Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,120

finds me just before lunch, icing my ankle on the pool deck as I bark at some sixth graders to stop wrestling in the deep end.

“I think we should have tonight off,” he says, arms stiff at his sides.

I’m distracted, checking my phone yet again for a text from Liesel. I give him a quick, annoyed glare. “What are you on about?”

“Tonight,” he stresses. I don’t know Micha very well yet, but I can tell when he’s ramping up to a truly ambitious rant. His nostrils get all big, and he keeps swinging his floppy bangs to the side. “Tomorrow is the assembly, and the rest of my class gets to skip class to attend. If I were in a normal intro class, I would too. Therefore, I deserve to miss class tonight.” When I just stare at him, he narrows his eyes, flinging a hand out toward the pool. “Our performance reports were positive. We work hard to suck this badly at swimming! It’s just one class!” Quieter, pleading, “I really want to go to Avery Nolan’s Lakevale watch party with my sister.”

I check my phone again, putting it down. “Fine.”

“But!” He pauses, mouth clicking shut, eyes widening. “Wait, really?”

“I said fine!” I snap, grabbing my whistle. “Now fuck off.” The whistle shrieks when I turn to blow it, loud and sharp, at a sixth grader who won’t stop using the diving platform scaffolding as a monkey gym. “Cooper! Detention with Dewey! Hit the showers!”

Cooper’s jaw drops, but he slumps off.

Taking a deep breath, I turn back around and reach for my phone.

It’s gone.

I swing my neck around, searching the deck, but it’s nowhere. It was right fucking here! I shoot to my feet, eyes pinging around all the kids, knowing one of them took it. It takes too long for me to spot the black rectangle at the bottom of the pool.

“No no no,” I chant, not even thinking. I take my shoes off before jumping into the pool, but nothing else—shirt, sweatpants, all of it. When I break the surface, phone clutched in my hand, water is leaking out of the buttons and speaker. I give it a shake, but nothing happens when I press the power button. “You can’t be serious,” I bark at it, incredulous.

What the fuck is this day?

Now I don’t have a car, I don’t have a phone, my clothes are soaked, and I can’t get into my own goddamn apartment for something clean and dry to wear.

This is the mood I’m in at lunch when I trudge my way to the admin office, water squelching from my sweatpants with every step.

I tightly explain the situation to the receptionist, omitting exactly how the keys got lost.

“I’ll give Buster a call,” the receptionist says, giving me an understanding look. “Why don’t you check your inbox? A package came in today. Maybe it’ll lift your spirits!”

A package.

Huh.

Lifting the box in my hands, I don’t recognize the return address. I get tons of deliveries at Underworld, but those are all from business suppliers. I don’t remember ordering anything personal, not that I really could have.

“Looking for these, young man?” I turn to find Dewey behind me, lifting a pair of keys in his hand. He lifts an eyebrow. “Perhaps there’s a lesson to be learned about impulsive tantrums and—”

I snatch the keys from his hand and storm away, cutting him off.

The first thing I do when I get inside is make a beeline for the medicine cabinet, chugging down three hard gulps of chalky awfulness. The second thing I do is peel my wet clothes off, slapping them angrily onto the floor. I take a quick shower, just to wash the chlorine off me, and emerge feeling marginally better. Clean, dry clothes, Mylanta, and ten dollars for lunch will go a long way to resetting this shitty day.

Before leaving, I look at the package, holding back.

Using the key, I slice through the packing tape on the top, anticipating something good—or at the very least interesting. Maybe Liesel or someone shipped me something from home, like my laptop, or clothes, or I don’t know, a goddamn Escalade.

It’s none of those things.

I’m hit with an explosion of dust—glitter, I quickly realize—right in the face. For a long moment, I just stand there rigidly, hands held out at my sides, watching the glitter flutter off my eyelashes with every slow blink. I release a hard breath, which sends a cascade of sparkly sliver to the floor.

The floor, which is