Chaos at Prescott High

by Stunich, C. M.

  “You see that, Oscar?” I say, looking past Hael’s shoulder to the gray-eyed prick behind him. “You keep berating me for giving into Vic. Little did you know it was the other way around.”

  Oscar’s face tightens as he shoves to his feet, snatching up his iPad in the process.

  “I say this with the utmost respect, Bernadette,” he purrs, leaning down to look at me, almost close enough to kiss. “Fuck you.”

  I find myself laughing as Oscar takes off after Vic, leaving me alone with Hael, Aaron, and Callum.

  “Hey, Bern, can we talk?” Aaron asks as Hael studies me, still sitting in his lap, his arms still wrapped around me. He said he would stand up to Oscar for me, but what about Vic? Can Hael stand up to him for me? Can Aaron? I’d love to see either or both of them try.

  “Like Vic said, meeting on Friday. We can talk then.” I push up off of Hael’s lap. I might be the least mad at him, but I’m still pissed. I feel like I’m playing an entirely new game here, and I don’t like it. At least with the old game, I knew the rules. Now, I’m starting from scratch.

  Havoc kept secrets from me.

  They’re just as bad as I always thought they were, and I won’t make the mistake of underestimating them again.

  After school, I head down the front steps to find Hael waiting beside his cherry-red Camaro. Our plan this week is to lie low, but that doesn't mean I don't need a ride home.

  “Hey Blackbird,” he calls out, smoking a cigarette, leaning casually back against the car like everything is fine and dandy. One might think he didn't have a crazy mother, or a father recently released from prison. We all have our masks, and Hael Harbin wears his well. “Have I told you how beautiful you look today?” He takes in my leather pants and halter top with stark appreciation.

  With the sun on my back, and Hael's smile warming up the rest of me, I almost feel for the briefest of moments like this might be at least an okay afternoon. Neither Pamela nor the Thing should be home today, so maybe I'll invite him up? Hael and I haven't talked about what happened after Victor kicked him out of the room, but maybe we need to?

  I should've expected trouble.

  And I mean, I did, but from Kali and the Charter Crew, not from some cunt with a Starbucks cup in her hand. I’d have preferred to be knifed, to be honest.

  “Havoc,” a voice calls out, and a white streak of rage flashes across my vision. It's mixed with a healthy dose of fear as I turn my head to the right and find Hael's ex, Brittany Burr, standing on the sidewalk in front of Prescott High. She goes to Fuller High; there is absolutely no reason she should be on this side of town. You know, except to fuck up my entire life.

  “Excuse me?” I say, and if I were Brittany, I'd probably run. Can she hear the murder in my words? If not, she clearly has no sense of self-preservation. The bourgeois cheerleader cunt stares right back at me with weepy brown eyes. She's looking at me, and not at Hael, but if she's just called out Havoc then there's a reason for it.

  Somehow, it never really occurred to me that someone else might call Havoc. I mean, logically, I always knew it was a possibility, but I guess I was showing my naivety by believing it wouldn't happen. Even weirder than hearing Havoc called out, is knowing that I'm as beholden to that word as any of the boys. As a member of Havoc, it's also my duty to carry out requests—and to determine price.

  How the tables have turned.

  I narrow my eyes on Brittany's pregnant ass, wondering if there’s something in the goddamn water here in Springfield for so many girls to be pregnant. Brittany, Kali … hopefully not me. I bite my lower lip and wonder if I shouldn't take a pregnancy test. I haven't been careful enough, and as much as I believe in a woman's right to choose, I'd rather not have to deal with any of that. Doctors, nurses, questions, medical procedures. It's an invasion of another sort, and I'm not interested in subjecting myself to scrutiny of any kind.

  For right now though, I'm not thinking about birth control. Nah, instead it’s violence that’s in the forefront of my mind. But I already beat up a pregnant chick today. Restraint is key.

  “What did you just say?” Hael asks, his face going ashen as Brittany makes her way over to us, dressed in an oversized cable-knit sweater and leggings with UGGs. She’s got her basic bitch uniform down pat, pumpkin spice latte included. I can see the letters PSL scrawled on the side of the cup.

  “Havoc,” Brittany says again, lifting her chin in defiance. “I'm calling Havoc.”

