Kyle
“So you’re going to the party tonight, right?” Ash called out to Kyle.
“What party?” Kyle slid past Ash and Priscilla and opened her overflowing locker. She nudged a pile of textbooks, notebooks, makeup containers, empty Four Loko bottles, and a broken calculator with her foot, trying to stuff everything back inside. She really needed to do a cleanup one of these days. Even her prized pictures of Channing Tatum (shirtless) and Megan Fox (almost shirtless) were ripped and sadly peeling from the locker walls.
Ash and Priscilla exchanged a glance. “At Graydon’s,” Ash said, running a hand through her short, spiky hair. She dyed it a different color every week. This week, it was fuchsia. “Graydon Garrison? He’s a senior? His parents are in Prague or Ibiza or wherever.”
“I went to one of his parties once,” Priscilla added. “I hooked up with these two rich Russian guys. They were so old, like thirty? They thought I was a ho, and gave me like five hundred dollars afterward.” She twirled her long, straight-out-of-a-bottle platinum hair around her finger and giggled.
“I was at that party, too. It was sick. Everyone was doing coke and E. And whippits,” Ash added.
“Those skinny little dogs?” Kyle said, confused.
“No, retard. Cans filled with that gas, nitrous something. You put it in balloons and inhale,” Ash clarified. “God, are you totally out of it?”
“Where have you been lately, anyway? You haven’t gone out with us in, like, forever.” Priscilla pouted.
“My parents are making me do like six hours of homework every night. I have to improve my GPA or they’re going to send me to a convent,” Kyle explained. She knew she was kind of exaggerating with the “six hours” and “convent” part. But that was the only kind of talk Ash and Priscilla understood, especially when they were stoned out of their minds. Which they obviously were, judging from the bloodshot eyes and the smell wafting from their matching white blouses and green-and-black-plaid skirts, aka the suck-ass school uniform.
“Bummer,” Priscilla sympathized.
“Yeah, bummer. Hey, isn’t that your brother?” Ash said suddenly.
Kyle glanced over her shoulder. Benjy was walking down the hall with a couple of guys from their literature class, Colt Reichert and Javier something.
“He’s not my brother,” Kyle said irritably.
Ash shrugged. “Step, half, whatever. He’s kind of hot. Like that dude who’s really Batman when he takes off his glasses.”
“You mean Superman,” Kyle corrected her.
“Same difference. You wouldn’t mind if I hit that, would you?” Ash puckered her lips and blew a loud kiss at Benjy.
But Benjy didn’t seem to notice. He was looking at Kyle.
Kyle turned away, feeling confused and pissed off at the same time. She had managed to ignore Benjy successfully since That Day, and she wasn’t about to change that now.
That Day. They had made out for a while, almost going all the way, then stopped at the last minute when Kyle had suddenly freaked out and stormed off without a word. He had texted her later, apologizing and asking if they could talk. She had texted back, saying that she didn’t want to talk and didn’t want to continue the tutoring sessions with him, and if he had any ideas about narking her out to the parents, she would kill him. He’d never responded, but she hadn’t gotten chewed out by Kat and Beau either, so he was obviously complying.
Problem was . . . it meant she actually had to study and do her homework all on her own, so she could reach-slash-maintain a 3.0 average and make it look as though Benjy were still tutoring her. God. Of course, it wasn’t that hard for her to get decent grades. Her classes were actually a piece of cake. It was the principle of it, though. She hated her school, and the idea of school in general. She hated having to follow other people’s rules and expectations of who she was supposed to be. An obedient, good-girl, straight-A student? That wasn’t her. Okay, so maybe she wasn’t the opposite of that either, not entirely. But she felt she had to be that badass rebel, just to broadcast loud and clear to her teachers, parents, society, everyone, that she was her own person.
As for Benjy . . . well, the whole thing was just too weird to even process. To be honest, she had liked making out with him. But that was demented, right? And maybe even illegal? As in, incest? All she knew was, her mother and Beau would totally lose their shit if they found out. They might even send her to a convent, after all . . . no exaggeration there. She enjoyed pissing off her mother, but not that much.
Suddenly in a foul mood, Kyle glared at the photos of Channing Tatum and Megan Fox stuck on the back of her locker door and tore them down. She crumpled them up into angry little balls and tossed them over her shoulder.
They hit some random girl in the head. “What the fuck?” the girl cried out.
“What’s the matter with you, Kyle? Channing and Meggie not doing it for you anymore?” Ash teased her.
“Hey, speaking of . . . have you seen the new dude who just transferred here? From New York? He could be Channing’s twin,” Priscilla gushed.
Ash raised her hand. “Dibs!”
“I called it first! Or, hey, maybe we could three-sixty-nine him . . .”
“I’m late for history,” Kyle said, slamming her locker shut. “Later, bitches.” She slung her backpack over her shoulder and started down the hall.
“What about tonight? Graydon’s party? You want us to pick you up?” Ash called out after her.
“I don’t know. Sure. Let me think about it,” Kyle replied.
Maybe an out-of-control party was just what she needed to sort out her bad mood and put things in perspective?