Page 77 of Satan's Spawn

CRAYTON

I’ve spent the majority of the night on a fucking inquisition to find my Mustang. I snuck into my father’s office, both home and at work, but it seems as if he’s smartened up enough to know not to make it easy.

Easy things never interested me anyway.

I’ve grown too comfortable in madness.

With failure comes knowledge, though.

And I sure did learn a few things about Rebecca this week.

For example, she’s on medication, which I doubt is recreational since that involves actually being rebellious. A good girl like her probably never even scribbled outside the lines of her coloring books. Nevertheless, I’ve been catching her sneaking a pill by her locker at the same time each day, which means I was right, behind all the perfection are demons she’s masking with beauty and morality.

I wonder if they’re as dark as mine.

Or if that cross around Rebecca’s neck holds all her dirty little secrets.

I’ll find out soon enough because I know the Little Ghost is on her way to Sampson’s house with Archer and her friend. A bold move on her part.

Still no sign of that asshole Crimson, but if I had to guess he’s busy drowning his sorrows in a cheerleader’s pussy from what I did to him yesterday. He’ll make his grand entrance as every female vagina’s chivalrous hero soon.

The party is in full swing, people showing up as early as nine in the morning to get the best seats in the house, which means around us Royals. The drinks have been flowing for a while, and my cup hasn’t been empty since I walked in an hour ago, so I’m feeling pretty fucking good.

The kids at Riverside take the Harold’s pool party very seriously. It’s considered a rite of passage for those who get an invitation. In this very backyard the fates of the general population will be decided for the rest of the school year.

Who will move up on the societal food chain, who will fall. Romances will start, friendships will end, some will explode all over the concrete for us to judge. It’s like a circus and the Royals are the ring leaders, using Sampson’s house as a stage for desperate rich kids to fight for a spot at the top.

It’s also the one day that I allow myself to enjoy being around people.

“Fuck took you guys so long?” I ask as Levi and Riggs plop down in two lounge chairs soaking wet, double fisting the beers I told them to go get over ten minutes ago.

Levi hands me a Bud Light, and then one to Saint before snatching a bottle for himself from Riggs. “Christa Laquoix needed some help putting on her sunscreen. I was gentleman enough to assist.”

Riggs smiles wickedly. “I was gentleman enough to watch.”

As if he’d go any further than that.

“And how does this explain why you’re both wet?” Saint asks, bored, before taking a long sip.

“She needed to cool off, so we helped with that too.” Riggs counters. “Levi threw her in the pool, and I threw him in.”

“Still doesn’t explain howyouare wet, jackass,” Saint argues, and I chuckle, popping the beer open with my teeth and spitting the cap onto the ground.

“We got good ol’ Cray Cray to thank for that one.” Riggs raises an eyebrow at me. “The boys are still salty about having to piss in cups next week. Thought they’d show it by tossing me in.”

Okay, so I may have had time for one other task yesterday, and it was executed perfectly.

“Roids are bad for you, man. Shit gets shriveled up.” I throw back the Bud Light. “Plus, I left your names out of it, so, technically, your ungrateful ass should be thanking me.”

“Coach said the whole team has to do six laps around the field on Monday,” Levi chimes in. “I already can’t feel my legs.”

“You’re welcome.” I grin before taking another slug. “You bitches could use a leg day.”

“Was that…an actual joke coming from Crayton Shaw?” Saint pretends shock. “A smile too?”

“Fuck, no it wasn’t.” I slam the bottle down on the table and turn to slap his thigh. “There’s nothing funny about those chopsticks you call legs.”

Riggs and Levi burst into a fit of snorts and howls, while Saint shoots up with his hands in a fighting stance. “I’ll show you what these chopsticks can do, let’s go.” He bounces in place. “I’ll Mister Miyagi your grumpy ass all over the pavement.” He chops at the air, and the sight of him so ridiculous has a deep laugh rising from my chest. “Let’s go, Shaw. Nobody keeps the star quarterback waiting.”