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I cross my arms and glare at him. “Why? So you can push me off?”
“Just fucking go,” he says as he jerks his coat off and shoves it at me. “And put on this. Save her. I’ll stay here and fend them off.”
“What are you talking about?” Gloria asks.
“I’m infected,” Duke says. “I already got bitten. It just hasn’t turned me yet.”
“What?” she cries, like he’s an actual zombie.
“Save yourself,” Duke says, both of them acting it up like they’re in a fucking movie. He hugs her and then makes a cradle of his hands, lifting her on her good foot. She stands and grabs one of the iron bars overhead and hangs there, looking down at us.
“I’m not going up there,” I say.
“The fuck you aren’t,” he says, shoving me against the wall and yanking his jacket around me. He leans close, so close even Gloria won’t hear him over the bloodthirsty yells of the growing zombie hoard as they pound along the other side of the warehouse. “Baron ordered anyone who found you to bring you to him. He’s pissed about your cousin getting us suspended. He’s going to kill you tonight.”
sixteen
Rumor Has It… A certain Elite new boy was seen settling in for the night instead of going out to join the festivities and cheer for the Queen. Did they rekindle things after Homecoming as we suspected, or was it all a ruse?
Rylan Woods
I’m going to fucking kill her.
I sit at the window, fuming. I can’t believe Gloria went without me. There’s not even a game, but she couldn’t go one fucking weekend without seeing her stupid friends. She invited me, of course, but I have to see those assholes every day at school. I don’t care to spend my weekends with them too. Not when I know their brother fucked my girlfriend.
Plus, Lo was sure she’d win her race, and I’m not about to show up just to cheer for her like a simp. I hope she won, and it felt hollow without me there to share her victory.
A light goes on in the house across the lawn, and I lift my binoculars. Mrs. Beauregard—now Ms. Walton—is in the twins’ room, getting the laundry out of the hamper. I don’t know why she doesn’t let their maid do it. Even my mom lets the maid take care of shit.
She says she spent plenty of time working, and now she’s going to enjoy being a spoiled housewife. It’s like she’s a different person since moving here.
We all are.
This is how I’m spending my Saturday night. Watching my girlfriend’s mom do laundry while my girlfriend is hanging out with her ex’s brothers. My temples pulse with anger, like they do every time I think about that giant gym-bro touching my girlfriend, kissing her, ramming his baseball bat-sized dick inside her.
Fuck. I want to kill him.
Or myself. I’m not sure which.
I’m about to drop the binoculars when Ms. Walton holds up a pair of white panties. She checks inside them and sets them aside. I wonder if one of the twins got her period in them. The thought does something funny to me. It’s a new level of violation, something too intimate to know about a stranger. If she’s cramping, walking around with a warm, wet tampon nestled inside her bleeding cunt.
Keeping the binoculars raised, I watch Ms. Walton sort through the clothes and pick out another pair of dirty underwear. She checks inside, then lifts them to her nose and sniffs.
I about fall out of my chair.
She sets them with the other pair, sorts through and pulls out two more pairs. Then she stuffs the dirty clothes back into the hamper and crosses the room, dumping out the other twin’s hamper. She goes through it the same way, complete with sniffing her other daughter’s panties.
What the fuck?
She leaves the room, switching off the light and plunging the room into darkness. A minute later, Gloria’s light goes on. I hold my breath, watching Ms. Walton sift through my girlfriend’s clothes and remove all the dirty underwear.
Maybe it’s not laundry day. Maybe she just washes the delicates on Saturdays. I know from having a mom and a sister that they wash their underthings separately. I try telling myself that, so I won’t have to think about my girlfriend’s mom having a panty-sniffing fetish. Plus, it’s giving incest vibes.
After she leaves Gloria’s room, the light goes on in the kitchen. I watch for a while, but I can’t see much from this angle. I’m straight across from the girls’ rooms, but I can’t see very far into the downstairs windows. I decide to head downstairs, since Mr. Montgomery took Mom on a date tonight, and they came stumbling home and crashed hours ago. With the amount they drank, they’ll be passed out cold until morning. Cotton’s at the party, which means no one will catch me.
I head into our den, which is across from the Waltons’ kitchen, and kneel in one of the leather armchairs, resting my elbows on the back and raising the binoculars. Ms. Walton is now addressing a bubble mailer envelope. Boring.
I’m about to find something else to do when she finishes and picks up another envelope, slipping a pair of panties into it.
