Page 9 of Butterfly

he’s still fucking with me

what did he do this time?

mailed all my underwear to the dance studio

There was a pause as she digested this. Then:

wow, that asshole is not playing around. What are you going to do?

hit him back where it hurts

hard

I was determined to win this fight. Bea, though, had some qualms.

les, are you sure? maybe you should back down

this isn’t going anywhere good

just tell your mom you want to come stay with me

But I knew that would break my mom’s heart.

And furthermore, I wasn’t about to forfeit. No, if the Ice Man wanted a war, he’d have one.

And I had just the idea for my next battle strategy.

Fortunately, when I got home from the studio, no one was home.

Dropping my bag off in my room, I tiptoed down the Berber-carpeted hallway. Even though I knew I was alone, I was worried I’d get caught. There’d be hell to pay if Mason caught me in his room.

But I’d been dosed with bravery and spite, and I was carrying this mission out.

The door to his bedroom was locked, but I had bobby pins from ballet—and knew how to pick a lock. Prying a bobby pin open, I put my ear to the door and turned it a few times, until I heard the telltale snick and the knob turned.

Aha.Step one, complete.

I pulled the door open, stepping inside my evil stepbrother’s room. His scent, something spicy, something musky, something sweet, filled my nostrils and overwhelmed me, making me shiver. It was because of the threat the scent represented,notbecause I wanted to roll around in it like a dog.

The room was neat as a pin. Paul had a housekeeper, which had been weird to get used to, but this was a whole differentlevel. The books were stacked carefully against each other, the bed was made, and there wasn’t a single sock on the floor. Nothing like the other teenage boys I knew, like Spencer, who was a complete slob.

There was no art on the walls, and only one photo. In it, a much younger Mason and a beautiful blonde woman smiled at the camera, arms wrapped around each other.

Oh, Mason.

I knew from my mom that he’d lost his mother slowly, painfully, and both Calloway men had been helpless and lost and angry at the world once she was gone. Paul had my mom now—not as a replacement for his beloved wife, but a new love to help staunch that wound.

What did Mason have?

I almost abandoned my plan then and there, but the memory of the dance studio employees’ giggles made me square my shoulders. I could feel bad for him, but that didn’t mean what he was doing to me was okay. I needed to fight fire with fire.

Opening his closet, I ignored the carefully folded jeans and t-shirts, hockey uniforms, and suits he must wear on game days, spotting a shelf with three pairs of skates, stored upside down with the blades shining on top. A little box on the left held Mason’s skate guards.

Bingo.

I’d overheard Emory teasing Mason the other day about his lucky skates, and, well…one of these had to be lucky.

But since I wasn’t sure, I guess I’d have to take all of them.

---