the file on the table. “This is everything else your search missed. You’re welcome to browse it.”
With that, the three of them leave the room, one by one. Elric is the last one. He pauses alongside Braxton and looks down at him for a brief moment before turning his gaze to us. “I hope I’ll see you three at the games this year,” he says, and then he’s gone.
The only thing that can be heard in the room after their departure is the turning of the ancient fan above us as it sways in time with the mechanism that keeps it going.
“What now?” Abel asks.
I reach over and pick up the folder. “Now,” I say, striding forward and clamping a hand on Brax’s shoulder. He doesn’t react. “We get drunk.”
“I mean about the girl,” Abel presses.
There’s really only one answer to that. We can’t send her packing. We can’t get rid of her. There’s nothing else we can do but the impossible. I slide my tongue over my teeth, my fingers gripping the folder in my hand. “We claim her,” I tell him. “From now on, she’s Sick Boys’ property.”
18
Avalon
By the middle of the following week, it's clear that the majority of Eastpoint has heard about the party and the Molotov Cocktail incident. I can feel the stares or at least someone constantly watching me. The fact that I can’t figure out who is slowly starting to drive me insane. Despite that, while the event itself hasn't exactly made me Miss Popular, I have noticed a distinct lack of violent glares from my classmates. They no longer go out of their way to ignore me, but neither does anyone seem too keen on sticking around me. Particularly, not Rylie.
"I'm not eating with you," she informs me as she packs her bag for class. "I need to keep my head down, and you," she pauses and points at me in accusation, "draw way too much fucking attention." Each sentence is said with a biting irritation. She says it, but a part of her doesn't mean it. I don't know how—considering her life has probably been just as fucked up as my own—but I know she's a bit softer than she should be. It's there in the way she nags me to keep my own head down. I won't ever do it, but it's cute that she thinks it's what's best for girls like us. It’s almost … nice to feel like someone gives a shit, if a bit unfamiliar.
I chuckle lightly as I thumb through a textbook and scan the contents, prepping for a quiz I know is coming up. "I mean it," she says.
"Sure," I say. "Ignore me all you want. Won't bother me."
She pauses just beside the door, her messenger bag slung over one shoulder. Her cool hazel eyes glare at me. Finally, she just throws her hands up and storms out. I wait a few more minutes to make sure she's not coming back for anything before I throw the textbook down and get up. I stretch up onto my toes, yawning and popping my joints.
My stomach growls as I debate what to do next and it solidifies my afternoon plans. Quickly changing into a pair of jeans and a new t-shirt, I snatch my keys and ID card and head for the student food court.
Halfway through the food court, I spot a familiar face that I haven't seen since the party and I stop dead, changing directions, and head for him. "Hey," I say, plopping down in front of him.
The guy lifts his head out of his cell phone and out from beneath the bill of his baseball cap. The second he sees my face, he grins and flips his hat around. "Well, look what the cat dragged in." He smirks. "Just the girl I've been hearing so much about."
I roll my eyes and wave my hand back and forth. "Oh, whatever."
"That stunt you pulled is all over school," he says.
"Yeah, well, I couldn't have done it without you," I say. "Thanks for the hand … or should I say the panties?"
He laughs, throwing his head back, and slaps his hand on the table. "Please, no need to thank me, it was funny as shit to watch. Besides, I never really liked Kate."
"Awww." I fake a pout. "Too good for your dick?"
He doesn't even try to lie. "Yeah, pretty much."
"Thought all rich pricks were the same," I comment.
That gets me a huff of disbelief. "With Carter, Frazier,