Page 57 of Even in the Dark

But there’s no good reason for her to be here right now. Especially the way she’s looking—like a cover model in bold technicolor. Or more like a flashy gift from a shady acquaintance. Appealing but suspicious.

She takes another step into the room. Closes the door part way, but not fully. Makes me calm down maybe a notch. Doesn’t feel like I’m trapped in here with her, at least.

She scans the room calmly. Doesn’t show any reaction to the fact that it’s pretty much back to normal. Besides a few missing pictures and those two huge-ass holes I punched through the wall by the door. She walks casual as fuck over to the window and takes a seat in the chair I haven’t sat in once. Looks relaxed. Possibly like a spider spinning her web.

I close the comic I was reading. “Get out.”

She acts like she didn't hear me and leans back in the seat. “I just got back from Xave’s house.”

No idea what game she’s playing right now, but I want no part of it.

She glances over at me, continues talking like I didn't just ask her to leave. “Most of the parties around here are at the beach or at Xave’s house.” Then, like I asked for clarification, she explains: “Xave’s the tall guy with brown wavy hair and pretty eyelashes… The one who called in the car the other day to bitch about my driving.” She slides down a little farther until her head hits the back of the chair, her eyes focused on the stars through the huge skylight in the high, sloped ceiling.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I mean…” She sighs. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t give a crap about some rich guy’s party.”

“Well, that’s because I haven’t told you about the drone mishap yet.” She doesn’t wait for a response. Just launches right into it. “Xave bought this new fancy drone. Not huge or anything, but decent size. And he decided to test it out byfilming the party, which was inside.” She shrugs, still staring out the skylight. “I mean, obviously. Or the story wouldn’t be nearly as good. So anyway, he’s got this drone flying in the smoking room.” Another glance in my direction. “The smoking room’s where he has most of his parties. No idea why it’s called a smoking room. It’s just a room. I mean, not just a room—it’s massive. Practically the size of a football field. Black and mirrored walls and purple and orange velour couches… Honest to God,bright purple and orange velour!” Her eyes flick to me again, like she’s checking if I’m getting all of this.

I am. None of it makes sense, though. These people live in a whole different reality. Might as well be a different planet.

“It’s sobad. Anyway, he’s flying this drone above the party. And the ceilings are high, but still—a ceiling’s still a ceiling, right?” She looks at me.

I’ve got nothing for her. I’m still trying to understand the “smoking room” thing. And what “velour” means.

She goes on. “And Xave’s never flown a drone before, so he’s got no clue what he’s doing. Also, he’s basically trashed. So maybe ten minutes in, he flies this thing right into a huge-ass chandelier. Six-feet in diameter at least. And the blades of the drone are whirring and spinning and they get caught in the strings of dangling crystals or whatever those things are on a chandelier, and the entire thing starts swaying. And people are freaking out because the chandelier looks like it’s going to come crashing down any second—and it looks seriouslyheavy.”

Okay. I’m invested now. Not gonna let Scarlett know that. But she’s hooked me.

She continues. “Xave’s split between laughing his ass off and yelling at people to move out of the way. But he still hasn’t shut the stupid drone off. The blades are still whirring and getting caught up in more and more strings of crystals… Until it finally gets jammed.” She pauses and I wait, trying not to show thatI give a crap. Scarlett shifts, leaning forward a little. “And the chandelier doesn’t fall… But the drone does. And it lands right on this table where Piper Shen set up a bunch of trays of fancy desserts she spent all week making. She’s had a thing for Xave since last year and apparently thought baking a bunch of squares or whatever would make him fall for her. Like it’s nineteen-fifty-something. And she flips her lid. Yelling at Xavier that he’s a jerk, and he has no idea how long it took her to make these lemon curd square things—like he flew his drone into the chandelier just to ruin her home-baked goods. And, get this…” Scarlett’s eyes go wide. “Piper throws one of the squares at him… And there’s this tense silence. I mean, there’s music blasting, but you know what I mean. Anyway, Xave startslaughing…And Kyle Baxter picks up another dessert square, and throws it across the table at Piper. Hits her right on the side of her head so it splats in her hair. Then someone yells, ‘food fight!’—and the shit basically hits the fan. Everyone starts throwing cupcakes and meringues and stuff at each other, and half an hour later, most of the room is a total disaster. Covered in icing and crumbs and pie filling and stuff… And then suddenly, Xave’s dad walks into the room. Which is a huge deal, because his dad lives in his own wing of the house and makes an appearance in the main house, maybe every lunar eclipse or something. So everyone races for the exits, sliding through whipped cream and icing and smashed cake, like it’s the cops who just showed up. Not even eleven and the party just shut down.” Scarlett’s head dips forward to look at me, her eyes expectant. “And here I am.”

No idea what reaction she expects from me here. Not even sure why she shared the story with me. I rub the back of my neck, still getting used to the shorter hair curling over my fingers. “So you thought you’d come to my room in the middle of the night to tell me about your gazillionaire friend getting his drone caught in a chandelier?”

She shrugs. “I figured you could use some light entertainment in your evening.” A quick eye roll. “Also, it was less about the drone hitting the chandelier than about the drone falling on the dessert table and causing a food fight, so you clearly misunderstood the whole climax of the story.”

I level her with a look that tells her to cut the bullshit. Would be cool if she could be straight with me for once, ’cos I know she didn’t really come over here just to spin a ten-minute story about a fucking food fight in this guy’s mansion. And if she’s playing some kind of game—which I’m sure she is—I want a clue about what her angle is.

“Okay… truth?” she sighs, swinging her legs over the arm of the chair, so her feet are dangling over the side now.

“Yeah,” I bite. “Truth.”

Another sigh. She glances at me. Then looks away again. Out the window this time. “I wanted to check and see how you’re doing.”

… What the hell?“Why?”

“Because you had a crap night… A crap week.” She turns to look at me. “A crap life, sounds like.”

“My life is none of your business.”

She doesn’t say anything. Which isn’t like her. Scarlett usually snaps back with an answer to everything. Something I don’t hate about her. She thinks fast. Always processing one step ahead.

“I was wondering how you made out at the hospital.” Her eyes dip to my right hand. “Nice cast, by the way.”

When I don’t say anything, she rolls her head back to stare out of the skylight. “And I was wondering how you were doing. After what went down and everything… And how things are with you and your folks.” Another glance at me. “Did they ground you? Or…”

“What’s that?”

---