Page 2 of Crew Princess
A lot had changed in the ten weeks since a friend was assaulted, and particularly in the last month.A lot.One of those changes was heading toward me. Tabatha Sweets. One of the most popular girls in our school, one that used to fear me, and here she was. Coming up to me. Calling my name. Acting like we were buddy-buddy, which we actually had become. Hence the not-fearing me part.
She still should have.
She came to stand right in front of me. She wasn’t blocking my sun because I’d been holed up in the corner of the backyard, lying down behind the grill, because let’s face it, I wasn’t the socialite here. I was here for very specific reasons: this pool party was at the Shaws’ house.
Cross Shaw was my boyfriend.
Taz Shaw was my friend. She was also Cross’ sister.
And the other two guys in our crew wanted to hang out. Zellman and Jordan.
So we were here.
I was here.
Unwillingly.
And daydreaming about violence.
Go figure.
I sat up, looped my arms over my knees, and sighed. “What’s up, Tabatha?”
“What are you doing back here?”
Her voice was a little snippy with frustration, but also confusion.
Tentativewas the best way to describe our relationship—and I’m being extremely loose with those words to describe whatever I had with Tabatha and her minions. You can blame all the hours I had to serve on their charity committee, which was renamed their ‘event’ committee as part of my community service. Stabbing our old principal had ended with me sort of having other girlfriends besides Taz.
I wasn’t sure how that had worked out.
A couple had been after Cross, and I knew a couple still held a torch. As for Tabatha, she and Jordan were now acouplecouple.
Yeah. I was surprised at how fast that happened too.
They went from one official date to being a couple, and now they were almost the lovey-dovey type of coupledom.
Anyway, right now, my crewmate’s girlfriend who was also somewhat a friend of mine (depending on the day and my mood, to be honest) stood over me. She was staring me down, hands on her hips.
I couldn’t lie, though. The urge to pull my knife out, just to hold it and know it would make Tabatha uneasy, was strong. But I didn’t. I’d grown over the last year. See? Counseling and community service could rehabilitate us lower criminal beings.
“Where are the guys?” I ignored her question. Did she not know me by now?
Pushing up to my feet, I didn’t wait for her to respond.
I took stock myself.
Zellman was on a back lounger, his on/off woman (Sunday) on his lap. Monica (one of the girls still holding a torch for my guy) was next to them, sitting on some other guy’s lap (I think a baseball player).
Jordan was just coming out of the house.
He saw me staring at him and paused, beer in hand. He raised his eyebrows in question, but I shook my head.
I didn’t need him for anything.
He kept moving, going to sit in another lounger by Z. And I knew where the fourth member of our crew was.
Jordan. Zellman. Cross. Me.
