Page 34 of Revenge At Raleigh High
“You’ll change your mind, son. And when you do, I’m sure this’ll come in handy. Use whatever tool tickles your imagination. Probably not safe to keep it here anyway. I’ve laid eyes on it. I know it’ll be safe with you. Just don’t let anyone else touch it, you hear? ’Specially not Q, or any of the other Dreadnaughts.”
I’m pushing the bag of torture implements back toward him, shaking my own head, when Monty slumps back into his chair, clenching his jaw.
“Thanks, kiddo. Sorry for all the to-ing and fro-ing with that thing. You know, you’re actually doing me a really big favor.”
And that’s it. Just like that, with a few simple words, he’s made it impossible for me to say no.
TEXT MESSAGE RECEIVED:
+1(564) 987 3491: The entire team’s gonna get a ride next time. When u gonna let us feed that greedy cunt, Parisi? We’re gonna make you fucking bleed.
13
SILVER
“Oh, my goodness!Silver? Thisisa surprise.”
Mrs. Richmond looks genuinely shocked to see me when she opens up the front door to her house. I’m shocked I’m here, too. I would have texted my brother to let him know I was outside and he could have just come out to meet me; that would have been the easiest way to manage this uncomfortable situation, but Max still hasn’t got a cell phone, so I was shit out of luck in that department.
When Mom messaged and asked me if I could pick my brother up from the Richmond’s, I immediately typed out a message, telling her absolutely, categorically no freaking way. I haven’t been over here in a really long time, after all. I used to visit at least once a week with the other girls. We’d rotate between houses, which generally meant the Sirens spent time at each other’s places regularly. Since everything went down with Jake, however, I’ve made sure to avoid even driving down this street at all costs.
Mom hasn’t asked me for anything since she moved out, though. Not a single request or favor. As a point of principle, she’s been trying to show me that she doesn’t need to lean on me the way she did during the months leading up to her separation from Dad, and honestly, it’s been kind of amazing. I love Max. I never minded the cooking or cleaning, or running errands for her, but it also does feels like I just got my life back. Mom’s been working as a freelance CPA for the Mayor’s office, though. Started out as a temporary position, but they spoke with her last week and told her that it could become permanent if she was willing to put the work in. She needs this job to afford the rent on her new place, so when she told me their month-end budget meeting ran long and she couldn’t get away today, I made the decision to swallow down my anger at her and show her a little support.
Kacey’s been gone for well over a month. Melody, Halliday and Zen are still stuck together like glue, but they haven’t been on the attack where I’ve been concerned, so I figured standing on the Richmond’s doorstep for five seconds while Max got his shoes wouldn’t be that big an ordeal.
I was wrong, though. It feels so normal, being here. Like I should just waltz right on and make myself at home. On Thursdays, I used to teach guitar to a kid around the corner from here and occasionally I’d stop by and pick up Halliday when I was done. We’d go grab a milkshake at the diner or go swimming at Lake Samish in the summertime. The front door of the house was never locked. I’d let myself in and park myself on a stool by the breakfast counter, grazing on whatever fruit was in the bowl there by the key tray while she got ready for us to leave. So much has changed since then. Being hereisn’tnormal anymore. I’d never dream of letting myself in and making myself at home these days.
Mrs. Richmond opens her mouth, then closes it again. She doesn’t seem to know what to say. Her hair’s longer than I remember, but it looks a little lank and her roots are showing. She always used to be so well put together, but today, in her sweatpants and her oversizedRaleigh High Class of 1990t-shirt, I barely even recognize her.
“Would you like to come in?” she asks, blinking rapidly. Her voice is three octaves higher than usual. Strained. “The boys are still in the back room. I told Max your Mom would be by to get him soon, but they were in the middle of a campaign apparently and didn’t want to stop. Shouldn’t take them long to get finished up, though.”
Fuuuuck.
Goddamn boys and their video games. I donotwant to step foot inside this house. I definitely don’t want to hang around while Max finishes up a campaign on whatever new game he and Jamie have become addicted to. If he knows I’ve come to collect him instead of Mom, he’ll use it to his advantage and take forever to leave.
I shift from one foot to the other, glancing back at the Nova over my shoulder. “Uhh…” God, how the fuck am I supposed to say no without coming off like a jerk? I should have left the car’s engine running or something. “Sure, Mrs. Richmond. Thank you. I—that would be lovely.”
I’m not sure what reasoning Halliday gave her mom when I stopped coming around here, but from the way Mrs. Richmond keeps looking at me out of the corner of her eye, her daughter didn’t paint me in a very good light.
Inside, I toe my shoes off and slide them under the mail stand, out of the way. Force of habit. Mrs. Richmond loiters in the hallway for a second, and then nervously rubs her hands together. “All right, then. Well, you know your way to the back room, don’t you. Why don’t you go and light a fire under your brother? I need to check on the oven. I’m making lasagna and everything seems to be burning recently.”
Relieved that she doesn’t want to stand around and chat, I let her go without complaint. She hurries off toward the kitchen, her head bowed, feet moving double time, and I head in the opposite direction, toward the conservatory at the rear of the house known as the back room, where the Richmond children have always been relegated to keep them out of sight.
Neither of the boys look away from the television screen when I enter the room. They both know I’m there, though.
“It’s not seven yet, Silver,” Max says firmly. “I’ve got five more minutes.”
“It’s ten minutespastseven, actually,” I say, looking down at Mickey. “And I have somewhere to be, so you need to get your butt up out of that chair and drag it to the car.”
“Hey, Silver.”
“Hey, Jamie.”
“Don’t beniceto her,” Max tells his friend. “She’s gonna mess up the game.”
Jamie’s always been sweet. Kind. Polite. Usually the complete opposite to Max. His hair is even redder than his sister’s—more of an orange than an auburn, and his face is a constellation of freckles. He’s a sensitive kid. The kind that needs a little more affection than your average eleven-year-old. I dread what’s going to happen to him when he reaches high school.
“Don’t be a butthead, Max. Save the game. You can pick up where you left off next time.”
