Devils' Day Party: A High School Bully Romance - C.M. Stunich Page 0,122

once, almost reluctantly. His gaze follows me as I head for the doors to the cooler and pull out an iced coffee, taking it to the counter before I realize I don't have any money. “I've got it,” he says before I even get a chance to ask, chucking some cash on the counter before following me outside.

Glancing quickly over at the car, I see that Barron's in the front seat, hood pulled up, his big body bent over the screen of his phone. While he's not looking, I take his sketchbook from the trash and flip it open.

My face stares back at me from light and shadow, from beautiful organic lines, heavy with all the sentiment and emotion that's missing from the rest of his work. He puts up a façade with his art, the same way as he does with his emotions. Only in here is he real.

“Jesus,” Raz says, staring at the notebook over my shoulder. “Stalker, much?” I tuck the sketchbook under my arm and head for Little Bee, pausing when Raz grabs onto my arm. “Where are you going?” he asks, and I smile, nodding my chin in the direction of the passenger side door.

“Climb in, and I'll show you,” I tell him, getting in the driver's side and waiting with heavy tension for Raz to join me. After a moment, he does, folding his long body into Little Bee and curling his lip at the torn gray seats and the stickers plastering the dashboard. Most of them are the antithesis of everything he believes in. Well, that his dad believes in anyway.

“This car is a shitbox,” he observes, leaning back in his seat as I put us in reverse and remove my bumper from Calix's car, the very same car I sat in just a few days ago, where I stripped naked as he clutched the steering wheel in white knuckled hands.

“Thanks for noticing,” I murmur, but I smile anyway, taking us straight to Crescent Prep, over winding roads with golden fall foliage on either side. We don't talk much. Mostly Raz just stares at me, like he's expecting me to pull a serious Devils' Day prank on him. “Do you know where Pearl usually goes during lunch?” I ask, wondering if I can't nail two birds with one stone today.

Save Pearl. And spend time with Raz.

“Pearl?” he asks, blinking through his sudden confusion. “Are you fucking kidding me? Fuck Pearl. She's the one who got me sent to Crescent Prep in the first place.” Raz's scowl is legendary. Actually, at this point, it's pretty obvious that he never really hated me. The way he looks now? That's true ire burning in his bloodred gaze.

“How?” I turn to glance at him briefly before flicking my attention back to the road. I've had enough trouble with cars during this stupid time loop. Cars, and death. Two constants. Now, if I could just get through today without anyone dying, I'd consider it a win.

“Does it matter? She's a nightmare, barely human.” Raz puts his foot up against the dash, resting his head in his hand as he looks over at me, calculating as always, sharp as he always is. “What do you give a crap about Pearl anyway? Doesn't she hate you, too?”

“She calls me Trailer Park,” I say, purposely vague as we head up the gravel driveway toward Crescent Preparatory Academy. “If that means she hates me, then I guess you're right.”

We park in one of the front spaces, and I decide I'll use this as a test for Raz. Will he help the Knight Crew smash up Little Bee and then drag her to the woods? Or is everything going to be different today? It almost seems too easy.

But maybe that's because when Calix and Barron pull up in the busted Aston Martin and climb out, I can see fury burning in both their gazes. Their masks are fixed firmly in place, and I can see what I should've already figured out: I've bought Raz's approval by trading for yet more animosity from Barron and Calix both.

Seeing that, after the incredible experiences I just had with both of them … that kills me.

“Don't think I'm going to forget what you've done to my car,” Calix sneers, giving Raz a withering look as he passes. His face is filled with shadows, his eyes burning with a dark fire beneath the black leather mask. Thinking of things from his perspective, standing outside the gas station lonely