Page 11 of Riot Rules
“Sorry, babe. We got carried away with the game. Forgive us?” Presley offers her the bottle of Fireball she brought in her purse. We didn’t plan the little delay in finding our friend. Didn’t need to. Presley’s complicit in this little subterfuge, though; she loves Mara dearly, but she gets even more worn out by Mara’s energy than I do.
Mara eyes the both of us, and then eyes the Fireball. She takes the bottle, arching an eyebrow at us. “Fine. You’re forgiven. But you guys owe me big, and I fully intend on calling in the debt.”
Oh, I don’t doubt it for a second. When you’re in Mara’s debt, you’re reallyinit. She’ll wake you up in the middle of the night and drag you out of bed to drive her across the state, because she wants to take a photo of a rock formation at dawn for her Instagram account. She’ll make you turn down a date with the boy you’ve been crushing on for the past six months because he’s not suitably cool. Then she’ll go out on a date with the guy and screw him herself, because she’d never actually noticed how good-looking he was untilyoubrought him up.
But what can a girl do? She’s my friend.
“You came on your own?” Pres threads her arm through Mara’s, guiding her back to the beer pong table.
“Oh,godno.” Mara, wearing the tightest, sexiest little black dress I have ever seen, laughs, shaking her head. “I’m not that lame. No, I got a ride from someone very unexpected.” She drinks deep from the bottle of fireball. When she’s finished with it, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and then points over to the other side of the room. To where Mercy Jacobi is pinning a guy up against the wall, running her hands all over his naked chest.
Mercy Jacobi, star of the theater department. Star of two note-worthy Broadway shows, too. Also, Wren Jacobi’s twin sister. In all good stories, one twin is good, the other dark. One good, the other bad. Two sides of the same coin. Mirrored reflections of each other. Not so with Wren and Mercy Jacobi. They’rebothbad. Like, really,reallybad. And once you’re on one of their shit-lists, congratulations, you’ve just made it onto the other’s by default. I’ve done my best to steer clear of Wren since day one at Wolf Hall. It’s been harder to avoid Mercy, though. We were in the same dorm together, freshman year. And now our rooms are both on the third floor of the girls’ wing in the main house, I get to listen to her gripe about the lack of hot water in the bathrooms every morning. I keep my mouth shut, though. I keep out of her way, because the girl is a nasty piece of work.
“Mercy? You came here withMercy?” Presley whistles out a low, long note, her eyebrows climbing up her forehead. “Bold. I wouldn’t have thought the two of you would get along. You’re both so…”
Opinionated. Fiery. Reactive. Impulsive.
Mara sighs dramatically. “Just because two girls are both popular and pretty doesn’t mean they can’t be friends, Pres. And besides...” She smirks secretively.
“Besides what? What does that look mean?” It means trouble. Why did I even bother to ask?
She has a beautiful, light, carefree laugh. It sounds like pure delight—a tinkling silver bell. “Andbesides, Mercy is just about as close as a girl can get to Wren. He doesn’t have female friends. So…”
Ohhhh boy. Strap yourselves in, ladies and gentlemen, we are in for oneroughride. Sure, Mara said she’d love to take a shot at Wren a few weeks back, but I never thought she’d actuallydoit. I just stare at her. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“What? Why? People are always giving him such a bad rap, but he’s not a bad guy, okay. He’s just mis—”
“If you say he’s misunderstood, I’m going to flip this table right now, tear off all my clothes and run around this party, naked and screaming.”
Boyish, dumb laughter interrupts the conversation. “Dude, you shouldtotallydo that.” The guys we were playing beer pong with are still standing at the other end of the table, eavesdropping on our conversation. Mara shoots a bored look at them, plants her hands on the table, leans toward them and says, “Scram.”
The boys scram.
She pops up to sit on the edge of the wood, swinging her legs as she accepts Pres’ fireball again and takes a deep swig. When she’s done drinking, she hands the bottle to me, flashing me a smile. “It sounds stupid but he’s not as terrible as everyone thinks he is. I’ve only seen him make one person cry since I fell in love with him, and that guy deserved it.”
“You’re not in love with Wren Jacobi. You were in love with Joshua Rathbone last week,” Pres reminds her.
“A lot can happen in a week. I have a tender heart. I feel things very deeply. It might takeyouguys so long to fall for someone that your cunts grow dusty and fill up with sand, but I was blessed with an accelerated emotional intellect. I need constant stimulation.”
Constant stimulation? Hah! That sounds about right. Mara tires of her infatuations every three or four days. In this instance, that personality trait actually bodes well. This foolish infatuation with Wren will be over before it truly even begins. Even so, I can’t really believe what I’m hearing. Mara falling for Wren is tantamount to a field mouse falling in love with a rattlesnake. She’s going to scamper up to him with cartoon love hearts in her eyes. He’s going to take one look at her, sink his fangs in, pump her full of venom and swallow her down in one bite. I can’t count how many times I’ve seen it happen. Mara’s been reckless before, but I’ve never known her to be plain fucking stupid. Wren Jacobi isnevera good idea.
“You can stop looking at me like that now, Carrie. You’re hardly one to talk. I know you’re hot for blondie.” Mara’s eyebrow crooks up into a challenge. Shit. I haven’t hiddenmylittle obsession as well as I’d hoped. Mara’s daring me to deny it, when she knows full well I can’t.
So, I don’t.
“Dashiell’s nothing like Wren.”
“Ooooh!Dashiell!” she croons. “Dashiell, Dashiell,Dashiell. You’ve practiced that, you little slut.Oh,Dashiell!”She throws her head back, rubbing her hands over her chest, moaning indecently. “Fill me up, Your Lordship. Make me come all over that beautiful English cock!”
Blood rushes to my face. I’m suddenly very,veryhot. There must be steam coming off my cheeks. I grab Mara’s hands, trying to pin them to her sides, to stop her from molesting herself as she acts out me getting plowed by Dash, but she’s covered in some sort of glittery moisturizer that reeks of coconut and she keeps slipping out of my grasp.
“Dash! Holy fuck, Dash! Fucking give it to me!”
“Mara! Christ, quit it!”
“Why stop now? Show’s just getting interesting.”
All three of us whip around at the deep, low voice. Mara slides off the table, swearing obscenely when she sees Pax—inked up and menacing—standing there, watching us with those stormy grey eyes of his. Pres…Oh shit, poor Presley. Her face has gone sheet white. She takes a step back and sits down hard. Miraculously, by some stroke of luck, there’s a chair there to catch her ass. “Pax. You’re here,” she mutters. “Look, Carrie. It’s Pax.He’s here.”