  “You don't even go to Prescott,” Hael chokes out, but he knows as well as I do that that was never part of the bargain. Call out the word, state your needs, pay the price. That's it. “Holy motherfucker son of a bitch,” he groans, letting his head fall back and sliding both hands over his face.

  “I need you, Hael,” Brittany says, leveling a death glare on me, like it's my fault she got pregnant with some random guy's kid. Looking at her, I can see that we've devolved into something primal here. She wants this man standing between us, but even though I'm loath to admit it, the thought of her taking him from me fills me with a white-hot fury. “This baby needs you.” She puts her hand over her belly, finally turning her attention away from me and over to her ex. “That's why I'm calling Havoc. I want you to be in my life, in this baby's life. I want you to be a father.”

  Hael drops his hands at his sides and gives her a long, suffering look. His expression is strained, almost dejected. He wants this about as much as I do.

  “That's what you called Havoc for?” he asks, studying her in a way that says he looks back on their relationship with about as much fondness as I look back on Donald. What a mistake he was, a nightmare of national proportions. Clearly, anyone can see what a divisive little psycho he is. “To ask me to be a father?” Hael laughs, the sound dry and disconnected. “You understand that's a lifelong commitment. You'll never be able to pay our price.”

  “Look, I'm going to be honest with you, okay,” Brittany says, casting me a look that says I'm not welcome to be a part of this conversation. “But I want to talk alone. Can we take a drive maybe?” She takes another step forward, reaching out to put her hand on Hael's muscular arm. I step between them, cutting her off from touching him and staking my claim in a man that I'm still royally pissed off at. But I can't help it. This is getting primal: two bitches fighting over a bastard. And I'm not about to lose. If Brittany wants to see claws, I'll show her mine. Guarantee mine are sharper, longer, and tipped in venom.

  “You're not taking a drive alone with my man,” I say, and there it is, just sitting out there for the entire world to hear. I don't give a shit if I sound ratchet as hell either. It is what it is. I might've been born into wealth, but I grew up in poverty. South Prescott is in my blood, and I'm a stronger person for it. What does bourgeois Brittany and her upper middle-class bullshit have on me? I'll tell you what: fucking nothing. “And he isn't carrying your baby.”

  “You'd know that how?” Brittany asks, clutching her drink close to her chest. “He fucked me enough times that it's a possibility.” Without thinking, I step forward and hit the bottom of her cup, upending the coffee all over her pale red sweater. She gasps and steps back, shaking out the fabric to keep it away from her skin.

  “I know that he always used a condom with you. I know that I don't like you. And I know that Hael belongs to me now. That's what matters.”

  “Holy shit,” Hael whistles from behind me, but he doesn’t step in or stop me from doing my thing. He doesn’t contradict me either, despite the fact that we’ve never once had a conversation about our relationship or lack thereof.

  Something happened to me on Halloween night though. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I feel like I’m being pulled apart by the wicked fingers of the universe, and only I can figure out how to put myself back together.

  “Bernadette,” Oscar says, appearing at my side like a summoned ghost. He freaks me the fuck out, this motherfucker. Like, how does he materialize out of nowhere like that? I haven't gotten the chance to ask him. “
You know we treat potential clients with respect,” he says, giving me a look before glancing back at a fuming Brittany. “I hear you've called Havoc. What is it that you want?”

  “I want Hael to step up and be a father to his goddamn kid,” Brittany snaps back, tearing her sweater over her head and leaving only her tank top. She's so skinny that even though she isn't far along, her baby bump is showing. The sight of it makes me feel nauseous. Some distant part of me recognizes that I'm being a bad feminist. I should support Brittany honestly. In all reality, it probably is Hael's kid. But I don't like that. It doesn't work into my goddamn narrative, and you know what? Senior year is my year, and I don't want to share.

  “If it even is my kid,” Hael growls back at her. He snakes an arm around my waist and pulls me back against him, claiming me. I love it, and I revel in the look on Brittany's face, even though I know I rightfully shouldn't. Even though I sort of hate Havoc right now.

  “Let her finish,” Oscar purrs, turning to look at us, taking note of Hael's arm around my waist, and then turning back to Brittany. “Go on.”

