Page 99 of The Rogues

“You’ve been together for four years,” Cleo grumbles as she takes her flute back from Lark. “And you’ve been deemed the Sid and Nancy of modern rock. You’ll probably get that question a lot more going forward.”

“I guess, but I’ll deal with that when it comes.” Nicola downs the rest of her drink, and I blink at her. She seems sadder than she was when we first got here. Maybe pretending has left a bad taste in her mouth.

“I’d love to see Raven in a wedding dress,” Cleo muses. “I bet it would be black. Like a gothic princess.”

“Alright, alright.” Lark laughs as she crosses her arms. “Maybe we all have had too much.”

“Don’t squash my dreams, Lala.” She pouts. “I bet she’d be beautiful. She’s gorgeous, and so talented.”

“She’s okay,” I say under my breath at the same time Lark says, “She’s decent.”

Cleo feigns a dramatic scoff. “She’s a powerhouse⁠—”

“Of the cell,” I hear Nicola whisper to herself quietly. I hold the snort that I want to let out.

“I’m just saying,” Cleo continues, her hand holding up her glass as she speaks. “Raven can sing wonderfully. I don’t think there’s a note that she can’t hit.”

I roll my eyes on a reflex just as Lark says, “You’re a better singer, though.”

Our friend scoffs. “That is absurd. She can sing circles around me.”

My stomach sours as I remember Raven’s words from a few months ago, the vile she spit at Cleo about being the better singer.

“She’s had opera training,” I point out. “It’s not really fair to compare your voices.”

“How did you know that?” she asks, squinting at me.

I shrug. “It was in some interview. She spoke about being forced into vocal training by her parents the same way I was forced into piano.”

“Huh.” She places her champagne flute down and flattens her hands over her dress, the blue pastel a sparkling contrast to her black hair and eyeliner.

It’s tensely silent for a few minutes as we all sit there and watch Cleo take in her appearance. When the quiet finally feels too deafening, she turns to me and points a finger.

“You don’t like her very much,” she observes.

“No, I don’t,” I admit, the tiny amount of alcohol in my system causing loose lips.

“And what did she ever do to you?”

Where do I start? She’s rude, mean, inconsiderate, selfish, verbally abusive. She gave you drugs and tried to give Florence drugs, and oh yeah, she’s an even bigger poison than the substances she takes.

I see the desire to fight in her eyes and slump my shoulders. “Nothing, I guess.”

Lark scoots a little bit closer to me when she sees the look on Cleo’s face. “Maybe we should leave and get some food,” she suggests.

“No, I think we should get to the bottom of this.”

“I really don’t want to,” I say. “I’ve never liked Raven. She is mean, and you know I don’t handle mean people very well. Not to mention all the shit I heard her say to you⁠—”

She interrupts. “I told you everything was fine.”

“What did she say to you?” Lark questions, but Cleo’s lips are pursed shut. She turns to me and I grit my teeth.

“She was ragging on her, accusing her of cheating and telling her that she’s not trustworthy. Then she made her feel guilty for having emotions and for being famous, and then she directly told Cleo that she was a better singer than her.”

“What?” Lark stands up as she looks between us.

“Josie is blowing it all out of proportion,” she accuses. “You know how dramatic she can be, Lark. Seriously, don’t fucking listen to it.”