Page 61 of Beautiful Venom
Every man for himself.
After I become a Founder, I’ll bring this man down.
One more year.
Just one more.
I’ve survived twenty-one years. One more is nothing.
So I truly mean it.
Dahlia Thorne will not be a distraction.
* * *
The next morning,I show up at psychology class.
That Dahlia also happens to take.
And no, I didn’t find that out because she’s a distraction. I’m just observant by nature and perceive a lot of things about a lot of people, even when they’re ignorant of the fact.
For instance, Pres here is hiding something, and while I’m not sure what it is yet, I know it’s big enough that he’s slipping.
By slipping, I mean both Jude and I have been tightening our observation of his behavior. And that says something since Jude isn’t in any better shape himself.
Preston and I are sitting near the back of the lecture hall as the rest of the students buzz around, their chatter whirling like insects.
“What are you even doing here?” he asks from my right, twirling a black pen and winking at the brunette sitting in front of us.
I flip through the textbook as if I give any fucks. “I signed up for the class at the beginning of the semester.”
“But you never attend.”
“I am now.”
“Why now of all times?”
“It’s as good a time as any.”
“Yeah, yeah. I bet your entirelyrationaldecision has nothing to do with your irrational actions last night.”
I pause, then slowly flip the page. Preston sent a string of texts to our group chat yesterday, gloating and being a general pain in the ass.
Which I ignored, naturally. And Jude entertained.
“There was nothing irrational.” I skim through the words on the page. “It’s all part of a plan.”
Preston grins, his face transforming from docile to demonic in a heartbeat. “So you wouldn’t mind if I become part of the plan and make my move?”
I lean back against the chair, and even though I appear relaxed, the chatter of the students dissipates and so do the girls’ attempts to catch our attention and flirt.
“You made a move and she shut you down, Pres. Take a hint.”
“That wasn’t a move. That was a suggestion. You haven’t even witnessed my real move.” His grin widens. “Speak of the devil.”
My attention zeroes in on Dahlia, who’s walking into class with a few books in her hand and a tote bag slung over her shoulder. It has an image of a cat wearing sunglasses, and right underneath it, a few words are written in a playful font, ‘Fluff you, you fluffin’ fluff.’
What is this? Middle school?
