Page 59 of Riot Rules
He laughs like he’s remembering the exact same thing. “How doyouthink? Anyway. My point is that I started snaking my mom’s Ativan.”
“Ativan? Jesus, howoldwere you?”
He shrugs. “Nine?”
“Fuck!”
“That shit knocked me right out. You should give it a go.”
An argument could be made that this is why Pax behaves the way he does a lot of the time. If he started fucking around with prescription meds when he was nine, it’s no wonder he has such erratic mood swings now.
We carry the bags of decorations into the house to find Wren standing at the foot of the open staircase, staring up toward the massive skylight in the roof.
“Hey. Take a look at this.” Without looking at us, he holds out a wooden box the size of a bible with a mandala engraved into the top of it. Pax takes it from him and flips open the lid. Inside there are scores and scores of tiny little baggies with a variety of different colored powders inside. Pax and I whistle at the same time. “Holy fuck, Jacobi. How much did this set you back?”
“Forty k. My birthday present from the general. I’ve been sitting on the money for a while, trying to think of something heinous to do with it. I think he’d be suitably horrified by my purchase, don’t you?”
A couple of months ago, I’d have been pumped to see so much coke in one place. Looking at it now, I’m wondering how salty my roommates are going to be when they realize I won’t be touchinganyof the high-grade narcotics inside that box. I want to be clearheaded when I see Carrie tonight. I reach over and snap the box’s lid closed, changing the subject. “What are youdoingright now?”
Wren pouts, jerking his chin upwards. “You guys ever wondered if the drop’s far enough to kill yourself?” Pax and I look up, staring up at the ceiling, too. We can see all four floors of Riot House from here; the stairs wind up and around to the open walkway on the second floor, and then the third, and then the fourth, where Wren’s room is located. I squint into the bright morning sunlight that’s pouring in through the skylight.
“Maybe. If you made sure you landed on your head.”
“You’dbe fine,” Pax says. “Your skull’s, like, five inches thick.”
There are plenty of sour retorts I could launch back at him, but I really can’t be arsed. A haunting melody has been repeating on a loop in my head for the past two hours and I want to get up to my room so I can write it down before I forget it.
Dumping the bags onto the floor, I slap the back of Pax’s head, jogging past him up the stairs. “Back soon. Gotta take care of something real quick.”
“Don’t be too rough,” Pax shouts after me. “I don’t think you can snap your banjo twice, but you never know.”
Fuck that guy. Seriously. On the third floor, I duck into my room and slam the door closed. A surprised shout flies out of my mouth when I turn to face my bed, though. There, stretching out on the comforter, with her feet crossed at the ankle and a book in her hands, is Mercy Jacobi.
“What the FUCK!”
She puts the book down, giving me a cordial smile that looks and feels barbed. “Hey, Lovett.” She spins over, rolling onto her stomach, and I can see right down her tight little black shirt. She’s wearing a tiny tartan kilt like some kind of porn actress—the scrap of pleated red, blue and green fabric doesn’t even come close to covering her ass cheeks.
I press my fingers into my forehead, close my eyes, and sigh. “Merce. What the fuck are you doing?”
“Wren invited me over. He wanted some advice on décor for this little soiree you’re planning. Soundsverynaughty.”
“Then you should be out there with him, not in here with me.”
“Don’t be such a child. Open your eyes. You’re a big boy now. Why the hell are you shying away from a little flesh like a twelve-year-old virgin?”
“I’m assumingWrendidn’t see you dressed like that.”
She laughs. “I may have doctored my outfit a little for your benefit.”
“You shouldn’t have.” By god, do I fucking mean it. If Wren walks in here now and finds his sister sprawled out on my bed with her tits and ass on show, I’ll only live to regret it for a few seconds. I’ll be dead before my head hits the floor. “I have some stuff I need to do, Merce. For real. I’d love to hang around and chat but—”
“I’ve been watching you, y’know, Lovett. You’ve been acting…different. Almost as if you’ve been leading some kind of elicit double life.”
I open my eyes and drill her with a cold, hard look. Mercy’s a game player. She’s just as sharp and astute as her brother, but she’s also far more self-serving. This little comment of hers is meant to serve a purpose, and her subtext is clear: I know something you won’t like me knowing, and I want to know what I can get out of you if I leverage it against you.
“Mercy. You, better than anyone else, should know just how far you’re gonna get with me, pulling a line like that.”
She grins, her mouth a slash of red, her lipstick popping against the pale cream of her skin. She runs the tip of her tongue along the bottom of her teeth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
