Megan snarls at me, but then she hears an older woman’s voice.
“Ahem, this phone call is for Megan White?” The woman sounds unsure, pausing with a light question to her tone before she continues. “This is Maria Delton from St. Trinity University. We’ve received some unsettling information regarding your application. It’s our policy to only allow students that can uphold the moral code of our institution. Therefore, I’m afraid we have to withdraw our offer of tuition coverage and also your acceptance to St. Trinity. We wish you the best in your future endeavors.”
The voicemail ends and silence reigns. It extends so long that, for a moment, I wonder if Megan’s passed out, but no. She’s awake. Staring at the phone in my hand and then the ground.
I watch her and the smile that I’ve held for the last several hours goes flat. It’s an act anyway, a part of the part I’m meant to play. This is simply what happens when someone goes after a beast much bigger and scarier than themselves. Just because I don’t wear the skin of a monster at all times doesn’t mean I don’t know how to be one.
Tilting my head, I stare at the pale, dirt-smudged face of Megan White. After several more minutes of silence, she croaks out one word.
“Why?”
“Why?”I repeat the word, the question. “Why what, Megan?”
Why did I drug her? Bury her? Ruin her?I wait for her to respond, to elaborate. She doesn’t. If she had the ability to use her hands, I have no doubt she’d be covering her face with them as she cries now. These tears aren’t big or dramatic. They’re quieter, silent, as they cascade down her cheeks in clean tracks that smear the grime on her skin.
Burying someone physically is not nearly as satisfying as burying them metaphorically. For someone like Megan, her reputation, her future, her friends—that’s all she has. Her pridedoesn’t stem from her family name or money, but from what she could be.
Now, she’s nothing, and I’m not even done.
I walk over to the stump I’d vacated earlier and reach for the bag behind it. Megan continues to cry quietly, the outline of her head illuminated by both the moon and the lantern Lex had left hanging on a low branch nearby. Using that light source, I delve into the contents of the bag and pull out a bottle of raw honey.
The bottle is heavy in my hand as I turn back to my victim. Uncapping it, I peel away the plastic barrier and leave the lid off before tipping it upside down.
Megan doesn’t notice until a large dollop lands right on her forehead and slides down the bridge of her nose.
Sputtering, she shakes her head back and forth, causing the honey to drip onto her cheeks and stick to the uneven strands of her hair still plastered to her skin and temples.
“W-what are you— Ah!”
Bending closer, I shake the bottle and drip more of the thick liquid, covering her head and her nape. I squeeze as she yells at me to stop. When it doesn’t come out fast enough, I shove my glove-covered fingers inside and then use them to smear the honey all over her cheeks and chin. I drench her in the stuff and when I’m finally satisfied that every inch of her visible skin is covered, I step back and pick the bottle up from where I dropped it next to her.
“What the hell are you doing!”
Megan begins to scream again—either the shock of everything is wearing off or her anger is taking back control. Regardless, I don’t answer her as I squeeze the last of the honey from the bottle, drawing a thick line from where her head juts out of the cold, packed earth and to the rather large fire ant mound a few feet away.
The now empty bottle goes back inside the bag, as do my honey-covered gloves and the lid. Megan’s phone is left, face up, on the stump. All of the information in it has already been copied, downloaded, and sent to Lex’s backup computer, so it’s no longer needed.
“You know,” I say as I stand over the undestroyed curve of the fire ant mound, contemplative as I stare at the smooth lump of dirt. “Too many people think that the best revenge is to live a better life.” I look up, meeting Megan’s eyes. “I’ve always had the better life, though. Rich or poor.”
Megan spits something out of her mouth and glares back at me.
“I’ll give you one last warning,” I offer, holding up a single finger. “Just one—if you want to play war games with me, don’t ever mistake me for a pawn because at the end of the day, I am always the queen player. You will lose.” Cold ice fills my veins, my voice even and frosted over. “Every. Single. Time.”
I lift my leg and bring my booted foot down straight in the center of the fire ant mound. Then, for good measure, I kick down on either side of the remaining hill, smoothing and flattening it out as hundreds upon hundreds of creeping black bugs burst forth from the ground.
“No!” Megan’s eyes bulge when she realizes what I’ve planned all along. “No! Please! I’m allergic to those! I can’t—I can’t?—”
“I know,” I say, interrupting her panicked words. “It was in your school file.” The same one that Lex had easily hacked into. “But don’t worry, your allergy isn’t fatal. Even with this many, they’ll only leave scars… probably.”
Once they’re done with the honey they’ll be drawn to, the sugar thick on the ground and all over her face and remaining hair, the small venom-covered bites along with her mild allergy will leave her with an everlasting reminder.
“Take my advice,” I warn her, taking a step back and letting the bag dangle from my wrist as I reach for the shovel that I’d used to bury her earlier and hoisting it over my shoulder. “The next time you think you can fuck with me, I’ll do more than kill your future. I’ll end your fucking life.”
Twenty minutes later, as I find the trail that leads back to the back of Lex’s aunt’s property—one that I’d walked with Lex during the two weeks I’d had out of school—her screams reach a new crescendo. Hopefully, she realizes soon that the dirt surrounding her isn’t as packed tight as she originally thought. I’d promised Nolan no murder and I’d meant it. I predict she’ll be out by morning, but my warning will remain behind, bitten into her flesh over and over again—a permanent reminder that beauty is easy to destroy, but I never will be.
27
JULIET
