Chapter 32
Skyla
Before I can blink, the most sacred night in a teen’s life is upon us—Friday night arrives like a freight train full of bad decisions.
Ellis’ mansion pulses with the kind of chaotic energy that only comes from giving a bunch of teenagers unlimited access to copious amounts of alcohol, music loud enough to burst an eardrum, and zero adult supervision.
The lights are dimmed to that perfect level where everyone looks more attractive than they actually are, and the air is thick with the familiar scent of skunky weed, boozy beer, and teenage hormones racing through the night faster than Chloe Bishop can sink her talons into Gage Oliver’s baseball bat.
Red Solo cups litter every surface like plastic confetti, and the bass from whatever angry rock song is blasting through the sound system vibrates through the floor and straight into my skull. Migraine incoming.
And have I mentioned that I shoved my feet into heels? It seemed like a good idea when I saw how cute they looked in my closet. I’ve always been a sucker for pink heels with blue jeans. And I have a feeling I’ll be a sucker for a good foot massage once the night is through, too.
All of West Paragon High and East Paragon High seem to be crammed into the Harrison mega mansion, creating a perfect storm of drama, bad decisions, and the kind of memories that people either cherish forever or spend years trying to forget.
“Skyla!” Michelle Miller waves me over from her position near one of the kegs, where she’s holding court with a group of guys who look as if they’d follow her off a cliff if she asked nicely, plus Drake and Ellis.
“Settle a debate. Drake here thinks you and Logan are in it to win it, but Ellis thinks you and Gage have better chemistry.”
“Not just better chemistry,” Ellis chimes in with that stoned philosopher grin of his.
“I’m talking about that raw, primal, can’t-keep-their-hands-off-each-other energy.
Like when you two are in the same room, the temperature goes up ten degrees, and everyone else becomes furniture.
Logan’s all brooding intensity, but Gage?
That boy looks at you like you’re oxygen and he’s been holding his breath his whole life. ”
A part of me wants to swat Ellis on the head with an entire sleeve of red Solo cups for even going there. The other part of me wants to weep.
“I think all three of them should just get together and call it a day,” Lexy chimes in from somewhere behind a cloud of suspicious smoke. “Why fight over her when they could just share? And if there’s room for one more, I won’t complain. It’s all very progressive, very modern.”
“Very weird,” Emily adds, cropping up with that dead Goth look in her eyes.
I’m about to respond with something appropriately sarcastic when Michelle steps in close, and I get the feeling she’s about to turn this into a full interrogation of my non-existent sex life.
“Seriously, though,” she says, boldly swirling her drink and sloshing some beer at her feet. “I need details. Are you actually dating both of them, or is this like some twisted way to see who wants you more?”
“It’s complicated,” I say, which is becoming my default response to everything lately. Because it’s true.
“Complicated how?” Lexy presses, clearly taking pleasure in my discomfort. “Like, are you taking turns? Scheduling? Do you flip a coin? Do they watch each other while you service them?”
“Seriously, Lexy?” I hiss with a threat laced in there somewhere.
“What? I’m genuinely curious about the logistics. It seems very, you know, time-consuming.”
Emily nods at the thought. “The scheduling alone would be a nightmare. When do you fit in homework?”
“Homework,” Michelle scoffs. “Who has time for homework when you’re living in a porn video?”
“Some of us still care about our grades,” I point out. I really did pay attention to my homework. Or at least as best as I could. Mostly.
“Please.” Lexy waves her hand. “Your grades are fine. You could probably skip half your classes and still graduate valedictorian.” She nods to the others. “She’s sleeping with Dudley.”
Michelle gasps as if she just found out I was running a brothel out of my locker.
Clearly, she’s the only one here who is scandalized by this news.
Actually, that whole brothel thing would scandalize her less.
Marshall and the appendage that lives in his pants are her chief concern. That, and keeping me away from it.
“That’s not the point,” I shoot back. Then shake my head. “I mean no, I’m not sleeping with anyone.” Yet.
“What is the point?” Michelle asks with a growl. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’ve got two gorgeous guys fighting over you, and you’re worried about algebra homework.”
“Dudley’s algebra homework,” Emily adds with a smirk. “Which adds another layer of complexity to this whole situation. Face it, you’re one hot teacher away from your own harem.”
“Don’t even go there,” I warn.
