Page 75 of That Pretty Pucking Mouth

“What do you mean?” I ask, trying to sound confused.

She bites her lip, clearly reluctant to keep going. “They’re called the Reapers. There are rumors of what they do, and I think that guy who died at that party was killed by one of them.”

“One of who?” I ask, cutting her off, wanting to know what the gossip is on campus.

“By a Reaper, and they have powerful connections, so nobody is going down for it.”

I gasp, trying to sound horrified.

It’s horrifying, I tell myself.

“Wait, nobody is going down for it? What do you mean?” I ask, suddenly very intrigued.

She shrugs. “I don’t know if Jack was murdered, but there’s a lot of talk. I heard he was a Reaper and then he was cut off. And then hockey suspended him. People are saying he was killed that night because he was threatening to expose the Reapers.”

I need to quiet my racing heart, so I keep my eyes on the ground, trying to remain calm and like this doesn’t concern me, and I am looking for gossip. I mean, this is all a shock. I didn’t know Cassidy knew anything about Jack or the murder.

“And you know Thatcher is a part of it?”

She shrugs. “I’m not saying he’s the killer, but I’m just saying be careful. I wouldn’t want to get caught up in Reaper business, Rhea. They’re bad news.”

I nod, understanding. “I’m trying to stay away.”

“If he’s––”

I shake my head, needing to cut her off. “He’s not,” I assure her. “But thank you for warning me.”

She nods, offering a friendly concerned expression.

Finally, she stands, grabbing her coffee cup. “Okay, I’m off to class,” she announces, her tone deliberately light, though I catch the faint edge of concern beneath it.

I watch as she rinses her mug, moving with that same effortless energy she always has. It’s a sharp contrast to the weight pressing down on me, the knot of emotions twisting tighter in my chest.

“You should really consider going to class too,” she adds casually, not looking at me as she sets the cup on the drying rack. “You’ve been in this funk all morning, and I don’t think hiding out here is going to help.”

I huff, leaning back against the couch. “Skipping one day isn’t the end of the world.”

Cassidy turns, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe not. But skipping is so out of character for you, Rhea.” she pauses, placing a hand on her hip. “What are you going to tell your professor, huh?”

“I’ll just tell him I was sick or had explosive diarrhea or something,” I sigh, sinking deeper into the couch, fiddling with the hem of my sweatshirt.

She scoffs, “Sure, like he’s going to believe that. You’re his star student. The second you mention diarrhea, he’s going to know you’re shitting him.”

I let out a reluctant laugh, covering my face with my hands. “Okay, fine. Maybe I’m… mildly avoiding things.”

Cassidy raises an eyebrow. “Mildly?”

“Okay, severely,” I admit, peeking at her through my fingers.

“Let’s, I don’t know, take a walk or grab some coffee? Just something to get out of your own head for a bit.”

“Okay,” I say finally, standing and grabbing my phone. “Let’s go.”

Cassidy’s grin is instant and smug as she slings her bag over her shoulder. “Yay!” she cheers.

I quickly get ready and grab my things for class.

As we walk down the stairs, Cassidy tells me about some random documentary she watched last night, her voice a comforting background hum. I focus on her words, letting them pull me out of my own head, even if only for a few minutes.

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