Page 32 of The Devils They Are
But even with all those plans, I try not to focus on the fact that the boulder is already rolling down the hill. We can't stop it. By now, screenshots and recordings have already been saved and exchanged hands. All we can do is stop it from getting worse, but deleting all the footage is near impossible—even with Tai's skills.
The only thing we can do is strike back immediately.
Hard. Fast.
Painfully.
Break her so that she remembers who she is dealing with. Make her regret what she's done.
End her miserable existence and send her packing.
Perhaps, Dad can suspend her. She's already on a warning from her altercation with Liv. But still, not having Bexley here is not the solution either.
The best thing we can do is force her to remain on Willowbrook turf, so she can't hide from us.
At the very least, she has detention this afternoon. I'll get her then.
Just hopefully I'll have Rylan and Tai there as well to make sure I don't actually murder her. Because that's a real possibility right now.
Chapter twelve
Bexley
Midwaythroughsecondperiod,I feign the stomach flu, ducking through the quiet hallways to the nurse.
I was pleasantly surprised to find she's a delightful, middle-aged woman, who seems to actually care about the wellbeing of her students.
Therefore, she was more than happy to excuse me from classes for the rest of the day, including an exemption from detention.
Running away has never been my thing, but I'd be stupid to allow myself the opportunity to be left alone with the three wolves. I know they will try to jump me in detention. I would do the same.
Alone, after hours. It would be the perfect time and place for them to seek revenge for today.
So, I took that away from them.
All the Cedar students were advised to be on their best behavior for the rest of the day, as to avoid the same fate. Arch graciously stayed back with Abby after school, to make sure everyone left without troubles, before sending me theall-cleartext message.
Tomorrow, we'll work out a plan to maybe get a few more Cedar students into detention with me or to stand guard outside, just so we can't be ambushed.
But for now, I start making dinner, relieved to see the fridge full of food again.
Mom is awake and moving around, and I'm happy to see that today is a better day for her. Small glimpses of her old self are shining through, her petite frame swaying to music as she helps chop up some vegetables.
"Do you remember when we used to cook together when you were a child?" she asks, slicing an onion.
I nod. "After I set microwave popcorn on fire, you made it your personal mission to ensure I knew how to cook."
She laughs softly. "And you still burned it again. But after that, you demanded to cook for us every Wednesday night."
The indirect reference of Dad makes us both still, but neither of us voice our thoughts. At least we're in sync with that. I guess I share that trait with Mom—compartmentalize your trauma. If we don't talk about it, it never existed.
"And every second Friday, we used to go to Olive Garden. You loved those damn bread sticks," I reminisce.
Mom sighs happily. "They are delicious." She pauses, placing the knife down on the chopping board. "Let's go tomorrow."
I glance over my shoulder at her, stirring the mashed potatoes. "To Olive Garden?" I ask, surprise obvious in my voice. "Like a Mother-Daughter date?"
"Absolutely," she gushes. "It's been so long since the two of us went out and enjoyed ourselves."
