“I’m not saying that’s not a valid idea, just that it’s not enough.” Aaron turns his green-gold eyes to the backyard, watching the girls giggle and scream as they swordfight with sticks. Ah, the resilience of children. I wonder when I lost that, the ability to let go and just have fun.
“Mm.” Vic rubs his chin again, and then shrugs. “We always come up with something. For now, let’s get dressed. Oscar, see if they’ve gone?”
“Get dressed for what?” I ask as Oscar heads for the front door and lets himself out.
“We’ve got a late-night class to attend,” Vic says, his attention on the girls, too. He turns away and heads for his room, leaving me to either follow after him and demand answers or just wait and see.
I decide on the latter.
We drop the girls off at Jennifer Lowell’s place, this hideous upper middle-class McMansion with absolutely zero character. But it’s nice, and it’s a hell of a lot safer than my mom’s place or Vic’s place or even Aaron’s place. There’s a gate code to even get in here.
“Do I need to chip into the babysitting fund?” I ask, thinking about the two grand I buried in the backyard at home. I figured that way, even if I got kicked out or something, I could always sneak over the fence and find it.
“It’s paid for out of the Havoc account,” Oscar says, and I have to seriously wonder how much money is in that account if I get twenty-grand to plan my fake wedding with. My eyes flick over to the back of Vic’s head as he sits in the front passenger seat of Aaron’s minivan. It doesn’t escape my notice that we use his van for gang activities. It’s kinda funny if you think about it.
Aaron parks the van along the curb on Main Street, and we all climb out. I hear we’re boosting a car tonight, and I guess this is how it’s done.
The six of us walk four blocks down, toward the Washburne Historic district. The houses here used to be crumbling shitholes that pawned drugs like candy, but now they’re all being restored, and the cars parked out front prove it.
“This the one?” Aaron asks, examining a shiny black SUV. “I’ve always wanted a Navigator.”
“This is the one,” Hael agrees, grinning as he pulls out a small white box from his bag. He presses the keyless entry button on the door’s handle, and it beeps cheerily. “Hop in.” It’s an effort to keep my mouth from gaping open in shock as I climb into the unlocked vehicle and watch Hael press the Start Engine button. The SUV offers zero resistance as he releases the parking brake, and off we go. “No fun left in stealing new cars,” Hael continues as we pull away from the quiet house with the cute carved pumpkins out front. According to the Havoc Boys, they try to steal the nicest cars around because the nicest cars usually have the nicest insurance. That’s some messed-up moral code, but it makes a strange sort of sense.
I glance out the rear windshield to see if the owners have noticed, but nobody stirs from behind the curtained windows.
“Was it me, or was that just too damn easy?” I ask, and Hael chuckles, in a much better mood than he’s been in all week.
“Key fobs produce a series of repeating codes, that’s how they unlock the doors or start the cars on keyless systems. All you have to do is get one of these babies,” Hael holds up the little white box, “and intercept the code when the owner unlocks their car. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am.” He grins as he revs the engine, nodding in Cal’s direction. “Start up some music, huh? And none of that prissy ballet shit.”
“Go fuck your mom,” Cal says, chuckling as he hooks his phone up to the Bluetooth system and starts Bow Down by I Prevail. Hael cranks the system, and the music comes pouring out like an assault.
I lean back in the leather seat and try not to let my nerves get the best of me. The plan tonight is to crash a Prescott party and show the entire school that Havoc is still a force to be reckoned with. Not sure what, exactly, we need the SUV for. Maybe Aaron just doesn’t want his van involved in a confrontation?
There are three types of parties in Springfield: Fuller High parties, Prescott parties, and Oak Valley Prep parties. Prescott students wouldn’t be caught dead at an Oak Valley Prep party; it’s social suicide. Seeing fellow students kowtow to money just isn’t our thing in the southside. But we will (and often do) crash Fuller High parties, if only to see the looks on those preppy faces. Security is lighter than at an Oak Valley party, and the Fuller kids don’t look at us like some sort of social project or bad girl/bad boy trophy to tease their parents with. They just don’t want us there which, of course, makes us want to be there more.