“Go where?” Michelle’s eyes light up with a newfound fury. “Tell it to me straight, Messenger. Is there something happening with you and Mr. Dudley?”
“Trust me, there’s nothing happening with Marshall and me.”
“Right,” Lexy says with a healthy dose of skepticism. “You just spend a lot of time after class talking about... math.”
“We do talk about math.” It’s usually laced with innuendo, but still.
“And you do seem to be the only one who feels comfortable calling him by his proper moniker.” Lex goes on.
“It’s his name,” I say with a weak defense.
Michelle gasps. “But even I don’t call him that. I still call him Mr. Dudley.”
“And I’m sure he appreciates it in a sick and twisted way,” I shoot back. “Look, you all have very active imaginations that happen to be stuck in the gutter.”
“Do we?” Lexy grins. “Because you’re blushing.”
“I’m not blushing. It’s hot in here.” The Harrisons clearly do not approve of turning the AC on. Even the ultra-wealthy have their limits.
“It is pretty warm,” Emily agrees with a snarl. “All these bodies packed together. It’s so very intimate, so very hot and bothered. Just like you and Dudley.”
“Can we please talk about something else?” I ask, blowing a stray curl out of my face while I try to ignore the boob sweat happening.
“Like what?” Michelle demands. “I want to get to the bottom of things. And this is way more interesting than anything else happening at this party.”
“Speak for yourself,” Lexy says, glancing around the room. “That’s because you’re obsessed with Dudley. There’s plenty of drama to go around tonight.”
“True.” Emily nods toward the table next to us, where our generous host is lying on his back and begging some chick from East for something.
“Ellis is currently trying to convince some poor sophomore to do shots off his crotch. She says she will, but she wants to light the liquor on fire first. This should end well.”
“Or in the ER,” I add. The burn unit specifically.
“And Drake’s been hitting on every girl here, including the ones with boyfriends,” Lexy adds.
“Freaking Drake,” I mutter. “And that will probably end in the ER, too—and maybe the burn unit.” The old version of Brielle would have been the one to land him there to begin with. And light the fire.
“But none of that compares to your situation, sweet, dumb Skyla,” Lexy insists. At least she called me sweet. “You’re like our own personal reality show.”
“Lucky me.”
“Please just give us something,” Michelle practically begs. “Which one is the better kisser? Logan or Gage?”
“I’m not answering that.”
“That means they’re both decent,” Emily translates.
“It means I’m not discussing my personal life with you nitwits.”
“Oh, come on, Messenger. We’re all friends here.” Michelle gives a sly wink, assuring me we’re anything but. “This is what we do. We gossip and overshare and make questionable decisions together.”
“Some of us make more questionable decisions than others,” Lexy points out while sizing up Michelle.
If only they knew how questionable my decision-making skills could be. And well, they’re bound to find out in just about any timeline.
“What’s that supposed to mean, Bakova?” Michelle takes umbrage with the fact her decision-making skills are under the white-hot spotlight—and her decision-making skills are definitely questionable at best. Some may even outpace mine when it comes to sanity and stupidity, and well, sluttiness, too.
“It means nothing,” Lexy says, feigning innocence. “Just that some people seem to attract complicated situations that may or may not involve hard-to-cure strains of STDs.”
Michelle gasps hard and swats her bestie. “You promised not to tell!”
Oh, good grief. I need to warn Marshall ASAP. For as many disease-riddled women he’s slept with, I know for a fact that heavenly host isn’t up for hosting any diseases himself.
And as much as I don’t like hearing about Michelle’s medical challenges, I don’t like the fact Lexy is mouthing off about them either.
I step between the two of them and glare at Lex.
“And some people seem to enjoy creating misery,” I seethe.
I know for a fact that Lexy Bakova remains a thorn in my side for many moons to come.
She’s the pesky equivalent of Chloe, only when it comes to Logan.
But, thankfully, she’s not nearly as demonic.
“Touché.” Em laughs up a riot. That’s the thing about Emily; she doesn’t take sides. She doesn’t mind slicing just about anyone to ribbons with her curt demeanor and blunt sarcasm. She’s always been my favorite bitch—Brielle withstanding, and well, Kate while she was still with us.
I glance past Lex and scan the crowd for a second, hoping that the Grim Reaper hasn’t shown up for his date with Kate a little early.