“Do you hear something, Knight?” Vaughn turned to me, frowning. “I hear buzzing. Like a fly, or a cockroach.”
“A cockroach doesn’t buzz,” Lenny noted. “Learn your insects, Spencer. You’re about sixteen years behind on your material. Go on, Poppy. Get it over with so I can go back to my blissful existence sans this wanker.”
I pieced together the picture, looking between them.
Vaughn was obsessed with all things British. Spaced, Never Mind the Buzzcocks, and The Mighty Boosh. He listened solely to British music. The Smiths, Kinky Machine, the Stone Roses. Sure, his heritage was English, but Vaughn cared about his heritage like I cared about the welfare of the Hawaiian blob fish. Plus, Lenny had an Instagram. It could have been her account he’d been checking that time. She was a prodigy artist, specializing in insane shit. And he was…well, an insane shithead. Oh, and an artist, too.
Lenora was most famous in the hallways of All Saints High for getting on top of Christ the Redeemer to take a picture of the Rio view. Apparently, she’d also taken a thirty-year-old Brazilian model as a lover during her vacation this summer.
Vaughn and Lenora were a match made in hell, but they made sense.
“Just bloody do it.” Lenny poked Poppy’s ribs.
“Are you playing this Friday?” Poppy twiddled her thumbs, not even looking at me.
“Oh, Christ.” Lenny sighed, flinging her backpack on one of her shoulders and pinning me with a look.
“She wants to go out with you. Alone. On a real date. With flowers and a Kate Hudson film and possibly some heavy petting. Are you in or are you out?”
Good luck to Vaughn, because if there was one person to eat him alive, that would be this little ballbuster.
Last time Poppy asked me out, I’d dragged Hunter along, so she got the hint and brought Lenny, too. Lenny had nearly stabbed Hunter with a fork, and then Vaughn had given me the stink eye when he heard about the outing. He’d asked why I hadn’t asked him.
“When was the last time you went on a date?” I’d stared at him like he’d grown two spare heads and a pair of wings.
“Never.”
“That’s why.”
“I’d do it for you,” he’d deadpanned.
I’d called him on his bullshit then. Now I understood his sudden charitable offer.
“Yes,” Vaughn answered for me. “He’ll take her on a date. Now, can you remove yourself from our vicinity? I’m trying to eat here.”
He produced a seven-year-old granola bar from his pocket, which I knew he had absolutely no intention of eating. Vaughn didn’t eat. Publicly, I mean.
“Gladly,” Lenora said.
“Do you do anything gladly? You look like the miserable spawn of Marilyn Manson and a blowup doll.”
“Do you think blowup dolls can be impregnated, Vaughn? Shall I give you the talk about the birds and the bees?” Lenny squinted, before her phone chimed. She laughed. She actually laughed, as she shook her head. “Au revoir. And before you wonder, Vaughn—it doesn’t mean a fancy pastry.”
“My mom is French!” he yelled, finally snapping out of his usual ice-cold manner.
And just like that, Lenora and Vaughn disappeared in opposite directions, leaving me alone with Poppy.
“I do.” I smiled.
Her eyelashes fluttered. “A bit early for that, but what the hell, if the ring is nice, I’m game.”
I let out a laugh.
I’d cut off my balls and feed them to Luna’s seahorses before I marry into your sister’s family, dude.
“I do have a game on Friday,” I clarified. “The championship game, actually. But we can hang out after. Just the two of us.” I gave her a slow onceover, going for the kill with an I’ll-chew-your-panties-off smirk. “Especially if heavy petting is involved.”
“No promises.”
“Well, prepare to watch a shitty cop movie, then.”
She giggled. Her throat bobbed, and all I could think was, it’s just a throat. I didn’t want to kiss it. I didn’t want to trace it with my fingers. To strangle it. To cover every inch of it with my tongue and lips and teeth, like I’d imagined whenever I’d looked at Luna.
I reopened my locker and stared at the letter again, this time stuffing it into the back of my jeans. I needed something to hold onto.
A fresh hell to raise.
You want to be humored, Dixie? Joke’s on fucking you.
Winter break came blazing through my life, tearing hopes and plans in its wake.
Going back home felt like facing death row, with Knight representing a class of skilled snipers, all of them aiming their rifles at me.