  Brittany swallows hard, tossing espresso dark hair over her shoulder.

  “I want Hael to take responsibility for the baby, to be a father, to come with me to my appointments.” She swallows hard and looks away, like we're about to get to the core of what she really wants here. “And I want him to come with me to tell my dad.”

  “Fuck no,” Hael snaps back, his arm tightening around me. “Are you kidding? Do you want to see me dead or behind bars? Your father will fucking kill me.”

  “No,” Brittany cries out, her voice this reedy plead that makes my teeth hurt. She takes another step forward, but I press my body back into Hael's. I licked him; he's mine now. “I won't let him hurt you, but it has to happen. We have to tell him.”

  “We don't have to do shit,” Hael snaps, but Oscar gives him another long, studying look and he snaps his teeth together.

  “What else?” Oscar asks, turning back to look at Brittany. “Because once we calculate a price, there's no going back.”

  Brittany nods and swallows.

  “I need you guys to deal with … another guy I’m having problems with.” She exhales and pulls her balled-up sweater against her chest. “That, and I want to get back together,” she adds, and I feel myself go hot and then cold on the inside. “That is, if the baby is his.”

  “If?” Hael repeats, and I swear, I can feel his heart beating against my back. My fingers trace across his tattooed arms, teasing the hair there with my nails. He shudders behind me, but I can't tell if that's because he likes me touching him or because he's completely freaked out by Brittany's presence.

  “Another condition I have is that I want time to talk to Hael alone.” Brittany narrows her eyes on me. “And if the baby is his, then I want us back together, and I want her”—Brittany points a French manicured nail tip at me—“to keep her slutty hands off of him.”

  A laugh bubbles up from out of nowhere, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to throw myself at that girl, to hit her somewhere that isn't her belly and listen to her howl in pain.

  “That won't be possible,” Oscar amends, before I get a chance to second-guess my own self-control. “Bernadette is a member of Havoc; Hael is a member of Havoc. These things are signed and sealed in blood; they cannot be undone.”

  “You're a member of Havoc, and you don't fuck him,” Brittany blurts at Oscar, throwing her arm out for emphasis as she clutches her ruined sweater even closer. Oscar gives her a long, studying sort of look.

  “No, I don't, but I could if I wanted to. Havoc is family, and you are not family and will never be. So. I will look into your request and get back to you with a price, but what Bernadette and Hael do in the bedroom is not and will never be your business.” Oscar turns away from her and moves over to the Camaro, pausing to glance over his shoulder at Brittany. “Meet us at the drive-in after school tomorrow, and we'll give you our price.”

  “On your side of the tracks?” Brittany manages to choke out, but there's no need for any of us to answer her in that regard. We all know that the answer to that question is yes.

  Hael opens the passenger side door for me, and I climb in, deciding that for today, at least, I'll accept his gentlemanly advances. Brittany gawks at us as Oscar and Hael move around to climb in on the driver's side, but she knows better than to say anything. Most students at this school would rather commit hara-kiri than call on Havoc; she has to know she's walking on thin ice.

  “About all that shit you said about me being yours,” Hael starts, but I ignore him, leaning forward to push play on the stereo and starting up Lion by Hollywood Undead.

  “Don't push it,” I tell him, melting back into the seat and closing my eyes.

  I'm exhausted, but I could sleep for a thousand years and find no rest in it. No, I won't truly rest until every name on my list is crossed off in bloodred lipstick and buried.

  “Her entire request is bullshit,” I grind out, sitting on top of one of the old picnic tables as I watch Fuller High kids pull into the drive-in across the railroad tracks. It's been a while since we visited the old grease pit, but I have to say, it feels good, sitting here surrounded by other rejects from Prescott High, like I'm exactly where I should be.

  “That doesn't matter,” Vic says absently, leaning back on the table in a black wifebeater, his hair greased back like he thinks he's John Travolta or something. I'll never admit how handsome he looks like that; I'd rather die. “You know as well as anyone else that when someone calls Havoc, they set the terms, we set the price.”

  Hael is sitting quietly across from us, head buried in his hands. His bloodred hair catches the light as he goes through what looks like a mourning process, like he's saying goodbye to life as he knows it. I'd ask how things could possibly get any worse than they are, but then, I know that rock-bottom is just an illusion. Fate is a cunt, and she will drill down into that stone beneath your feet and send you straight to hell first chance she gets.