But there’s nothing like a Prescott party, and everybody knows it. If an Oak Valley Prep student or a Fuller High student knows when and where a Prescott party is taking place, they will get there by any means necessary. As long as they don’t act like they’re better than us, we let them stay.
So tonight, the pre-Halloween bash that’s being held in the old Prescott High building—the condemned one that’s just ten blocks down from our actual school—is going to be lit.
The Charters and the Ensbrooks, including Billie and Kali, they’ll all be there.
I see the cars start to line the curb several blocks away from our actual destination, and my heart leaps in my throat. This isn’t like what we did to Principal Vaughn, out in the middle of nowhere with nobody to see. Here, everyone will see. Students from all three schools will be in attendance.
Hael slows the SUV down, and the boys all focus their attention out the window, like they’re looking for something.
“That it?” Vic asks, pointing out the window at a blue car with white stripes down the hood.
“That’s it,” Hael says softly, his voice drenched in melancholy as he puts the Navigator into reverse. “A fully restored 1970 El Camino SS. This hurts my heart. You know that, right? You know that?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Vic says with a sideways smirk. “Get out Bernadette.”
“Okay …” I start, climbing out with Vic, Aaron, Oscar, and Callum. Cal closes the door behind us and waves Hael off. He revs the Navigator’s engine a few times, and then hits the gas. At the last second, he spins the wheel and smashes the big, black SUV into the much smaller El Camino. There’s a screech of metal on metal as the smaller car flips over and skids across the pavement. Hael pushes it into the chain-link fence, and then backs up again, the smell of burnt rubber singeing the air.
“The ’72 Datsun 240Z?” he calls out the window, and Oscar nods. “Fuck my life. I’m going to classic car hell for this.” Hael puts the Navigator in drive again and rams a small brown car parked just two vehicles up from the El Camino, sending it flying into the side of an abandoned brick building. It crumples like a piece of aluminum foil, and I cringe.
“Mitch’s car,” Vic tells me, pointing at the El Camino. “Kyler’s car.” He nods in the direction of the Datsun, and then flips a middle finger at a hideous salmon-colored Ford down the block. “Kali’s car.”
It’s a shitbox that’s worth maybe a tenth of what the other cars were, but I get great pleasure from watching Hael destroy it with the stolen SUV. He hits it so hard that the windshield explodes, and my racing pulse rachets up a notch.
Anybody with a car has status at Prescott High; even a rolling trash heap like Kali’s Thunderbird is coveted. That’s it, by the way. The only three cars owned by their entire crew.
Hael climbs out of the Navigator, leaving it parked where it is, the grill all up Kali’s car’s ass.
“Disconnected the Bluetooth,” Hael tells Cal, tossing his phone over. “Let’s go check out this party, shall we?”
His swagger is back as he turns around and we take off up the street. There are a couple students here and there, gaping at us, but they know better than to get involved. We pass through the open front gates of the old Prescott High. It’s so packed with asbestos and lead paint, we’ll probably get cancer just walking in the doors. But it’s sort of a thing at Prescott not to care about shit that may or may not happen sometime in the future. We all sort of walk ar
ound hoping climate change takes us all out before we have to live with the consequences of our bad choices.
People whisper behind cupped hands, red Solo cups in their grips, as we move up the front walk in a group, kicking beer cans out of our way as we go.
“Are we here to party or all business?” Hael asks, turning around and making prayer hands at Vic. His brown eyes are glittering with the possibility of an actual night out.
“Have a little fun, but don’t forget why we’re here,” Vic says, lighting up a cigarette as Hael’s gaze passes over me for a moment. I Love by Joyner Lucas is blasting from several speakers set around the floor. They’re all beat up, covered in stickers, Sharpie, and paint, but they do the job, even if the one on the right is a little tinny. People don’t come to Prescott parties for the music.
They come for the drugs, alcohol, sex … but mostly the gossip.
