Page 88 of The Demons We Hide

“Winter Formal.” My lip curls in distaste at the words as I stare at her over the bar’s countertop while unpacking a box of cocktail napkins and setting them in their place.

“Are you going?” she asks, prodding me with the same question that brought this whole subject matter to light.

“I…” I rifle through the box in my hands for the last napkins as I contemplate my answer. Last year, I was Silverwood Prep’s Winter Formal Queen as well as Junior Prom Queen. This year, I’m… nobody. I don’t have to dress up and take photos with a date and people who couldn’t give a shit less about me. “I don’t know,” I admit.

“It’ll be your last chance,” she warns me, taking the empty box I pass over to her and slicing through the underside to break it down. “It’s senior year. I don’t think they have formal stuff like this in college.”

“Depends on what college you go to,” I tell her.

Crystal-blue eyes meet mine. “Speaking of, what colleges have you been applying to? They’re due soon, aren’t they?”

I shrug. “Some aren’t due until February.” I duck down and pop open the mini washer Ma-Ri somehow managed back here, pulling down the glasses inside and replacing them in the rack to the side. With all the lights on in the club, the doors shut and locked, it’s only me, Mads, one of the bartenders, and Ma-Ri in the back office left to clean up and close for the night.

“I applied to a couple of places,” Mads says absently. “I don’t know if I’ll get in, or if I do—I don’t know how the hell I’m going to pay for it—but… I hope I get accepted regardless.”

If anyone deserves to get the fuck out of Silverwood and away from controlling parents, it’s her. I finish pulling the freshly cleaned—and scorching hot—glasses from the mini washer and shut it before rounding the counter.

“You’re smart,” I tell her. “I can’t imagine you not getting in, and they have loans and scholarships.”

Mads drifts away from the bar, following me as I head towards the back hallway and towards the locker rooms. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Pausing at the uncertain note in her tone, I look back, and what I see makes me turn completely around. “Okay, what’s up?” I demand, planting my feet even as my phone vibrates in my pocket, letting me know that one of the guys is most likely here to pick me up.

She shrugs, scuffing her nonslip sneaker on the black floor underfoot. I frown and take a step towards her. “Seriously?” She lifts her head at my caustic tone.

“I just…” Her lips pinch together and her face scrunches up. “I just really want this year to be over,” she finally says on a pent-up exhalation. “I know everyone says we should appreciate being young while we can, but I want out, you know? College represents freedom, and I’m worried because I submitted my applications pretty early and I thought, I don’t know, that maybe I’d have heard back from at least one of them by now.”

Leaning forward, I reach out and clasp both of her shoulders in my hands. “You are going to get into a college,” I tell her. “I have no doubt in your capabilities. You don’t need to justify what you want to anyone, least of all me.”

I will her to hear the words coming out of my mouth and to believe them, but I know she won’t. Not so long as she’s living with those parents of hers. To them, she needs to justify her very existence. Mads gives me a watery smile and nods.

“Thanks, Jules,” she murmurs, gently brushing my hands away. I take a step to the side, letting her slip past me and into the locker rooms, hating the slump of her shoulders. I’m debating the merits of going after her and pressing for more information—to see if maybe there’s more going on that I don’t know about—when Ma-Ri’s office door opens.

A waft of smoke precedes the older woman’s head poking out. “Good, you’re still here,” Ma-Ri snaps before waving her red-nail tipped hand in my direction. “Come.”

A groan threatens to spill out of my throat, but I bite it back and trudge towards the open door of her office. The moment I step inside, the door slams closed at my back and I jump, turning as Ma-Ri shuffles past me, a long cigarette holder in one hand. She hunches slightly as if her back is giving her some trouble, and eventually when she makes it to the other side of the desk, she drops down into her seat and taps the nails of her free hand against the flat surface.

“Sit.” She gestures with her cigarette holder.

I take a seat in the rickety plastic fold-out chair across from her and wait. Ma-Ri’s not usually one for mincing her words, but she doesn’t immediately launch into whatever it is that has brought me to her office. Instead, she reaches into one of the drawers at her side and pulls free a pack of fresh cigarettes.

I’m forced to wait and watch as she unwraps it, slapping one side against her palm and then withdrawing one to perch on the end of her holder and then light it. She takes a deep drag and slowly releases a long stream of smoke. I peer to the side of her desk, finding the small waste paper basket stationed there littered with other packs amongst the shreds of trash inside.

How many has she had today?I don’t dare ask the question out loud. I’d rather not get smacked by that cigarette holder, and I’d seen her do it to a few of the hosts when they asked what she deemed were stupid questions.

When more than a few minutes have passed and there have been no less than three more buzzes in my pocket, I finally risk it. “Is there something you wanted to talk about?”

Ma-Ri blows out another long tendril of smoke. “Yes.” The word is sharp, a knife dropping from her red painted lips. “I wanted to ask how things with my niece were?”

“Your… Roquel?” I clarify.

She nods.

“Uh, they’re fine? We’ve been prepping for midterms, so she’s been stressed—we all are.”

Ma-Ri bobs her head, but her lips strain as they curl around the end of her cigarette holder. “And Madison?” she pushes. “How is she?”

I frown and then lean forward. It’s time to cut the bullshit. “What’s going on, Ma-Ri?”

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