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I raise a brow. “No. Did you forget about our deal?”
Her nostrils flare. “Yeah, well, a deal only works if both parties hold up their fucking end.”
I tilt my head. “What do you think we’re doing, smart-ass?”
“Kissing me after putting those horrible posters all over the school?” she quips.
“Horrible? I beg to differ. They’re poetic if you ask me.” I grin. “Poetic justice.”
“That’s my fucking name and picture along with the word whore. In what fucking world is that poetic?”
“In the same world where you begged us to help you out,” I muse.
“You call this helping?” She’s like a volcano about to erupt, and I’m here for it.
“I’m doing what I’m supposed to do,” I retort. “That’s all.”
“Who told you to do this? To print out my sister’s diary and paste it all over the school? Huh? Was it Felix?” she rebukes. “For what reason?” When I don’t answer, she sneers, “Figured.”
She kicks me in the nuts. Again.
And fuck me, this one hurts worse than the last one.
God, this girl packs a punch, all right.
“You deserve that,” she hisses.
“True, I do,” I reply, my tone fluctuating.
She runs off.
Fuck.
Lost her again.
Groaning, I grab my package as a wave of nausea overcomes me. But when I look up, Alistair is right there, staring at me. “What the fuck happened?”
“What do you think happened?” I snarl back. “She knows. Okay? And now she’s gonna go straight to Felix.”
He shrugs. “Not my problem. His idea.” And he continues putting the posters all over the walls like it’s nobody’s business. “He knew this was a possible consequence.”
“But everyone fucking saw,” I say.
“They already knew we were bastards anyway,” he says, winking. “Now let’s finish up.”
Penelope
I bang on the frat house doors. “Open up!”
I keep going until finally someone does. “What do you want? Jesus.”
Some burly dude with bad frizzled hair blocks my way. I don’t know who the fuck it is, but I don’t even care. “Where is Felix?”
“Not here.”
“Fuck that.” I try to push past the dude, but he easily shoves me away.
“Whoa, don’t even fucking try.”
“Let me in,” I growl. “I need to fucking talk to him.”
“Who? Felix?” He snorts. “Tough luck, I already told you he wasn’t here. He’s at a party down the street.”
“What makes you think I believe your fucking lies?” I spit back, putting my hands against my side. “All of you motherfuckers are the same.”
He laughs at me in a condescending way. “Oh yeah, what’s that, then?”
I lean into his face. “Liars. Bunch of fucked-up assholes.”
“Go on.” He grins. “Give me your worst.”
“Fuck you and that fucking bird’s nest on your head.”
He snorts. “That all you got, little rat?”
My eyes widen. “You know …” I grasp his collar. “Where is he?”
He grips my hands and forcefully shoves me away until I fall down onto the pavement. I groan with pain but try not to let it get to me. But as I get up, the dude is clearly making fun of me.
“Fuck you. I’ll fucking find him, and when I do, you’d better pray for his fucking soul,” I say, and I spit in his direction.
“Good luck with that,” he retorts, slamming the door shut.
Fuck that.
I charge at the door and slam it with my fists but give up after a few times. Of course, every passerby on the street is looking at me like I’m a lunatic, but I don’t care.
If Felix isn’t here, I’ll go fucking find him at the party instead.
I storm down the street to where that dude was looking until I find the frat house blasting noise across the yard. Everything’s covered in cans and drink cups with beer spillage and chips lying all over. Seems like they’ve been partying all morning, and it doesn’t look like they intend to stop either.
So much for studying.
I head straight for the building with a bunch of those posters tucked away in my pocket. The music destroys my ears the second I step inside. It’s fucking hot and sweaty in here, with lots of people dancing and talking. It’s as if the entire campus is here.
I steal a cup from someone’s hand and dip into the crowd before they can even say hey. I bring it to my nose, but the mere scent of rum makes me cringe. It’s a good cover, though, so I keep my cup close as I make my way through the bustling party, looking for a familiar face.
I don’t fucking care how long it takes to find him. He’s gonna pay for what he did.
Most of the noise drifts up from the basement to my right, so I walk down the steps into a damp, dark area, where nothing but a few disco LEDs light the faces of the people dancing. A remix of Camilla Cabello’s “Shameless” starts playing. The bass is low, thrumming, just as my heartbeat as I slide into the crowd, watching out for every corner of the room.
