Page 129 of Feed Your Fiends

“Maybe I should,” I say to Zedd. “Speaking of Bart, he misses you, Ally. Zedd and I have a cricket match this weekend, and Bart was wondering if you could tag along?”

“Bart’s in town?”

I nod.

“I’ll be there. I think he could use my advice, given what I’ve seen here tonight.” He turns to Hale. “Take the money or don’t. Either way, Stassi isn’t one of your options.”

It’s not until the door shuts behind the pair that Hale reacts, kicking the coffee table over.

“Can you fucking believe that?” he snaps.

Yes, I can. I owe Zedd a big one for his frying skills.

“You should come,” I say. “To the cricket match.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Why wouldn’t you want the chance to beat Zedd and Alistair's’ ass on the pitch. You’re the best cricket player at Beaulieu. Show Alistair who you really are.”

“Or who he thinks I am,” he says, taking the mop from Rie and mopping the sugary, alcoholic mess. “I should show him my whole fucking ass, since he thinks I am one. I should make him terrified of what I could do to his daughter if he keeps fucking with me.”

“You should. He wants to peg you as a Pierrot. Show him how dirty you play. Bring your mother along too.”

He shakes his head. “You know she’ll never go for it. She hates blue bloods.”

“What about you, Rie? Do you like cricket?”

“Too noisy. Grasshoppers are cuter.”

“We’ll be there,” Hale says.

“What’s all this stuff?” I nod to the boxes.

“The last of my shit Mum has purged from her house. No space for my baby photos in her nine-bedroom mansion.

I pick up an instant camera. The one Hale came to the academy with on the first day of Beaulieu.

“Shit, this still works?” I say in surprise as I take a candid photo of Hale and Rie.

Hale snatches the photo the second it shoots out. “Shit, I guess it does. I still can’t believe she even let me go to Beaulieu. If she had it her way, I would’ve fucked off at public school until sixteen, then worked at the club.”

“She’s hurt. All of our parents want us to follow in their footsteps, no matter how fucked they are.”

Hale snorts. “How’s Bart, by the way?”

“Barting. If she never comes around, know that you still have family.”

There are tons of photos in the box. I pick up the top one that’s tucked into a homemade picture frame with Romani designs. A photo of baby Hale, no older than a few weeks, tumbles out. He’s in his mother's arms in the water, and she looks fucking killer, especially for just giving birth.

“Wasn’t he cute?” Rie asks as Hale takes the photo and the now empty frame.

I stare at the scribbled words on the back as he examines the image.

“So cute,” I say. “Like an angel. What does the frame say?”

“Family, in Romani,” Hale says. “Rie, come here.”

He slides his arms around our shoulders, and then he’s blinding us with another instant picture. “Family.” he smiles, propping it on a nearby bottle.

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