Hael turns away and disappears into the crowd as I adjust the pink leather jacket I’m wearing. I stole it from the Goodwill that’s down the block from my mom’s place. It’s old and beat-up, and there’s a hole in the left elbow, but it looks badass anyway.
I’ve got on my best leather pants, a full face of makeup, and I’ve tamed my hair into a silken sheet that falls over my shoulders and halfway down my back. As people turn to stare at us, I feel it. Havoc Girl.
“I’ll start searching the top floor,” Aaron says, casting me a look before he slips past and heads up the decrepit looking stairs. I’m surprised they don’t collapse under his weight, or the weight of the other students drinking, smoking, and making out along the steps.
“I’ll take the first floor,” Oscar says, moving off into the throbbing crowd and somehow finding a clear path between the packed, sweaty bodies of students. Cal stays with me and Vic as we navigate down the hall toward what used to be the classrooms. The music switches to hot girl bummer by blackbear, and I cringe. I fucking hate this song.
The crowd in the front room starts to sing in chorus, swaying together with their phones out.
Vic doesn’t bother to knock, pushing open one door after another while Cal does the same on the opposite side of the hallway. The first room is full of students smoking weed and laughing at YouTube videos. The second still has desks in it, and there’s a girl in a Fuller High cheerleading outfit getting nailed over one of them by Jim Dallon. Gross.
“Is that why you wanted me to get that costume?” I ask dryly, cocking a brow at Vic. He turns a grin over his shoulder and lets his eyes devour me from head to toe.
“Might’ve crossed my mind,” he says with a smirk, continuing his search for the Charter crew. I roll my eyes, still completely unsure what the hell is happening here. I’m engaged to Vic. I’ll be married to Vic. I’m bareback fucking Vic. And if I’m not careful, I’ll end up like Kali with a cluster of positive pregnancy tests in my hand. No thank you.
We finish our search, but don’t find any of the eight assholes we’re looking for. Vic checks his phone for texts from Aaron and Oscar, and frowns.
“Nothing,” he says, as we pause near the back door and wait for them to meet up with us. Hael is nowhere to be seen. “They must be out there somewhere.” Vic gestures to the mass of people congregating in what used to be the rear courtyard of the school. The music back here is different, not quite as loud, and clearly not meant to dance to.
As soon as we get through the initial throng near the keg, we spot the Charter crew lounging on some old playground equipment. It must’ve been dumped here by the school district at some point, because this was always a high school. You don’t often find yellow slides and swings past elementary school.
“Howdy boys,” Vic says, tucking his hands in his pockets as the crowd clears away, leaving us in a bubble of empty space around the play equipment. “We’ve been looking for you. Seems there’s a problem with your cars.”
Mitch pushes Kali off his lap and rises to his feet, his pale face already tight with anger.
“You touched my fucking car?” he growls out, and Victor laughs.
“Touched? Nah, I wouldn’t say that.” He pauses dead center in the bubble of space, his dark eyes glittering with the thrill of the hunt. “We had a feeling you wouldn’t wait until Halloween night to take us up on our offer, so we’re intercepting you with a new challenge.”
“We’re not afraid of you, Vic,” Mitch says, shaking, his nostrils flared as his boys stand up to join him. Billie, Kali, and Ivy stand in the back, tossing their hair and smirking. They won’t be, not after they see the damage we did to their cars. They just aren’t getting it yet. But as soon as they find themselves without a ride home, they will. “Havoc is old news. You built yourselves up on a rep you just can’t maintain anymore.” Mitch is smiling now as he strides forward, seemingly forgetting that earlier today, Vic incapacitated him in a split-second. “You thought you’d come here and what, beat the crap out of us?”
“That was the plan,” Vic says with a shrug. “I mean, for starters. Have you checked your stash lately?”
“You think we didn’t move our stash after you took that photo?” Mitch asks with a laugh, reaching up to rub at his buzz cut. He has tats all over his neck, but they don’t blend into a seamless piece of art the way Oscar’s do. No, they’re too small and scattered, like stickers stuck to his thick neck.
“You think we don’t know where you moved it?” Vic asks, cocking his head to one side and glancing back at Oscar. He pushes his glasses up his nose with a middle finger, and then makes a phone call.
