece based on The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, complete with costumes and music. Kara and Heather are both stagehands, so they’re not actually in the performance which annoys the fuck out of me, but this school, like anywhere else, prioritizes people based on money and influence and power. Oil Tycoon Girl’s little sister is the lead, dressed in Dorothy’s gingham dress.
As their performance is coming to a close, Trinity Jade excuses herself and heads across the green, up the stairs, and into the bathroom. The boys watch her as she goes, and we exchange looks. As if a second performance is happening in the audience behind us, Ophelia also rises in a perfectly coordinated move to slip into the restroom.
“The fuck are they up to?” Vic wonders, and I can tell as his gaze scans the audience that he’s considering going up there to find out. Only, not two minutes later, Sara Young and John Constantine appear at the edge of the amphitheater, stealing two seats at the very end of the front row.
“This is certainly an unusual development,” Oscar murmurs, but then a few minutes later, Trinity and Ophelia emerge from the bathroom. Ophelia takes her seat while Trinity rejoins us; Heather and Kara file offstage with their class to sit in front of us.
Everything seems to be progressing as it should. We sit there for two more hours, watching each grade give their presentation before the intermission is called and guests file up the steps to a light catered lunch, sitting under awnings and reclining in metal bistro chairs.
Our girls remain in the uniformed anonymity of their respective classes as they head back to the Oak River cafeteria for food. As far as what we do, well, we sit and wait and theorize on what Ophelia and Trinity might be up to or why Sara and Constantine are walking around like they’re just another set of parents here to support their kid—or, really, most of the parents are here because they enjoy this delicate social dance of politicking and backstabbing and wealth flaunting.
Regardless, we finally get ourselves some plates and fan out in pairs to make our rounds. Cal and Hael visit their grandmother and mother respectively while Oscar and Aaron stop by the Peters’ table. Victor and I decide to visit Ms. Keating before we bother with Ophelia.
That bitch can wait.
“You came,” I say, sounding far more like a seventeen-year-old girl than I mean to.
Ms. Keating smiles, and I finally realize what her shirt says: Abolish the Electoral College. Aww, look, I’m not the only person who thinks politics aren’t just something to be left at the door when they involve human rights and dignities. Cute.
“I came,” she agrees, her hair twisted into small braids and decorated with tiny metal rings. “Bernadette, I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you here today. Didn’t I tell you that you’d make it?”
