I stared back at her, not impressed. Her name was Penny, and she was one of Mara’s best friends. “I just came back with Mara.” I looked her up and down, mirroring the disdainful look she’d shown a second ago. “What kind of fucking friend are you?”
Zeke belched again before pointing at me. Even his grin was sloppy. “Fucking friend. That’s what she is. Get it, man?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Because you can certainly get it. If you know what I mean?”
Yeah. Loyal. That’s why I liked him.
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, dude. Like your dick wasn’t just in her today.”
He frowned, because he honestly didn’t understand why I’d have an issue with that.
I leaned in. “I don’t share chicks.”
Another reason I liked Mara. She kept herself for me and me alone.
But Zeke’s grin was easy. He was always easy when it came to me. Anyone else said that shit to him, they’d be flattened in two seconds. I almost shook my head, staring at my “best friend.” I was an asshole to him. He was a good friend to me. Why he was okay with me treating him like shit was beyond me, but he was.
There were moments when I had his back. Maybe those went a long way, but that didn’t seem right. Brian and Branston were Zeke’s true followers. They were loyal to a fault. If he jumped over a cliff, so would they. A lot of the other guys were the same. The girls too, now that I thought about it. Zeke had this whole school on lockdown.
Everyone did what he said, until I showed up.
I had a different opinion than his, but no matter how many times I voiced it, Zeke never got pissed with me.
I frowned at him, raking my hand through my hair. “Why you so fucking nice to me, man?”
He blinked, still swaying, and a shit-eating grin split his face. “Because you’re my best friend.”
I sighed. It wasn’t the first time I’d asked, a moment of guilt eating at me. And it wasn’t the first time Zeke had given that answer, as if it made perfect sense to him.
All it did was make me feel like shit, and confused. “Yeah, man.” I nodded, grabbing a beer from one of the girls walking past us. She had a handful of them, and she looked up, smiling coyly, and winked. She wasn’t one of Mara’s best friends, but she was still in their group.
I held a hand up to Zeke, turned, and tipped up my beer.
I wanted to find a room, get wasted, and not think again until Sunday night when we had to go back home. That sounded like a better plan than anything else, except maybe getting Mara to ride my dick.
Or that weird chick.
3
Aspen
Camping was terrifying.
Once Blaise DeVroe had caught me, no way could I stay out here and relax in my weird stalking manner. I’d been discovered. The fun was gone. He knew I was here. He didn’t know I was camping on private property. He probably thought I was attending the party. It seemed half our grade was there, and I knew there were others from Los Angeles too, so I hoped he thought I was just someone he couldn’t track down in the house.
But I couldn’t shake the anxiety that he would come trouncing through the woods and find me in my tent. So after sitting up and shaking for five hours straight—jumping at any sound I heard in the woods—I gave up. I packed it in and trudged back to where I’d parked my car.
I’d pulled Maisie, my 1968 Dodge Charger, over on an abandoned road. The grass was long, but there’d been enough of a crossing for me to know it once had been a road to come onto these lands.
My parents hadn’t wanted me to have a classic muscle car, but when I saw Maisie, she spoke to me. She told me that while she loved having the speed and muscle and girth that’d been built into her, she was truly a diamond princess at heart. I was supposed to free her inner diva, so when my parents asked what car I wanted, I told them Maisie and dug my heels in. It wasn’t like I’d asked for a dog or a cat. It wasn’t like I was complaining that both my brothers were nonexistent in my life. And that seemed to do the trick—mostly because the reason my older brother, Nate, wasn’t around was because they’d tried to control his life. And dude, my brother could hold a grudge. I’m talking years. Actually, the grudge might’ve lingered until the point that he’d forgotten we existed.
I was being sarcastic, but with an edge of truth mixed in.
But it wasn’t the older brother card that won the car argument for me. It was my other brother card, because, you know, Owen wasn’t around because he was dead.
Yeah…
I hadn’t wanted to play either card, because I wasn’t that girl. But Maisie meant that much to me, and after my voice cracked, my parents gave in. They almost couldn’t give in fast enough.
Maisie was in our driveway the next morning, and she’d been mine ever since.
In a way, Maisie was my best friend. She was the one I hung out with the most.
I had lunch with her. I had dates with her. I depended on her for things, like holding my bags and carrying my things from point A to point B. And she always showed up. She was always happy, the purr of her engine told me so. It was her hello to me, and I rewarded her every time with a smile, a hello back, and a pat. Sometimes I tickled the dashboard.
I knew she enjoyed it.
The radio always did a little skip after the tickling. That was her little wink back at me. So yeah, Maisie and me. We were the best of friends.
When I returned to where I’d left her, of course she was waiting. I stowed my camping equipment in her trunk and tossed my backpack in front. I slid behind the wheel and checked my phone.
Zero text messages.
Zero phone calls.
Zero voicemails.
Alrighty then.
I started Maisie, and we were on the road a second later.
Zeke Allen’s cabin was an hour away from Fallen Crest. The drive back was relaxing. I enjoyed the scenery along the shoreline.
I got a peek of it as the road wound in and out.
When I got back to Fallen Crest, my stomach was cramping. I’d forgotten to eat today, and I wasn’t altogether sure I’d eaten the granola bars I’d packed for yesterday either. Either way, I knew there’d be food for me at home. Though my parents employed a chef, I had a craving for a nice juicy, greasy cheeseburger, so I made a stop. One burger. One fry. One soda, and soon I was heading for the newest section of Fallen Crest.
I slowed, pulling up to the gate.
The attendant rolled his window down.
“Heya, Mr. Carl.”
That’s how he’d introduced himself to me, and though I didn’t know if Carl was his first or last name, it’s what I called him.
Mr. Carl was middle-aged. I never knew for certain how old he was, but in my mind he was fifty-three. Gray hair. Wrinkles all over his face. And a smile. He was always smiling. He had a little paunch, but he said it was because the “missus” enjoyed feeding him too many dumplings. Was it sad that I hadn’t known what dumplings were? I’d had to google them, and then I asked our chef, Benny, to make them. He looked as if I’d committed a terrible crime, but he made me dumplings that night.
And chili. I liked his chili the most.
I now asked for it once a week. He made it with turkey meat, said it was healthier that way.
I didn’t care. I enjoyed it.