The both of them laughed hysterically, clutching their stomachs while trying to keep quiet, so as not to wake up my mama. Once the laughter subsided, I lay quietly for a moment longer. “How’s your Mama, Luis?” I asked. I’d been wondering how she’d been doing, if she was still using. It felt odd knowing that my best friend was struggling with his mama’s addiction but not being close anymore to comfort him about it.
Luis let out another sigh, and this one didn’t sound like the forced one from before. “Well. She’s been using again. Not that she ever really stopped. She always says she’s going to, but then she slips. Sometimes I wish she didn’t have so much goddamned money. Her tastes are expensive. Too bad she has such a good business sense. I almost wish she didn’t.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. Naturally, Luis deflected the conversation with quick wit, overcompensating for the fact that he was feeling something other than flirtatious with humor.
“She could have worse fixations. Remember her hard rock phase? If I’d had to see one more leather skirt, I was gonna puke.”
“That really was a tragic decade,” I added, playing along for his sake, even though he didn’t deserve an easy way out. It wasn’t like they’d given me any slack over the last few months. “Almost as bad as Bonham’s Garth Brooks phase.”
Bonham slapped his face with both his hands in embarrassment as Luis booed. “He was the king of country!” Bonham tried to explain, before leaning over to mercilessly tickle me. I squealed and laughed so hard that tears rolled down my cheeks, rolling around on my mattress as Luis joined in on the assault. I finally managed to wrap both my arms around their necks and pull them close, crashing them to my chest in a drunk attempt at getting them to stop, but instead, it had the opposite effect.
Luis nipped at my cleavage, biting and sucking just enough that it would leave a generous hickey. “You asshole,” I moaned before lifting my hips up to move Bonham’s fingers, which were tickling dangerously close to my pantyline. My laughter was starting to sound scarily similar to pants as Bonham dipped one time to brush along my soft skin before pulling away.
Loud stomps sounded down the hallway and both guys jumped to their feet. Luis grabbed the bottle of champagne and tossed it under my bed just before the door opened and in rushed Mama, wearing a nightie that was bright red and see-through.
“Hey Principle Livingston!” Bonham greeted with a shy wave, after roaming his eyes up and down her body. He threw a thumbs up behind his back that only I could see. Pig.
“What are you boys doing here? It’s four in the morning on a school night, for Christ’s sake!” She ran her hands through her hair and then quickly wrapped her arms around her stomach, as if realizing that they were getting an eyeful of her body through the racy material.
“Just wanted to see if that old tree outside her bedroom was sturdy enough to climb still, Principle Livingston,” Luis said with a smirk.
Mama knew all about our impromptu sleep overs. She’d gotten used to it over the years, but it had been a good while since she’d caught us all in bed together.
“You’d best go on home now, or y’all move to the guest room. You’re getting too old for this. And Jesus, Scarlett. Wear something decent if you know you’re having the boys coming over.” My brows shot up as Mama clutched her arms even closer, aware of the irony of that statement.
“Yes ma’am,” I choked out as Luis and Bonham headed towards the window with barely contained laughter. They quickly opened it and left with a wink.
“Those damn boys,” Mama said, but there was a small tick at the edge of her lips. She had just started to leave the room when she paused at the door. “Clean up that champagne you spilled on the carpet, Scar. Your room smells like a fucking bar.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
When my alarm went off the next morning, I rolled over with a groan. I hadn’t slept much. I might not have even slept at all. I couldn’t get my brain to shut off even though Luis and Bonham provided a nice, albeit momentary, distraction. I just kept hearing Dean O’Banion’s voice from the train tracks.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his shadowed smile and felt the memory of his rough hand on me. And though I haven’t actually seen them, I kept imagining the photos of those poor girls, and couldn’t help but wonder if I’d be next.
My emotions were still a jumbled mess as I got up to shower, and I had a right nasty hangover. Champagne always went straight to my head and left it aching the next day. I went through the motions of washing and drying myself, of getting dressed in my uniform and putting makeup on, but my bloodshot eyes and the crease between my brows revealed my anxiety. I couldn’t hold back the weariness on my face.
What if O’Banion had taken me? What if one of the guys ended up dead? What if Rogue had to get blood on his hands again, or if other girls in their lives went missing? I hated Stephanie Palmisano, sure, but I would never want her to be kidnapped and sold into sex slavery. Who knew what this gang was capable of and how far they’d go?
When I made my way downstairs, I could hear Mama already using the blender, mixing up whatever concoction of the day that her nutritionist planned. I had no doubt that it would taste like kale piss. When I got to our kitchen, I slumped into the stool at the counter, letting my backpack drop to the floor.
“Morning,” she said over the loud rumble of the blender.
I mumbled it back to her as she turned off the machine and poured us each a cup. Placing it in front of me, she took the seat beside me and started reading the local paper. I drank the green smoothie, not even caring when the grittiness hit the back of my tongue.
“You’re quiet this morning,” Mama said, startling me out of my thoughts.
I looked over, but my eyes caught on the front page of the paper. There were large, blown-up photos of the cotillion club, gushing on and on about the chosen debutantes this year. My mama wanted nothing more than for me to be one of those debutantes when my time came after my first year of college, and Bonham had given me that in. If I played nicely and did the Junior Debutante bullshit, it could happen. But I remembered what Godfrey had said in the showers, and he was right. This was my bargaining chip. I could see it the way my mama’s eyes lit up as she looked at all the poised girls in the photo and read over their family names. And maybe it was because everything else in my life felt like it had been forced on me, but I was ready to play my hand and force something of my own.
“I’m not doing the Junior Debutante Club.”
Mama’s head snapped over to me and she dropped the paper onto the counter. “Excuse me?”
I took a long sip and met her eyes. “I’m gonna pull out of it,” I said with a shrug.
“Scarlett Anne, now you listen to me—”
“Stop,” I said, holding up a hand. “I’m not gonna do it...unless we make a deal.”
Her eyes narrowed and her lips went thin, making her disapproval clear. She sat back in her seat. “Let’s hear it then, young lady.”
“You want me to do the debutante thing? Fine. Then I want to be put back in gymnastics.”
Mama sighed. “As I live and breathe! Scarlett, we’ve been over this. You need to be focusing on school. Not to mention, gymnastics was very hard on your body.”