Page 91 of Jerk

My words soften, my mind spinning. If Marisol had never shared that photo, could something have started between Rye and me sooner? Something healthier?

My heart sinks. It doesn’t matter. Now it’s all tainted in war and blood.

“Some friend,” Krystal scoffs.

Her words echo her brother’s voice in my head.

“Oh, Kitten, they’re not your friends. You know that.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Krystal groans. “Marisol tried to steal the dates I scored with Alex Carter.”

“At least she’s consistent,” I laugh. “And good for you. Alex Carter’s a catch. He’s unstoppable in Hollywood right now.”

Krystal sighs, the sun setting on our cabin. “As long as we’re here, that doesn’t matter.”

She’s right. “All that work this semester and not a thing to show for it.”

“Wait, Hannah,” Krystal jumps to the edge of the bed, the bed creaking with her movements. “You’re right. We didn’t do all this work to end up at SOL. We’ve shown how ruthless we can be. Why doesn’t that apply here?”

Sitting up, I move to the edge of my bed, the cabin darkening as the sun sets. Krystal stares at me in that way a Rowen stares when they’re plotting. Planning.

“You want to work together to get out of here?” I ask.

She nods. “But first, we need a plan."

“Well, we have time. A lot of it.” Looking out at the setting sun, I agree. I don’t belong here. She doesn’t either. It’s time we write our own stories, one our parents don’t dictate. “So, let’s get to work.”

THIRTY-ONE

RYE

“Is this a party or a funeral, Rowen?”

Mac appears by my side, amber liquor in his glass, and Ember hanging off his arm.

They’ve opted for red outfits tonight, Ember in a lace dress and Mac in a silk robe. They match the glow of light shining down on the room in front of me as I sit on my throne at the top of it all. A bottle hangs between my fingers in my right hand, a joint in my left, but I'm far from festive.

Mac's mansion is lavish and dark. A gothic example of affluence. It's also a reminder that I lost control. To my friends, this is the best Crimson Party I’ve thrown. To me, the music is too fast, the decor is off, and the venue is wrong. Hosting at Mac’s place was the last thing I wanted. I’m meant to be the host of honour, but instead, I'm a tortured guest.

“Leave him alone," Ember says, stealing Mac's glass, a slur in her voice. "He’s heartbroken."

My eyes narrow, Ember more confident than I like when she's under the influence.

“Heartbroken?” Mac repeats with a laugh. “He's throwing the party of the century. I never had the patience to pull this off.There’s even famous alumni.” His head comes next to mine. “So what thefuckcould have you heartbroken, Rowen?”

“I’m not…” My voice trails, seeing a girl with shiny dark hair enter the party in a trench coat and high heels. But when she turns around, scanning the crowd, I sit back in my seat. “I’m fine.”

Get it together.

“Why the long face then?” Gray joins us in the closed-off section we created on top of Mac’s grand staircase. It overlooks everything. I can see every wink a girl sends me. I can see how the finest SBU ladies position themselves dancing, hoping one of us sets our eyes on them. “Someone break your heart?”

“What are you guys on?” Taking a swig of gin, I chase it with a puff of my joint. The piney alcohol mixing with burning plant matter only reminds me of Hannah in my mother’s studio. That makes me take another long drink.

“Are you sure you’re not heartbroken?” Ember presses. “‘Cause there’s one thing that’s different, and it’s Hannah.”

“My sister’s gone.” I make sure my words land hard so she backs down. “That’s also different, Ember.”

“No disrespect, Butterfly,” Mac says. “They fucked. It’s not that deep. Right, Rowen?” He says the last bit like a threat. Like he knows I didn’t heed his warning.