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She’d done it. I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. Jessica walked into her friends’ party and came out as a traitor. Seeing the smile on her face, the enthusiasm as she cheered at our victory, felt like stepping into a parallel universe.
I’d been certain she was faking it at the track. Cheering for Jason, acting excited for the win — it had to be fake. She’d been told to submit to us and to think of our pleasure, so what better way to do that than to pretend she was invested in our victories?
But now…now I didn’t know if I believed that anymore.
We sped through Wickeston Heights, slowing only when we reached the gate and tried to look casual as we drove past the guardhouse again. But that old guard couldn’t be bothered to even glance up as the exit gate opened for us and we were free.
“Aren’t you guys afraid they’ll report this?” Jess said. “I mean, Nate’s dad is a cop…”
“If they report us, we’ll report them,” Jason said. “And we have a hell of a lot more evidence against them besides what they did to the cars. If Nate wants to go crying to Daddy, then he’d also better be prepared to explain all the party drugs he’s bought from Vincent over the years.”
Vincent chuckled from the driver’s seat. “There’s benefits tobeing everyone’s dealer. Prime blackmail material.”
“If they want it to get ugly, I can make it fucking ugly,” Jason went on, with a grim smile. That was the only reason we’d been able to be so bold with this. Getting the police involved would work out badly for everyone, but if that’s what they wanted to do, we could do far worse than simply fucking up their rides.
“We have plenty of ammo with us that isn’t frozen,” Manson said as we drove. “We should go over to Crookston. We still have enough light.”
“What’s Crookston?” Jess was seated between Jason and I, and she was still vibrating with energy. Her green eyes were bright, and her posture was rigid as her fingers tapped rapidly on the shoulder of the front seat.
What was her deal anyway? What did she want? Why was she doing this?
Why did she keep playing these games?
“Crookston High School,” Jason said. “The whole building has been abandoned for decades. We use it for paintball games.”
“I’d be down to play a round,” Vincent said. His tone changed as he gave Jess a mischievous look in the rearview mirror. “And what do you know, we have enough guns for everyone. Even you, Jess.”
“Really?” Her voice came out squeaky, and I thought she was about to say she wasn’t interested. “Oh, hell yeah! Let’s go!”
I didn’t know what the hell she was thinking.
We kept driving, eventually taking a turn and heading back into the trees. The old high school couldn’t be seen from the road anymore — its yard was overtaken by tall grass and overgrown trees. In the dusk, it looked particularly eerie with its broken windows, its chained doors halfway off their hinges. The white plaster exterior was now a dingy gray, with streaks of brown that seeped from the window frames like dried blood.
“It was abandoned back in the 70s,” Vincent explained to Jess.She was edged up on the seat next to me for a better view as the Bronco bounced along the rutted road, the asphalt buckled and cracked from years of neglect. “Attendance was too low. They locked it up and left everything behind.”
I glanced to the side, just in time to see Jess’s eyes dart away from me. I was the first one out of the vehicle as we came to a stop, shoving open the door before the car was even in park.
“Ready for a little urban exploration, fucktoy?” I said, leaving the door open so Jess could climb out behind me. We all piled out, stretching our arms and rolling the stiffness out of our shoulders.
She looked at the old building sprawled out before her, half overtaken by creeping vines. “Looks pretty creepy. Is it haunted?”
“Probably,” Jason said, and she laughed, playfully shoving his shoulder. My frown deepened even more.
“Technically, it’s private property, but no one bothers to check for trespassers,” Manson said as he opened the Bronco’s hatch and pulled out our guns, tossing one to each of us. Jess caught hers easily.
“Are we going against each other?” she said, watching as Jason and Vincent reloaded their hoppers.
“That’s right. Player versus player,” Jason said.
“We’ll spread out through the building,” Manson said. “Last man standing without paint on him wins.”
“Or woman,” Jess said, and I gave a low laugh that made her fix me with a narrow-eyed glare. “What do you think is so funny?”
“That you think you have a chance at winning,” I said, resting my gun against my shoulder. “Or that you’re playing at all. Honestly, I can’t decide which one is funnier.”
Manson was giving me adon’t start shitlook, but it was too late for that. Jess marched up to me, jabbing her purple nail against my chest.
“Not only am I going to play and win,” she said viciously, “but I’m taking you outfirst.”
