down his throat. I vaguely recall announcements about a dance, and a line outside the cafeteria a couple of weeks ago that blocked access to my preferred lunching bathroom.
“Yeah. It’s this weekend. I mean, obviously, you know that, because you’re going to be cheering at the big game. I’m not going because…” George gestures to herself. “Obviously.”
“Because you’re intellectually superior and have no desire to waste your precious brain cells intermingling.” I glare at her. “Because obviously that’s the only possible meaning to your comment.”
George stares at her food. “On Saturday, there’s a cult horror festival at the Beaumont Theatre. Happy Birthday to Me, Tokyo Gore Police, Society, Army of Darkness, Braindead, Suspiria. I thought maybe we could go together… unless you’re planning to go to the dance? You might want to find out if you’re the homecoming queen.”
“Excuse me… what?”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know.” George flips her phone around to show me the homecoming dance news on the school app. There are instructions for parking at the game, the words to the school song, details about the venue, and a place to vote for the homecoming court. Noah, Gabriel, and Eli are on the list for king. My eyes bug out as I look at the list for homecoming queen. There’s Cleo, of course, and a couple of other popular girls.
And me.
Mackenzie Malloy.
“This is insane. How did I not know about this?” I know how. I’d been pretty distracted over the last few weeks with boy drama and attempts on my life and shit.
“Anyway.” George swallows. “It’s fine. You go. I’m used to going to the movies by myself. I prefer it, actually. I don’t have to share my popcorn and you won’t have to suffer through my terrible jokes, like why do vampires never order at a restaurant—”
“Oooh, who said something about homecoming?” Gabriel slides into the seat beside me. One whiff of his pagan scent and I’m gone. I’m surprised I’m not a permanent pile of goo from hanging around Gabriel Fallen so much. “Because I think we need to strategize. I’ll be wearing a pinstripe suit with my skeleton creepers, ala Nick Cave crossed with Jerry Only, so I was thinking to match me you should get some stilettos with a heel made out of a spine. Here, I found a picture… wait until you see this.” Gabriel swipes through his phone.
“Fuck off. I’m not going to homecoming.” I grab the phone out of his hand and stare at the shoes. They do look fucking fierce, but also impossible to walk in. “These aren’t shoes, they’re torture implements. Don’t tell me, you had something to do with my nomination?”
“But of course, Queenie.” Gabriel’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “If I’m going to be wearing that crown, I need the most shaggable arse in school on the throne next to me.”
“If you want a date for the dance, you’re supposed to actually ask that person if they want to go with you first.” I throw my arms around George’s shoulder. “As it happens, George and I already have a date – we’re going to a horror movie festival at this spooky-ass theatre down in Brawley.”
Gabriel looks at me in horror. “Surely you jest? Of course we’re going to homecoming. I already purchased your ticket.”
I turn to George. “Can you believe this?”
George swallows. “It’s not a big deal. You should go with Gabriel. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
I glare at Gabriel. As George leans over to get something from her bag, Gabriel leans in close. I breathe in his dangerous scent as he presses his lips to my ear and murmurs, “I know you want to see what it’s like to have a normal life. Going to homecoming is the most normal high school thing you could possibly do. Besides, whoever’s watching you is going to be awfully suspicious if It Girl Mackenzie Malloy doesn’t show her face at her own homecoming dance.”
He has a point. I glance over at George, who’s sliding down in her seat, avoiding looking at us. “Fine. We’ll go. On one condition. You’re George’s date.”
George’s head jerks up. “What? No. I can’t…”
“Hot damn.” Gabriel rubs his hands together with glee, before throwing his phone at George. “Even better. George, you’ll wear these skeletal death-traps for me, won’t you, luv?”
As George and Gabriel start discussing their matching outfits, I glance across the table at Noah, who is very deliberately cutting his steak into neat squares. I kick him under the table. “Marlowe,