Page 61 of Riot Rules
Crouching down in front of her, I laugh coldly under my breath. “I know you have. I figured as much when you started the whole blackmail bit. But I alsoknowyou’re not gonna say anything to Wren. Ask me why.”
She glares at me hatefully. “Why?”
“Think about all the secrets I’ve kept for you over the years, dumbass. Who keyed Wren’s car in New York when they were drunk? Who told General Jacobi that Wren kicked a hole in his favorite painting? Who flushed General Jacobi’s Medal of Honor down a filthy gas stop toilet and then blamed their brother?”
If people could breathe fire, I’d be a pile of cinder. Mercy trembles with rage. “You wouldn’t,” she spits. She knows she’s beaten, though. It’s right there in her eyes.
“Iwould,” I assure her. “Now get the fuck out of here. For starters, you know full-well that I’m seeing someone. And even if I wasn’t, you’re fuckingdrunkif you think I’d ever screw my best friend’s sister.”
25
CARRIE
I’ve never seen somany people walking down the mountain before. It’s twilight—the sun dipped below the tree line a good twenty minutes ago—but the last rays of light are clinging on, eking over the mountains to the west, making the horizon glow an angry orange. There’s a buzz of excitement in the air. The last time I felt like this, I was seven and my mom was walking me to the governor’s gardens at Ebony Briar to watch the Fourth of July fireworks. The fireworks were always a big deal in Grove Hill, and she never wanted to go, but this particular year, she relented for some reason and took me.
I was boiling over with excitement. Our entire street headed over at the same time, and everyone was laughing and chattering. People were smiling. Ahead of us, someone had a saxophone and was playing as he walked at the head of our little procession. Excitement fluttered in my belly at the thought of the small fair the governor hosted on the grounds of his home. There were games and hot dogs. Cotton candy and cherry slushies. This was before Jason, mind you. My mother used to laugh all the time. She and I used to do things together. When she met him, everything changed. Just after my nineth birthday, my memories go from vibrant, vivid snapshots of my happy experiences with her, to greyed out, dim, black and white still frames full of pain.
Tonight, everything is as vibrant as when I was seven. Presley walks beside me, anxiously chewing on the inside of her cheek. Mara’s been trying to be a better friend to the both of us of late; she showed up at my door around six and announced that she was getting ready with us, which she hasn’t done in forever. She got out her stupidly expensive collection of makeup and went to town on Pres, applying a smoky black eye shadow with a slash of metallic green right across the center of her lid, and the effect is mesmerizing. I styled Pres’ hair for her into a sea of auburn waves. The dress she picked out for herself—a short black number with panels cut out of the sides, exposing a good amount of skin. She looks phenomenal.
Mara’s dress is all-black lace. It covers her arms down to her wrists and rises up her neck so that it almost reaches her chin. It’s short as hell, though, and practically see-through. She’s wearing a tiny slip underneath it that barely covers her tits and ass.
It goes against everything I stand for, but I’m head-to-heel in black, too. The girls begged me to steer away from my bright colors, just this once, so that we’d all match, and I could hardly say no. It felt good to be hanging out again, the three of us, prancing around and giggling like we used to when we first arrived at the academy. I’m wearing a skin-tight black camisole, high waisted black linen pants, and a massive, wide belt with an elaborate gold buckle that Mara insisted I wear to finish off my outfit. She also insisted that I let her do my makeup, too, which means I’m wearing far more than usual. My eyes are rimmed with a dark, smoky liner, my cheeks shimmering with Nars’ ‘Orgasm’blush. I point-blank refused the red lipstick Mara tried to plaster on my mouth, and so we compromised on a pale pink gloss instead.
The three of us walk down the mountain together, arm in arm, and I feel like we’re the characters from ‘The Craft’—witches, new in their power, about to go raise some hell.
“Holyshhh—” Ahead of us, a guy walking with a group of his friends turns and nearly trips over his own feet when he sees us. I can’t make out who it is in the half-light, but he looks tall. “Carrie?” he hisses. And then, “Fuck, dude. That’s Carrie Mendoza!”
“Oh my god.” Mara rolls her eyes. Partly because she thinks it’s pathetic that some kid is drooling over one of us, I think, but also partly because she’s low-key irritated that he wasn’t drooling over her. “Thirsty, much?” she yells. “Quit panting and get walking, asshole. You’re blocking the road.”
I blush, because I have no clue what else I’m supposed to do. No one’s ever been astonished by me before. Confused, yes. Bewildered, most definitely. In my time as a student at Wolf Hall no boy has ever nearlyfallen over his own feetbecause of me, though.
Presley laughs shakily under her breath when the guys ahead all turn around and start to clap, whistling and cheering at us. Mara perks up at this, since all three of us are being applauded, but Presley doesn’t know what to do with herself. She ducks her head.
“Nope. No hiding behind your hair, dude,” I command. “You’re a stone-cold fox. Every single guy at this party is gonna be looking at you. Are you gonna spend the whole night staring at your shoes?”
“You gotta look ’em dead in the eye,” Mara says. “Show them what you’re made of. You can’t waste a knock-out cleavage like that being shy, Pres.”
“Your boobsarelooking magnificent tonight,” I confirm. “Even I checked them out.”
Mara smirks. “Pax is gonna notice you the second you walk through the door. You know he will. What are you gonna do if he tries to hit you over the head and drag you back to his cave? Thatishow Neanderthals do it, right?”
“He’s not a Neanderthal!”
“Hate to say it, but I’m going to have to agree with Mara this time. He doesn’t really come across as the brightest bulb in the box.”
Indignant, Presley sets her jaw, looking up and ahead, the color in her cheeks fading. “He’s really smart, actually. He writes. And he likes photography. He’s very creative. I bet you didn’t know that about him, did you?”
“How doyouknow that about him?” Mara asks.
“I—I just do.”
“PRES!”
“Alright, fine. I snooped through his college applications. Harcourt has copies of them all in the cabinet outside the front office desk. She gave me the key so I could add something to my file, and, well, y’know, Chase and Davis are right next to each other. Alphabetically. I saw his file there next to mine, and I couldn’t help it. I’m not even sorry!”
“Very sneaky! I approve,” Mara says. “Enough about Davis, though.” She pulls us to a stop at the top of a short, paved pathway, urging us to look up with a jerk of her head.
We’ve arrived at Riot House.
