Page 97 of Riot Rules
Pax and I look down at our beers and then look at each other. “Beating the shit out of that dude is gonna be really difficult,” Pax says, cracking open his beer. “Like, he is adogtrapped in a man’s body.”
“I know,” I say morosely. “I was thinking the exact same thing.”
44
CARRIE
TWO WEEKS LATER
I don’t have to lie anymore. About anything. I could tell the truth about my past toanyonewho’ll listen and there wouldn’t be any ramifications. I’m free from all of the messed-up shit that happened back in Grove Hill. But…I still can’t bring myself to talk about it. Can’t bring myself to tell the truth in other areas of my life, either. See, once you start lying about little details, it’s surprisingly hard to stop.
I tell Elodie that I slept with Andre. I don’t even know why I tellthislie, when it’s so patently far from the truth, but I guess a part of me wants it to be true. To say it out loud to see how the words feel tripping off my tongue. Elodie buys the falsehood without a second thought. She’s so caught up in her elicit relationship with Wren that she doesn’t notice the twinge of pain in my voice when I tell her that I liked having sex with him.
At the end of the month, the Riot House Boys disappear off the mountain for Wren’s birthday, and Elodie is disconsolate, though she pretends otherwise. She checks her cell phone twenty-three times within the space of an hour before I stop counting and leave her to pine over the dark lord of Riot House.
Life trudges on over the following weeks.
Mercy comes back to Wolf Hall, strutting around like she never even left, which Wren hates.
I study with Elodie and Pres.
I go on another three dates with Andre, and he tells me that he’s in love with me in the back row of the movie theatre, so sweet and heartfelt that I feel like a monster when I thank him and neglect to say it back.
One night, Mercy interrupts Elodie and I hanging out in her room—inMara’sold room—and she reveals that Mara had a secret hiding place. A cubby in the bay window, underneath the windowsill. I knew nothing about it, but it turns out that Mara used to keep a journal, and she neglected to take it with her when she left Wolf Hall.
I convince Elodie that the diary is better off with me. I swear to her that I’m going to take it to the police. I hate lying but surrendering the diary would be catastrophic. Lord knows what’s inside it—how many broken laws Mara wrote about before she booked it for L.A.—and what the consequences of her confessions falling into the wrong hands might be.
And then…less than a week later…Doctor Fitzpatrick (sporting a very noticeable split lip) announces that we have to complete a joint assignment with another student, someone we don’t normally work with, and Dashiell Lovett declares that he wants to work withme.
The second I hear him stand up and say this, I snap out of a weird fog that I’ve been merely existing in for weeks and return to my body with a painfulthump.
My ears ring—a high-pitched awful sound that blocks out all of the chatter and the scraping of chairs happening all around me.
Dash somehow appears in front of me, wearing a pressed shirt and very expensive looking shoes. His expression is unreadable as he looks down at me. His mouth twists a little when he turns his attention to my friend, sitting on the couch beside me.
“Come on. On your feet, Elodie. I need to sit next to my partner.”
“You’ll regret this.” Elodie snaps.
“Doubt it.” Oh, how I recognize the self-assured, arrogant look that Dashiell’s wearing right now. I’ve seen it a million times. I see it now and I want to scream. He snipes again at Elodie—something about Wren—but I’m not listening. I’m too busy biting back that scream.
Elodie looks miserable, but she gets up and goes. I’m frozen solid as Dashiell sits down next to me on the sofa. Over the past six months, I’ve caught the odd waft of Dash’s scent on the air as we’ve passed each other in the halls—unavoidable moments where I’ve done my best to forget how much I used tolivefor the moments that I’d see him in the corridors of the academy—but the brief, faint hint of the familiar smell was only ever a tease, gently stirring up memories without fully resurrecting them to life.
Now, the smell of citrus, and mint, and the ocean is an olfactory assault that leaves me holding a hand to my throat and trying not to breathe. The memories don’t stir. They mutiny.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I hiss out of the side of my mouth.
Dashiell hums speculatively. “Life just gets so boring sometimes, don’t you think? Same thing, happening day in, day out. It’s fun to mix things up a little.”
“Then why not mix it up with Damiana Lozano and leave me the hell alone. You’ve already turned my shit upside down once, asshole. And once was enough, in case you’re wondering.”
He’s silent. Around us, everyone is talking and arguing, rolling their eyes and snatching pieces of paper out of each other’s hands. It seems that no one is happy with the partners they’ve wound up with. Wren looks like he’s about to throttle Mercy with his bare hands, and over by the window, Elodie…oh, god, no. Elodie’s somehow ended up partnered withPax.
“Don’t worry. He’s like an enema,” Dash says. “Unpleasant at the time, but you really feelaliveafterwards. She’ll be fine.”
“I’m not worried about her. I’m worried abouthim,” I snap.
Dash laughs at this. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. She’s quite the spitfire, isn’t she?”
