Devils' Day Party: A High School Bully Romance - C.M. Stunich Page 0,190

a smile of my own, our fingertips sparking as they brush, and I take the candy in my hand. “It is the Knight Crew, after all.”

“Right, and it was you who said naming your friend group is fucking weird. Don't act like a haughty king.” Raz kicks the back of Calix's seat and his eyes narrow as he sneers back at him in the rearview mirror.

“God, they're nasty, aren't they?” Barron asks, almost deadpan, but then he smiles and leans back, lifting his chin in a move just reeking of superiority. All three of them are dick-bags, but damn it if I don't like it. They're never going to be nice per se, but maybe they can be nice to me, and I can make an effort to not kick them in the balls and we'll live happily ever after.

“The college fair starts today,” I say, an almost sad smile blooming on my face. I didn't think I'd ever see this Monday, September 28th of my senior year. Even something as boring as a college fair seems exciting now. “Do you guys have any graduation plans?”

“Become Banksy,” Barron says, biting into a cupcake as he grins, and I blush back at him. We're into each other; he draws me too much; but we're new at this, and I'm still getting used to being casual with him.

“Real smart game plan,” Raz drawls sighing and shaking his head. “I have no idea. Whatever college my dad wants me to go to.”

“Pretty much,” Calix agrees, shrugging his shoulders. All three of the boys are dressed in their purple blazers, lavender ties, and white dress-shirts. I love it, a man in a uniform. “Why? What about you?”

“I want to move to New Orleans and live in the French Quarter,” I say with a shrug. “I want to have adventures. College, maybe, but mostly adventures.”

“Want to live in the French Quarter with a trust fund?” Raz asks, smirking sharply. It’s an expression I'm used to seeing. I'm most definitely not used to seeing Raz's blue eyes and the pair of dark-rimmed glasses on his face.

“That's one of the … cutest things I've ever had anyone say to me,” I murmur, completely and utterly shocked. “Où est passée ta langue de pute tête de gland?” In essence, have you forgotten how to have an acidic tongue, dickhead?

“Lui oui, mais pas moi. Tu vas avoir besoin de quelqu'un qui parle français pour toi dans le Quartier Français,” Calix purrs, his voice sliding over me like silk, settling into every nook and cranny of my heart. A whole month of Devils’ Days, of parties, of revelations, and it’s finally over. He has, but I haven't. You might need someone to speak French for you, in the French Quarter.

“I don't speak French, but I can definitely translate bullshit,” Barron says, looking me dead in the face with his beautiful eyes, one blue, one brown. His Mohawk is clean and tamed today, slicked back and vibrant. “I want to make art, and art appreciates experience. I'll go wherever the fuck you go, Karma; you are an experience.”

I snort.

“You don't have to be so nice to me, just because I …” We haven't really talked about my suicide attempt, but it's there, waiting to be brought up, the proverbial elephant in the room.

“Yes, we do,” Calix says, frowning hard and flicking his dark eyes over to me. “But not for the reasons you might think.”

“You mean like pity?” I ask, but I've seen them all at their most vulnerable, stripped down and emotionally bare for me. Their sudden care and affection isn't as surprising as it might've been before all of this. The time loop. One day, I'll tell them about it. But not yet. I'm not ready to talk about it just now. Some part of me is afraid that if I bring it up too soon, I'll go to sleep and wake up at the gas station.

Wake up to a steering wheel covered in blood.

“Pity?” Raz snorts and shakes his head, raking his fingers through his dirty blonde hair. “Not a chance in hell. Do you really think we do anything out of pity? I mean, like, ever?” He pauses for a moment, like he's thinking unbelievably hard about something. “You never know when someone's so full of pain, they might …” Raz trails off, and my lips curve into a smile.

He's repeating what I said to him at the cabin, almost verbatim. He was listening. Even if he