Devils' Day Party: A High School Bully Romance - C.M. Stunich Page 0,87

seen her since. Do you think she'll be here tonight?” It's interesting, how eager Raz sounds when he asks that. So they obviously weren't talking about me. Who then?

“No clue,” Barron says, and I can hear a sound, like charcoal on paper, that distinctive scratching that makes my heart beat wildly. Yes! He has his fucking sketchbook, and I'm going to take it. “Why do you think she hit your car?”

Calix makes a small sound of disgust, his voice far away, distant.

“I have no fucking clue. Maybe she wanted a repeat of last year's Devils' Day Party?”

I have to resist the urge to punch the side of the train car. I settle with cursing him out inside my head instead. Cocksucking son of a bitch.

“You think she hit your car because she wanted you to fuck and run again? Adjust your expectations, Lix. To be honest, I was worried she was still into you. Not anymore, not after today.” Oh, Raz …

“She obviously hit my car because she wanted my attention,” Calix snaps back, and this time, it's Barron who laughs. There's a bemusement to the sound, like he finds both of his friends completely and utterly ridiculous.

“She isn't interested in either of you; she's better than both of you.” Barron goes back to drawing as Raz scoffs in disgust.

I can't take anymore of this, I think, moving around to the front of the train car and pausing in the doorway. They all pause to look at me. Calix is wearing yet a different outfit today—he seems to have as many outfits for the Devils' Day Party as I have timelines. Tonight, he's dressed in a red military jacket, undone and showing off his bare chest. It's lined with silver buttons and silver caps on the shoulders. Paired with skintight black jeans and boots, he's a vision in nightmare colors, his dark eyes lined with kohl, a crown of raven feathers and branches on his head, his black devil mask firmly in place.

“Who are you?” he asks casually, lazily, canting his head to one side.

“Are you deaf?” Raz asks, smoking a joint and looking me over like he's enjoying what he sees. He’s wearing the same outfit as he did on night one—red leather pants slung criminally low, and a Luciferian sneer that brings goose bumps up on my arms. His tattoos catch the light from the lantern in the corner of the room, drawing my attention to a small crescent moon that I just vaguely recall pressing my lips against.

My gaze flicks to Barron who's paused in his drawing to stare at me. On his lips sits a knowing smile.

He can tell it's me.

I pull the pepper spray out of the small bag slung on my shoulder.

“Sorry boys,” I say, spraying all three of them before they can react. My hand clamps down on the sketchbook, and I take off out the door and into the woods, Raz howling in pain behind me.

“Who the fuck was that?!” he screams, voice echoing as I lift my skirts and sprint through the woods to the car. Luke's put the top up as I asked, and left the doors unlocked. I climb in and hunker down in the back seat, panting heavily, shaking with adrenaline. The spicy scent of the pepper spray seems to cling to me, making my eyes burn. I have no choice but to open one of the back doors and sit on the ground against the tire. In the bag where I carried the pepper spray, I have a flashlight that reminds me of the one Barron uses when he takes me into the woods.

Clicking it on, I stare down at the page in front me.

The blood drains from my face, and my throat gets tight.

There's a beautiful girl in charcoal, staring back at me, her smile almost too tight but happy, even if she doesn't know it. Her eyes say she tries really hard, but she's human, and she's not perfect, and she fucks up a lot.

She's standing in an alcove, beneath curving rock walls, a butterfly in her hand.

Baron's drawn … me. In a timeline he doesn't even remember.

Choking on my own breaths, I keep flipping through the pages, realizing that I'm staining them with my tears.

He was right: he does like to draw scenery. He also likes to draw girls.

Or more specifically, one girl.

Me.

On the next page, I see myself kneeling on the grass in front of the gas station, tears streaming down my face.