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“I am not my father,” Mr. Delacroix says, glaring at the Dolce boys. “Nor am I controlled by him or his associations.”
“It’s okay, dude,” Duke says. “Not everyone’s smart enough for law school. Every family has a fuck-up. We’ll give you a pass this one time. Just don’t let it happen again.”
The librarian looks annoyed as he glances from me to the table and back. “Is that where you really want to sit?”
“Of course, Mr. Delacroix,” I say, trying to warn him with a look. I appreciate him going to bat for me, but the game is rigged, and he has no more chance of winning than I do.
“Otherwise we might not let her be our Glory Hole at the next meeting,” Duke says, giving the teacher a shit-eating grin, daring him to do something about it.
Mr. Delacroix looks like he’s regretting his decision to engage more with every passing second. I feel bad for the guy. One of the older teachers should have told him that you never, ever interfere with the elite. Other students don’t, the admin doesn’t, and teachers sure as hell don’t.
“Is that true?” he asks me at last.
“It’s not illegal,” Baron says coolly.
“Unless being a slut is suddenly against the law,” Duke says.
“If that’s the case, you better arrest her right now,” Cotton says, clearly reveling in my downfall with the rest.
“That’s right,” Baron says. “No money changes hands. Everyone’s a consenting adult. Free use girls are hardly a novelty. But then, you know that already.”
Mr. Delacroix clamps his jaw shut and glares.
“That’s the great thing about the Midnight Swans,” Baron says. “They keep records of everything. And what’s not written in the book is passed down by word of mouth.”
“I’ve heard stories about you, Walker,” Duke says. “You’re a bit of a legend. Up top.” He holds up a hand like he’s expecting a high-five, which of course he doesn’t receive.
“Hey, you could come to the meeting and check it out, if you’re so worried about her,” Cotton says. “Once a Swan, always a Swan, after all.”
“Yeah, it’s just a little harmless fun,” DeShaun pipes up.
“Just think, in your day, all the Swans in town would have come,” Baron says. “Your dad and grandpa too.”
“Oh yeah,” Duke says. “Didn’t they all bust in your mom one time?”
“No, that was Preston’s mom,” Baron says. “But now that I think about it, your mom had her own reputation over at Faulkner High, didn’t she?”
Duke laughs. “Your mom’s an elder ho? No wonder you’re defending Glory Hole.”
“Really?” Mr. Delacroix asks, looking more exasperated than angry about them dragging his family skeletons to light. “You’re resorting to glorified ‘your mom’ jokes?”
“Oh, it’s no joke,” Duke says. “Didn’t she tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
I wince. I want to tell the teacher to walk away now, that it’s not worth it. He’s playing right into their hands. He doesn’t know them like I do. Baron knows more about Faulkner’s founding families than most of the members of said families, and he likes nothing more than to show it off. Duke just likes to goad people, to get under their skin, to hit that nerve like a sadistic dentist let loose with a drill. They make a horrifyingly lethal team.
“That’s right,” Baron says. “She was a member of her own secret society. What was it called, Duke?”
Duke scratches his head like he’s thinking, but his eyes are glowing with that fire they get, the malice and mayhem that comes before the storm, before the lightning strike he delivers like Zeus, a shock that sends a queen from her throne to her knees, that would drop Colt off the side of a building without a second thought. “I don’t remember,” he muses. “What was it again?”
“The Slut Club,” Baron says, his words a harsh, blunt blow that flattens people instead of electrifying them with the crackling charge of Duke’s.
“Oh, that’s right,” Duke crows, slapping the table. “I bet she’s got some crazy stories. Maybe I’ll ask her after mass on Sunday.”
Baron rubs his chin. “Doesn’t she teach Sunday school? I bet her class would love to hear about her glory hole days.”
Everyone’s watching, listening, but no one speaks. In that moment, I understand why no one stopped them when they did this to me in the hall. Watching them dismantle and destroy someone’s ego is a sight to behold, not just because it’s human nature to indulge in the delicious schadenfreude of it all. The way they play off each other so effortlessly, so effectively, is an artform of its own. It’s hard not to admire a weapon that beautiful, no matter how deadly.
