Page 3 of Dirty Roulette

Chapter three

Payton

Most eighteen-year-old girls roll down windows and blare WAP by Nicki Minaj.

Speaking of the devil, a rusty Cadillac blasts the familiar song next to us.

Not while I have anything to say about it though.

We’re stuck at a red light, and I can’t help it.

I lean over to crank up the volume as Charlie slaps my hand.

“No, you need to behave!” She wags a finger at me. I don’t listen and turn that bad boy on full blast. “Hey! Hey!” she yells as I crawl over her lap. I crank down the old-school style window, then glue myself back to the passenger seat, pleased with my choices while Charlie gapes at me.

A Latina girl with acrylic nails sharp like talons puckers her lips. She hollers over and points a finger at us. “What’re you listening to, girl?”

Another girl emerges with chocolate skin and leans out the rear window, tossing lengthy red braids behind her. “Girl, I like what you playin’!”

Charlie’s jaw drops and mouths O.M.G. She glances over with her goofy, embarrassed smile.

“Ask her!” She points a thumb at me.

“Emo’s not dead, bitches!” I wave my horns at her.

“Every time I hear this, I gotta sing along!” the girl with caramel skin shouted.

“That means it’s good!” I unbuckle, climb over the armrest, and weasel under Charlie’s stiff arms to poke my head out the window, screaming the lyrics to What’s My Age Again? by Blink-182.

“I need some of that white-girl music in my life!” giggles the other girl in the car as Charlie finally gives in and lip-sing along with us.

The light flashes green, and Charlie slams on the gas pedal.

We shriek as she floors it. My head still sticks out the window, receiving a gust of wind to my face.

I slink back into the passenger’s seat, untangling myself from Charlie, and we laugh so hard my stomach starts to hurt.

Tangled hair thrashes its wrath at my cheeks and I’m eating it.

We ride side-by-side through the next several intersections with the Cadillac, matching each other’s speed, before turning in opposite directions when we reach the freeway. Streetlights smear the sky and ten minutes later, we exit and park in a neighborhood with cars lining the street.

Music thumps and cheers drift out from the backyard. I stare through the windows at the flashing lights inside. People pour through the front door. With the looks of it, this place is begging for cops who are just sniffing around for something to do.

I spot several back-lit shadows sashaying down the sidewalk toward the house.

The vile plastic Barbie emerging from the center of them is none other than Brittni James – Gray Canyon University’s cheer captain, and the queen bee of Cheer Phi.

Her perfect blonde hair whips back and forth.

She’s even wearing the infamous velvet hot-pink tracksuit I swear went out of style before my birth.

I want to vomit. Her car keys twirl in her hand as she locks the yellow Ferrari that her Daddy bought.

Her two pack members strut right behind her.

There’s Autumn with her red locks twisted in some braid, hazel eyes, and God’s gift of the biggest rack.

Then there’s Naomi, the annoying dumb blonde with a classic bob cut and tanned-golden skin.

Their sickly-sweet giggles echo around them as they walk up the porch steps and disappear into the house party.

“Did you grab any soda?” Charlie asks, reaching into my purse that’s hiding under my feet. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Sorry, I only snagged orange juice.” I pick up the purse and rest it on my lap to showcase the jug of sunshine and vodka.

“Good enough.”

Charlie grabs a cigarette and scrounges through the center console for a lighter, then pulls out her cell crammed in her pocket.

“Take a video of me lighting this.” The phone tumbles to my hands. Charlie’s charcoal eyes glimmer as they stare into the lens. She brings the cigarette to her mouth and the flicker of the lighter crackles. Once done, she snatches the phone, inhaling the sweet taste of nicotine.

“Damn, I look good.” Charlie releases a wave of smoke. I lean against her shoulder and watch as she makes some edits and posts it to Instagram without care.

More than half of our graduating class follows her.

Immediately, the notifications start pouring in.

At the top of her stories, I see a message icon from Brody Thomas, and my stomach drops.

He’s GCU’s legendary quarterback. The brooding jock with muscles that make girls weak in the knees. He’s also the Asshole Ex-Boyfriend.

Charlie dumped and blocked him for the nth time after last night’s screaming match.

I had planted myself on her bed, unable to tear my eyes away from his name on her screen while he persistently called.

He left her atrocious voicemails and hollered insane expletives at her.

When she finally answered, I listened to an incomprehensible argument about meaningless nothings for almost an hour.

It was a six-month relationship, but the longest Charlie’s ever been in.

Brody knew his taste in women, and Charlie meets the definition of perfection.

Any girl above five-two is too tall. They can’t weigh more than a hundred and fifteen pounds.

The bigger the boobs, the better. Acne is a big hell no.

Wide shoulders, gross. Anyone looking like a twig doesn’t get a second glance.

And hair... he hates girls with hair on their arms or anywhere. Cankles... well, they wig him out.

They met at a party Charlie and I crashed. Brody showed up, and he claimed her the second he set eyes on her. The hourglass figure, her dark long hair, her smooth skin. Plus The virgin label. It’s all he’s ever wanted.

The night of our graduation we found out he slept with Brittni, who happened to have been her brother’s girlfriend at the time. That was a dumpster fire within itself. The dude is a leach who throws more red flags than a referee, and Charlie’s oblivious to every one of them.

