“Thank God. Imagine if I’d have inherited her thighs, like you.” She springs off my bed and saunters toward the aquarium. She taps it with her finger, watching the bubbles rising from the oxygen tank below. “Ever wonder what would happen if you put a hammer into this thing?”
“No,” I snap.
“Hmm.” A faraway smile curves on her lips before she returns her attention to me, twisting her head in my direction. “As I said before, you can’t date my brother. Correction—you can’t even fuck my brother. You’re just a piece of ass for him, and even though you have zero self-respect, I’m here to tell you that even you can do better. Adriana would never let it happen, and she is the girl he’ll eventually marry and take to college with him. She gave birth to his kid, for crying out loud. Stop embarrassing yourself and finish this stupid thing with him. Today.”
“What did they feed you in Mississippi? Acid and delusions?” I examine my nails, trying to come off as blasé. “What if I liked to be used? What if he’s only a piece of ass for me, too?”
She stares at me in bewilderment as if I just revealed a piece of information that is completely new to her.
“I can make your life a living hell.”
“Go ahead.” I gesture to her with my hand. You already are. “Be my guest.”
“Is this war, Daria?” A spark of madness ignites in her eyes. I’ve seen this flash before, the day Penn suggested we should be friends all those years ago. The adrenaline zing. This is how you know a Scully is excited.
I pretend to yawn. “If you want it to be? I’ll bring my tanks; you’ll bring your sticks.”
“Paper tanks.” She smiles sweetly, and for some reason, her gaze on my face makes me feel naked. At some sort of disadvantage. “Glittery paper tanks I can crumple in my fist. It’s on, Followhill.”
Penn leaves three hours before my birthday party starts.
An hour after Bailey and my parents left to stay at a Malibu hotel for the night, to be exact. They cleared out of the house until Sunday morning so I can throw the mother of all bashes. Before Penn moved in, I was notorious for my parties.
Before he left, Penn and I stood at the door, making out, groping, and kissing for long minutes before Via descended the stairs. Penn groaned, tearing his mouth from mine with a pained frown. Shame she didn’t catch it. At this point, I wanted her to see that we were still on. I recently told Knight and Vaughn about us—I had to tell someone, and Marx knows I can’t trust Esme and the cheer crew—and they both told me that I’m crazy for doing my foster brother even though I haven’t explicitly mentioned sex.
Principal Prichard, on the other hand, has been avoiding me on principle all week since those text messages. I think he is testing me. Or maybe he wants me to crawl back to him. Things have been awkward since he caught Penn and me in the locker room. I know I need to face the music, but I have so many war fronts, I can’t even begin to tackle the Prichard problem.
Now that my party is in full swing, I can sit back and relax for the first time in what seems like a lifetime. I watch people cannonball into my pool, lit in a million different lights, from my spot on the couch overlooking my backyard. I’m tucked next to Esme and Blythe. Knight, Colin, and Vaughn are sitting on recliners around us. Gus is nowhere to be seen, and I’m guessing Via is somewhere, sucking the souls out of random babies while pretending to be their unassuming nanny. Mel was so excited that Via “agreed” to stick around for the party.
“I’m so glad you’re making friends, Via.”
Yeah. My friends. And not by freaking accident, Mother.
“Where is Gus?” I ask as I sip from my champagne. I put a handful of my junior minions in the kitchen on bartender duty, and they’ve been serving us champagne and imported beer all evening. Not that they care. They get to mingle with high school royalty and be seen. Not to mention, they got a Followhill invite, which is practically a winning lottery ticket in this town.
The thing about parties at All Saints High? If they’re good, with a lot of alcohol, sex, and good music, you usually don’t know about them unless you’re in.
Next year, they’ll pass it forward and act just like me. For tonight, though, they will bask in my afterglow but only from afar.
“He’s been working on the new chick for like, two hours or something.” Colin takes a sip of his beer, nudging Knight’s thigh for him to pass him the joint.
“Via?” My mouth goes dry. I hope they are not hooking up. Penn absolutely hates Gus and vice versa.
“Yeah, her.” Colin yawns, pointing at me with the beer. “I hope she knows he is called Texas Gus for a reason.”
“Gus is called Texas Gus?” Blythe wrinkles her nose. Esme reddens next to me, downing her drink in one go.
“Correct.” Knight passes Colin the joint he just meticulously rolled using my mascara wand. “He once gave a certain girl pink eye by shooting his hot sauce in a strategic direction.”
Blythe snorts. “So embarrassing. Who was it?”
Esme pretends to text on her phone, but her fingers are not moving. Knight smirks, averting his gaze to her.
“Guess it was someone who wasn’t worth fucking.”
“Excuse me,” I singsong (like my mom, I realize after I do), slipping from the couch to go look for Via and Gus. “Killing in the Name” by Rage Against the Machine is blasting through the speakers as I make my way across the packed living room, crammed with teenagers drinking, dancing, and making out against the walls and furniture. I hear laughter from upstairs as people jump from Bailey’s window right onto the trampoline outside and make my way to the second floor, holding the bannister as my vision sways. I’m drunker than I thought I was, zigzagging my way upstairs. I start throwing doors open, my pulse picking up as I do. Penn’s is locked, but I knew it would be. I saw him packing everything that might’ve hinted at his presence into trash bags and tossing it straight into Vaughn’s pool house earlier today. He’s not taking any chances. I haven’t been bringing any friends to my house ever since he moved here, and I’m guessing he knows it’s a sacrifice. What I don’t tell him is that I do it gladly. What I never voice is how freaking proud I am of him going through all of this without complaining.
When I reach my room and open it, I find Via writhing in my bed with Gus on top of her. Their mouths are fused, and he is running his fingers up and down her bare leg. She is wearing a dress I don’t recognize. Mel must’ve taken her shopping between the time she broke my heart and the time she crushed it with her fist, just to make sure that it’s extra dead.
“Texas Gus,” I purr, and Gus’s eyes shoot up from Via, but he is still on top of her. “Take a hike. I need to have a word with Mississippi Sylvia.”
“Nah, Followhill. I think I’m comfortable right”—he thrusts his jeans-clad crotch onto Via’s groin, and she is laughing evilly—“fucking”—he leans down to bite her nose—“here.”
I elevate my phone to my face and start typing with a cheerful bravado I don’t feel.
“I guess I’ll report it back to your QB1. You know my daddy always puts him in charge, making sure everyone’s on their best behavior when I throw parties.”