Devils' Day Party: A High School Bully Romance - C.M. Stunich Page 0,82

about him is that he makes impersonal art, has a little sister who attends Burberry Prep Academy in California, and that his parents have disturbingly questionable political ties with Russia. His mother works in Washington, D.C. with Raz's dad. Frankly, both their families’ politics suck.

But that's all I know, facts.

I can't quite figure his motivation here.

His lush mouth twists to one side in a smile. Unlike Calix, it's not too rare to catch a smile on Barron's lips. Sometimes, his eyes even reflect his mirth. But directed at me like that? I'm not sure that I've ever felt something so deeply in my bones.

“You did a freshman project on them,” he says, his voice echoing slightly off the curved rock walls. “I remembered it, so when I saw them, I thought I'd send you one for Devils' Day.”

“Why would you send me anything for Devils' Day at all?” I wonder as Barron steps forward and hands me the flashlight. I take it, slightly confused at his motivations, until I realize he's planning on putting the necklace on for me. As soon as he takes it from the box, I turn around, putting my back to his front.

When I thought about Raz's behavior yesterday, everything fell into place. I could recall dozens of scenarios in a given week when he might look at me, talk to me, tease me. But Barron is so reserved, so closed-off. I am most definitely not the sole focus in his day.

“Your friend, Luke, she has big lady balls.”

“Also known as ovaries,” I say, and Barron laughs, the sound ruffling my hair against the back of my neck. My body goes completely stiff, my heart thundering as he hooks the ends of the necklace together, fingers dancing over my shoulders and down my arms. I look back at him, but without the flashlight, he's nothing but a shadow in the dark, the glitter on his mask catching the smallest hint of moonlight, peeking through in a single crack in the rock. “What does any of this have to do with Luke?”

“I've been looking for an excuse to talk to you,” he says as I turn around and Barron steps back, pausing and looking down, causing me to swing the light in the same direction. We're stepping all over the dead butterflies, the orange, blue, and black pigments in their wings staining the skin of our dirty feet.

With a small gasp, I kneel down to check some of the others, assuring myself that they are, in fact, dead, and not just paralyzed from the cold. Not a single one of them moves at all, their abdomens curled forward, wings worn away and disintegrating into the dirt.

Still, it doesn’t feel right, to crush their fragile bodies like this.

“Why would you need an excuse to talk to me?” I ask, rising to my feet.

“If someone like Luke trusts and loves you as much as she does, well, that's enough for me.”

“Enough for what?” I grind out, remembering yesterday, when Raz and Sonja told me that Barron had—quote—impossible standards.

He steps forward, grabbing my face with two hands, his thumbs curving beneath my chin, lifting my face up to meet his. Barron leans down and captures my lips, taking them hostage with a strong hot tongue and the teasing edges of teeth. He tastes like the devils I'm supposed to be avoiding on this most unholy of all nights. Even Halloween is nothing when paired up with Devils’ Day; All Hallows’ Eve is the bastard child of this wicked night.

Barron keeps me still, even when I might pull away, and before I realize it, my palms are lying flat against his chest. When I try to move closer, he resists, keeping me in place with his hands cupping my head.

The flashlight is stuck between my palm and his chest, pointing up at his face and limning it in strange light.

“I debated whether to give you a male or female,” he says, flicking his eyes down, as if he can see the dead butterflies lining the forest floor. His dual-colored gaze turns back to me, terrifying in its intensity. I'm still not fooled, but damn, the boy knows how to kiss. “After a while, I knew it had to be a male.”

“Why?” I ask as Barron steps back, gently extracting the flashlight from my grip.

“Because,” he says, his mouth a wry twist of lips, darkly playful, almost … interesting. “I knew you'd never appreciate an analogy where the female is kept trapped