Ava caught her balance and tried to blink away the curtain of red that had come down over her vision, but it wasn’t possible. Not this time. She was here tonight because she’d seen Jasmine touching her man – and yeah, that’s what Mercy felt like in her own stupid mind: her man. Because her man didn’t want her – didn’t want tobeher man – she was here with Carter for whom she felt nothing, pretending to drink crap beer, suffering hearing loss, and now staring down a rattlesnake in dangly earrings.
“I heard you,” Ava said as she righted herself, her hands curling into fists. “But I don’t think whatever just fell out of your mouth counts as English.”
“Ladies.” Carter shoved his arm between them. “Hey, let’s not–”
The music cut off and the sound vacuum was painful. There were protests and shouts; all the small human noises swelled to an overwhelming level without the music. Then someone from up on the gallery screamed, “Cops!”
Pandemonium broke out. Ava was shoved and jostled; she ducked flying beer cups and got splashed anyway. It was a full-on stampede.
A hand grabbed the sleeve of her jacket and pulled, giving her a direction in which to heave herself. She staggered forward, slapping away elbows and hands, ducking and weaving, towed forward all the while.
Down a side hall, narrow and dark; she felt the lace of cobwebs against her face and neck, pulling at her hair. Then there was a door, a creaking, and night air flooded her lungs as she staggered outside into the overgrown garden.
It was Carter who’d tugged her along, and he released her now, leaning forward to catch his breath with his hands on his thighs.
Ava glanced around their shelter of crowded fruit trees and saw the revolving blue lights of patrol cars toward the front of the house. “You think there’s any chance we can make it to the car?”
He glanced up, grinning. “I’m game if you are.”
Her heart was knocking hard and she felt herself smiling too. “Yeah.”
Four more students came stumbling out of the house, into their hiding place, and Ava’s smile vanished. Mason Stephens, his best friend Beau, Ainsley, and another girl, Megan, also of cheer squad fame.
“This fucking blows,” Mason said. “I swear, if my dad was mayor–”
“But he’s not,” Ava said. “Just like he couldn’t ever be governor, either.”
His gaze snapped over to her, the light in his eyes murderous. He grinned, though. “What are you doing here, Teague? The Pound Puppies let you out of your cage for the night?”
“Mason, shut up,” Carter said.
Everyone present turned to him with obvious shock, Mason especially. It was, Ava realized, the first time Carter had ever questioned his leader. And he’d done it for her, no less.
She felt a small warming toward him, not romantic, but friendly.
“What did you say?” Mason asked, gathering himself and finding his perma-sneer again.
“I said shut up,” Carter repeated. “You’re bugging the hell out of me.”
Mason, auburn-haired and richly-appointed as ever, studied his real Rolex and made a thoughtful face. Ava knew for a fact he belonged in a private school somewhere – mainly so he wouldn’t be able to torture the middle class kids – but that his father wanted to present a family picture that was “normal and down to earth,” as all the failed campaign ads had always said.
“That’s how you wanna play it?” he asked mildly, glancing back up at his friend.
Carter folded his arms and braced his feet apart. There was fear in his eyes, even if he put on a brave front. “Yeah. It is.”
Mason nodded and looked very much like his father had during the locally televised gubernatorial debates several years before. “Okay.” His head lifted and he scanned their small gathering. His eyes came to rest on Ava and she hated the false smile he gave her. “If the cops are breaking this up, I’ve got a better idea of where we can go.”
Thirteen
Five Years Ago
Mason’s better idea involved the fifty yard line of the high school stadium, a full bottle of Smirnoff, and a Ziploc bag of nubby joints. Ava balked at the tunnel that led out onto the field, hating every single part of this. But Mason smirked at her and said, “Maybe you people aren’t that outlaw after all.” Wanting to punch him in the throat, wanting to punch Mercy in the throat for giving her the need to fling herself away from all that was comfortable and into the arms of this strange “normal,” she followed the others out onto the turf.
It was a Thursday night, which meant no games, which meant the stadium was bathed in darkness. The girls had pocket-sized flashlights that they clicked on and set up in a small circle. The light ringed them in angled cones across the grass, its dull green the only color in their underwater world of blue and gray and glowing white lines that marked off the yardage, even in the dark like this. Ava didn’t like the way she couldn’t see much of anything; she didn’t like the idea of Jerry the live-in janitor finding them out here.
But she was the one who’d continued to tag along. If the night went badly for her, it would be her own fault.
She sat cross-legged between Carter and Beau. Beau smelled like he’d borrowed his grandfather’s aftershave. Mason lit the first joint and passed it to Ainsley. He took the first swig off the Smirnoff. Ava didn’t want to touch the places the others’ mouths had touched.
