Page 111 of Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 5)
“How did you get into Oak Valley Prep?” she asks, like she’s fascinated by me at the same time she simultaneously wishes for me to be both good and also evil, just so she can be right and bust my ass. “Your grades at Prescott High were atrocious—although I have to say, that Ms. Keating only ever has wonderful things to say about you.”
“How is Ms. Keating by the way?” I ask, shifting slightly and catching a brief glance of my reflection in one of the large windows that looks out onto the oak-lined street. I don’t look like me right now, like Bernadette Savannah Blackbird. Shit, I could almost pass for one of those rich, spoiled assholes in my short, pleated skirt and jacket. “I can tell you matter-of-factly: the bald-headed, middle-aged dude that works as the VP for Oak Valley doesn’t have one-tenth of her charisma or her integrity.”
“Breonna Keating is doing just fine,” Sara says, still smiling at me as café patrons stream around us and Constantine orders an espresso at the counter. “Did you know that she risked her life to save some of your peers? Instead of locking herself in her office as per the school’s active shooter protocol, she braved the hallway, took a shot to the arm, and rounded up all the kids who were cutting class or smoking. She got them offsite and made the first call to the police.”
A soft laugh escapes my throat, and I shake my head. Fuck me. Breonna is one in a goddamn million, isn’t she?
“And also, nice change of subject, but I’d really love to know how you and your boys managed to take half of Oak Valley’s scholarship spots for displaced Prescott students. Oscar Montauk, I can see since he was on track to be the valedictorian.” Sara exhales and crosses her arms over her chest, mimicking my pose. “And Victor Channing, good grades, connections via his mother …” And here she trails off in just such a way that I know she’s no fan of Ophelia Mars. “But the rest of you? No offense, Bernie, but I know a trick when I see one.”
My turn to sigh. Also, to decide how much information to give her without falling into snitch territory. I decide that children being purchased by pedophiles supersedes the snitch rule entirely.
“I won’t go into details with you, but like, two of the schoolboard members have husbands who tried to buy kids to abuse. We found out about it and blackmailed them. Does that help your neat little world make a bit more sense?”
Sara just stares at me for so long that I wonder if I haven’t made a mistake, if she isn’t going to take this information and use it to finally nail our asses to the proverbial cross.
“I just want you to know that your mother has now been officially charged with your sister’s murder,” Sara says, her smile grim, her expression dark. She reaches out a hand and rests it comfortingly on my shoulder. When I don’t immediately throw her off, she gives a small squeeze. My pulse races, the sloshing of blood in my head so loud and so deafening that I almost miss the next thing that leaves Sara Young’s mouth. “And … I want to apologize to you.”
“Apologize?” I ask, that one word cutting through the pain and horror of her previous statement in a way that nothing else could. Constantine takes a seat at a table nearby, within earshot but far enough away that it feels like my conversation with Sara is private. “About what?”
“About … the plea deal,” she says, sighing and dropping her hand to her side. “About asking you to testify.” I’m still staring at her like she’s grown horns, but Sara’s smile never falters. She sweeps a loose piece of blond hair back from her forehead and takes a deep breath. “I’m sure you’ve heard by now about Ivy Hightower.”
Ivy.
Shit.
I’d almost forgotten about Ivy … almost. Then again, you never really do forget the sight of your boyfriend coming in the house after getting his ass kicked by the former chief of police turned local VGTF lackey and telling you about the dead girl on your other boyfriend’s front lawn.
“I’ve been a little busy today, to tell you the truth. First day at a new school and all that. Why?”
Sara sighs again and moves toward the counter, gesturing me to follow. I glance briefly over my shoulder to see all five letters of Havoc watching me intently. It’s comforting to know that in the event of a crisis, I’d have all of them at my back, ready to kill for me, ready to die for me.
I wonder if they know that I’d die for them, too?
“Can I buy you a coffee? A pastry?” Sara asks, waiting for me next to the register. I step up beside her and select a chocolate croissant from inside the glass display case, pointing it out to the salesgirl before informing her that I’d love a coffee—sans cat shit, thank you very much.