  What's worse than having a mentally ill mom, a murderer for a father, and a gang war on your hands?

  That's right, adding a squalling infant birthed by a woman you hate.

  “I've calculated the cost of her request already,” Oscar remarks, consulting his iPad like he always does. Wouldn't surprise me if he lubed up and fucked it, too. “A lifetime commitment from Hael would require a life in return; that's not something she's going to be willing to pay.”

  A shiver chases over my skin as I bite into my burger, slowly licking the sauce off of my bottom lip as Aaron watches me. He does the same with his burger, and I almost smile. I mean, I would if Oscar hadn't just suggested that the price for Hael's fatherhood is murder.

  “But?” Vic asks, closing his eyes against the sunshine, like he's in a world far, far away from here. Flicking my attention to Callum, I see him unloading his extra-large fry order onto a tray and dousing it in ketchup. He pauses just after he does that, staring down at the viscous red liquid like perhaps his mind is somewhere else, too. Maybe at the party, with Danny's blood staining the floor.

  He notices me looking and hooks a cruel smile, flipping his hood up and hiding the golden shimmer of his blond hair. When he puts a long fry between his lips, it's not a particularly innocent move.

  “It either means nothing or it means everything. We don’t have to talk about it. Just decide what it is that you want.”

  I flick my attention back to Oscar.

  “You assume there's a but involved,” Oscar says, smiling in a way that reminds me of cold graves and mausoleums with weeping angels. That thought soon devolves into one of us fucking in a graveyard, and I grit my teeth, wondering where the hell that came from. Another bite of my burger banishes the day-mare into oblivion.

  “There's always a conjunction with you, Oscar,” Vic murmurs as I pick up my chocolate shake and take a sip.

  “Well, in this case, you're right,” Oscar says, and I have to wonder if this
isn't how the discussion of my price went down. “Tell her we want to own her—body, mind, and soul. She'll never accept.” I frown as I think about what Aaron and Vic told me, about how every letter of Havoc but the V wanted me gone, shipped off to Nantucket to work part-time at the ice cream parlor. My lip curls. “There is a but. We add in a condition that she have the fetus DNA tested at the earliest available opportunity. According to my research, Brittany should be about seventeen weeks along. That means conception would likely be on or around August twenty-ninth.”

  Oscar pauses to look up from the iPad as all eyes turn to Hael. He's still slumped over, leaving his triple-meat burger and cheese fries cooling on the table. Nobody talks, but voices drift across the railroad tracks from the Fuller High hangout. We cut class early to have time to talk this out; guess we aren't the only ones who skipped out on sixth period today.

  I watch them, in their pre-ripped department store jeans and Lululemon leggings, and wonder what life is like when you're just … normal. And no, it's not just a setting on a dryer. It's a reality. Either you blend in, or you stick out. And we, we most certainly stick out, like broken graves in a green lawn.

  Hael finally lifts his head up as I glance back at him, his jaw tight, his eyes flinty.

  “August twenty-ninth?” he asks, like that's not a date he wants to hear. “Fuck my life.”

  “You screw her on the twenty-ninth or what?” Vic snaps, lifting his own head back up and leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees. The way he looks at Hael, well, I don't envy the guy. “Speak up. I'm not exactly thrilled with you. On top of everything else, we now have to deal with this shit. The load's getting a little heavy, Hael.”

  “Don't you think I fucking know that?” he snaps back, his skin ashen as he rubs at his face again. His stubble is just starting to come through, and it's a much redder color than I expected. Just yesterday, I was admiring how clean-shaven he was. Just one day of thinking about Brittany, and he’s stopped that routine entirely. “If you're starting to wonder if I might be getting psyched about this whole 'raising a baby with Brittany thing', then you clearly don't know me for shit.” He pauses, working his jaw as his eyes flick back in the direction of the Fuller High kids. “Late August, Brittany stole the keys to her dad's lake house. We spent a weekend up there. I don't know if it was the twenty-ninth or not. Thing is, she didn’t cheat on me until after we got back from that trip. So far as I know anyway.”