Unplanned sleepovers, a twenty-dollar bill, and a spontaneous trip to the mall where we would take millions of pictures while modeling ridiculously overpriced clothes used to be our routine.

We were attached at the hip in a way I never was with anyone else.

Charlie and I spent over a decade together – inseparable during elementary, middle, and high school.

We were always together chilling, watching horror movies, and binge-eating pizzas.

Recently, all that had been changing though.

Charlie’s parents weren’t on the best of terms and I spent nights in her room listening to their arguments, and hearing the violence that accompanied it.

We’d both lay in silence in her bed, staring up into space as her mom’s sobs could be heard in every corner of the house. When summer hit, her dad left.

Coping included partying, smoking pot twenty-four-seven, and then Brody. Those choices didn’t sit well with Charlie’s mom. They were always at each other’s throats, either about our late-night drinking binges or about Brody being toxic as hell.

Other nights, Charlie argued with Brody. He had the habit of attending frat parties, and would ghost her for hours without a word. Cleat Chasers were always drooling over him and Charlie doesn’t handle jealousy well.

Brody complained nonstop about her stupid rule of waiting a year before sleeping together.

Then he said I was the problem. He wanted her to choose between us, which led me and Charlie to fight, slam doors, and ignore each other for days on end.

If she keeps falling back into his arms, I’m afraid I’ll watch my best friend walk out of my life for good.

I clear my throat, swallowing the urge to cuss Charlie out, because I watched her click the block button once again. Now I’m staring at his profile picture, and it burns a hole in my chest because at some point today the temptation to unblock him won.

Charlie opens her inbox, and his picture flashes at the top with numerous unread messages. He wrote to her less than an hour ago. She scrolls through them with kisses and hearts. She responds fast before I can read anything else.

Charlie pulls down the sun visor and gushes at her reflection in the mirror. “Are you ready to get trashed tonight?” She asks.

I roll my eyes and stare out into orange streetlights with bugs buzzing about. She knows damn well I eyeballed her phone, but she casually pretends nothing happened.

“I’m excited for Brittni and her cheerleading gang to die from alcohol poisoning. Goodbye bitches, I’ll remember y'all in therapy.” The words slip off my tongue like a venomous snake.

Charlie laughs and says, “They aren’t that bad... well, scratch that. Brittni can choke.”

“You’re lucky. They actually want to be friends with you.”

“Brittni only had a problem with you because you hover over Ryder.” Charlie takes in a drag of her cigarette. “And if you lighten up and quit the emo facade, they might actually take a liking to you.”

“I don’t hover over your brother.”

“Yes, you do. Don’t lie.” Charlie hangs her arm out the window and smoke spirals from the cigarette. “But Brittni and him aren’t together, and we haven’t seen her all summer. So let’s cross our fingers that she’s over him and she’s not a cunt anymore.”

“Are you over her sleeping with Brody?” I throw my two cents in and watch her curl her bottom lip between her front teeth. She flicks the cigarette ash and takes in another drag.

“Yeah... sure. I’m over it.” She lifts both eyebrows and puckers her lips. “Once they get their bottle of vodka, we’re in.”

“See, you aren’t over it. She’s a bitch. They’re using us. At some point, they will use the theft as leverage and get us to do other shit for them.”

“Chill with your conspiracies.” She dabs the cigarette bud on the side of the Jeep before flicking it to the street.

“Brittni’s not a good person or friend.”

“Stop reminding me she slept with him.” Charlie huffs.

“I just wanna have fun tonight.” She reaches for the purse and paws the alcohol out, not wasting a second to twist off the cap.

Dipping her head back, she downs a swig, and scrunches up her nose.

“Holy mother of god, that’s nasty.” The vodka sloshes, and she hands it to me by the neck.

With two fingers, I plug my nose and take a shot. I gag at its horrific taste burning down my throat. My phone buzzes, and my heart skips a beat when a little red crab pops up in a notification on the screen. I swipe open to see I have an unread message and I type up a quick reply.

Crab: Hey cutie, do you steal jeeps often?

Payton: Not my fault you weren’t looking.

Crab: Where the hell are you two?

Payton: The usual, robbing banks and other shenanigans.

Crab: Real funny.

Payton: Trouvez-Moi

Crab: I always do.

Find me. Ever since I started learning French, it’s been my little phrase to him. It’s like playing hide and seek. For whatever reason, he always seems to figure out where I am.

I revert my attention back to Charlie, knowing she wants to head in. The contents in my stomach turn, and I’m not ready to socialize with the worst possible people on the planet.

“You flirtin’ with my brother again?” Charlie asks with her lips in a flat, straight line.

I roll my eyes and tighten my grip on my purse, “oh, totally.”

Charlie scoffs at my sarcasm. “And you say you don’t hover over him. Whatever. You absolutely got the hots for him.”

“Sure, I have hots for my best friend’s brother who happens to be the running back with the NFL kissing his feet and girls begging for his dick. Are you serious right now? You’d murder me.”

“You’re right, I’d nail you to a fucking cross.” Charlie eyeballs me up and down.

“Ha ha, you’re so funny.” I deadpan.

She holds my stare for a beat and then takes a steadying breath. “Okay, let’s do this.” Charlie opens the door and leaps out.