Page 29 of Crew Princess
No.
Wait.
He had. He went there.
I took a small breath. That cemented it. We were fighting.
Zeke’s smile slipped, and he lowered his head. “The fuck? That was you?”
Three of his friends shoved forward. I could almost smell the tanning lotion coming off of them. They looked like surfers who enjoyed lifting weights, a lot. Zeke could’ve been a linebacker.
One of the guys jabbed a hand at Zellman. “That was you?”
He took another step forward. “Yeah, fucker. That was me. You guys sent your pals to burn our school down.”
The big guy started to move forward, but Zeke slapped a hand on his chest, his eyes on Zellman before going to me, then Cross. “We didn’t do that. That little prick’s been dealt with, and he’s insisting one of yours made him do it. Your fight’s with one of yours.”
Zellman growled again as the patio door slid open with a hiss. Jordan popped out from it, a bunch of other guys behind him. I looked for any Ryerson crew, but there were none. We were surrounded by Normals. Still. The jocks from our school matched theirs in size and muscle. They just didn’t have clothing as bright as the Academy kids’. Those guys enjoyed their red, neon blue, and yellow shirts.
Jordan shoved through the crowd that had gathered to watch. “Get lost. You’re not welcome here.”
“Yeah?” Zeke’s nostrils flared. “Who the fuck are you?”
“This is my girlfriend’s house.”
Tabatha came to his side, her arms crossed over her bikini-clad chest. “This is my house. You’re not invited.”
Zeke’s eyes were still narrow, sweeping over Tabatha, Jordan, Zellman, Cross, and finding me.
Why me? Seriously?
A girl could onlynotfight back so many times before her parole office would get a call. I’d been good for so long.
“You,” he snarled.
Yeah. There went that peaceful record.
I moved around Zellman and Jordan, staring right back at him. “I don’t take kindly to being talked to like that. Change your fucking tune.”
He got one chance. That was it.
“Where the fuck do you get the idea that yo—”
That was it. I slipped my hand in my pocket, brought my knife out in a flash, and I was across the yard the next beat.
He stopped talking because there was metal against his flesh.
He froze, his eyes popping out.
I leaned forward, my arm locked in place. “You want to finish that stateme—”
But it was too late for me too.
I made the first move, so the rest had to back me up. They did. The guys near Zeke were shoved back. I didn’t look to see who grabbed who, but I waited until all the movement was done. Shouting. Curses filled the air. A girl yelled and harrumphed. All the while, I waited, my eyes locked with Zeke’s.
I was letting him see me, the real me. The me Tabatha Sweets forgot sometimes. Because deep down, no matter how much therapy and community service had rehabilitated me, there was still a feral animal in me. It took a second to come back up, but it was there.
It was stretching, waking up, and I was starting to pant from the effort it took to rein myself in.
