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“Youknow what?Leaveher.”DouchebagOnetilted his head atRose. “Morticiais the one we need to teach a lesson for what they did to theMaxwells.”
“Whatwe did?JoeMaxwelltook out an ad page to trash-talk my father,”Rosesaid incredulously before remembering her fear and dropping her voice.
Rosewas on the money.Myridiculous father,JoeMaxwell, took out a page inTheNewYorkerunder the guise of advertisement.Inreality, it was to trash-talk theAmbaniswith insults and innuendos within the campaign.Iwasn’t allowed to say more.Lawsuitpending.
Themen moved towardPoppyin unison.Ifthey so much as touched one hair on that girl’s head, their bodies would be found in theHudsonRivertomorrow.Droppingmy bag,Iwas about to sprint and tackle them to the ground whenPoppyshocked everyone by addressing the forgotten member of the group.
“KevinThatcher, is it?”SheaskedFakeGucci.
FakeGucciglanced at his companions before frowning atPoppy.Noone in the group addressed him unless they needed muscle.Henodded tentatively.
Poppypulled out her phone and tapped on it a few times. “Foundyou.”Shetyped something else and said, “Checkyour phone.”
Perplexed,Kevinraised his phone to his face.Hedidn’t bother opening it because whateverPoppydid must’ve come through as a notification.Hishead reeled back. “Whoa,” he said, awestruck. “YouVenmo’dme five hundred dollars?”
Theother three douchebags exchanged looks, equally baffled.
“Considerit an advance payment,”Poppyspoke indifferently.
“Paymentfor what?” he asked.
Shetilted her head towardDouchebagOne. “Forpunching him in the face.”
“Whatthe fuck?”DouchebagOne’seyes bugged out, but the more shocking part wasKevin’sreaction.
Takingfour quick steps,KevinreachedDouchebagOneand punched him so hard he went sprawling across the hallway.
Finally, the violenceIhad been waiting for.
Poppydid something else on her phone.
“Onethousand dollars!”Kevinexclaimed, disbelieving eyes examining his phone screen.
Poppyglanced atDouchebagTwo.Kevinneeded no further instructions.AfterwatchingDouchebagOne’sfate, the second one panicked. “Whatthe hell are you doing,Kevin?”
“Sorry, man.It’snot personal.Ineed money for tuition.”
“No, please,Ihave money, too,”DouchebagTwopleaded.
Kevinshook his head. “Notlike she does.”Alittle-known fact,AmbanisandMaxwellswere the wealthiest students on campus.
“Butwe’re friends.”
Theyweren’t.Kevinwas the token poor friend they kept around for street creds, muscle, and the occasional humiliation for their amusement.Iknew their type, andIbetKevinwas sick of the typecast.Theresentment came off him in waves.Kevinpunched his “friend” twice, leaving him on the ground and unable to move.Bythe time he whirled around, the third one was shaking in his boots.
Poppystood still, the perfect puppet master, as her minion did her bidding.WhydidIdoubt her?Sheprobably took one look atKevinand determined the same thingIhad.Todefeat a group, you need to find the weakest link.Kevinmight be physically strong, butPoppyhad sniffed out his weakness.
Therewas another possibility.
Poppywas the youngest person at our college, sharing a four-year age gap from the rest of the student population.Fora long while, she kept herself at a distance.Thiswas the first timePoppyhad shown her fangs.Knowingshe was petite and skinny at five feet, it was possiblePoppyresearched every student to give herself an edge.Kevindesired a better life, and his weakness was the douchebag friends holding him back.
Poppysent anotherVenmotoKevin, saving the best for last.
“Twothousand dollars,” he gasped.
“You’llget another two thousand after finishing the job.”
“Whatjob?”