“Blow it to kingdom come,” Oscar says, and then hangs up. “I hope you have enough cash left to pay your supplier for all the coke we just blew to hell. I’m sure they’d do awful, awful things to you if you couldn’t pay them back.”
“They’re bluffing,” Kyler says, standing at Mitch’s side with a smirk on his thin lips. His face is still recovering from that epic beatdown he got at Billie’s trailer. The bruises are yellow now instead of purple, but I bet they still hurt.
I glance back as Hael makes his way toward us, his face tight and angry. He clearly did not enjoy his party time, whatever he did with it. I almost open my mouth to ask, but now is not the time and place.
“You haven’t beat their asses yet?” Hael asks, coming up to stand between Aaron and Vic. “Let’s get it done, so we can go the fuck home. I’m finished here. This party is lame as fuck.”
My eyes meet Kali’s across the cracked pavement, and I feel that same hurt and frustration that I did back in sophomore year, when she set out to destroy me. Why? Why did I deserve that? She knew all the shit that’d been heaped on me over the years, and yet, she chose to grind me further into the dirt.
“Hey, uh,” Mitch starts, grinning as he takes another step closer to Vic. “You should say hi to our friends first. I mean, before we really get into it.” He pauses and glances over to the right, nodding briefly in our direction.
The crowd parts, their phones raised to film the scene, as the entire Fuller High varsity football team appears.
“Fuck,” Aaron murmurs, swiping his tattooed hand over his mouth.
“Unexpected development,” Oscar agrees, watching as the group in front of us goes from eight … to nineteen. And here we are, just the six of us. We are so screwed. I shake my jacket out and wonder if I should prep for an ass kicking. This was not supposed to happen when I hired Havoc, all of this nonsense. They’re supposed to rule Prescott High, not be constantly fighting for their thrones.
I grit my teeth.
“Hey Prima,” the leader says, his face dotted with three separate bandages from the coffee incident at the café. “Thanks to you, I had to sit out the game last week. Oh yeah, and my goddamn face is probably scarred for life.” He sneers, eyes locked on Callum. “I’m going to enjoy beating your ballerina ass.”
All eleven of those letterman jacket wearing assholes starts to come for us from the left while Mitch and his guys move forward from the front.
“Sorry, but that’s not happening
,” Oscar says, pulling out his revolver and cocking the hammer. Most of the students gasp and recoil, some even take off running. “We don’t let Fuller High football brats interfere in Prescott High matters. Take your friends and go before I get trigger happy.”
“You wouldn’t shoot me, in front of all these people,” Quarterback Guy says, laughing.
“I wouldn’t?” Oscar asks, and I lick my lower lip as déjà vu washes over me. Been here, done this before. “Move forward another six feet and see what happens. You can still play football with a burned face. Maybe not so much if I shoot you right in the balls?”
The Fuller High team looks undecided on what to do. That is, until Vic sighs and nods his chin at Callum. The ‘Prima Ballerina’ pulls out a weapon of his own, this black semi-auto that looks wicked as hell clutched in his hand. His blue eyes are dark as he levels the weapon in Mitch’s direction.
“You can rush us, but how eager are you to get shot?” Vic asks, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Make your choice. Either way, Mitch, you should’ve just accepted your beating.” He turns his attention from the quarterback to Mitch. “Prescott High isn’t Fuller’s bitch. Siccing a bunch of preppy football players on us doesn’t make you look good, Mitch Charter.” Vic shakes his head and steps back, nodding at the rest of us. “Let’s go.”
“Using guns because you’re scared to take an ass kicking like a real man?!” Mitch shouts, and Vic pauses, snapping his fingers. A good dozen boys appear out of the crowd, ready to fight.
“Havoc is bigger than just the five letters in its name,” Vic says, but Mitch goes for him anyway, drawing the rest of his buddies and the Fuller High guys with him. But before our group can clash with theirs, a sharp sound rings out, like a car backfiring.
Havoc at Prescott High Page 31
