Page 11 of Terror Tuesday

I lie down and yank the covers up to my nose to smother a small smile, then murmur, “I’dneverdo that.”

Besides, I usually spend Sundays not hearing from him and wondering where he was on Saturday night.

She pokes my side beneath the covers until I laugh, then quickly quiet myself. No, Hunter can’t be dead. This is just a normal night. He’ll text me in the morning, and we’ll make up, and things will be fine. I just need sleep.

But like an ocean wave, reality forces its way over my head. Hunter’s dead. He’s not going to be walking through the door anymore. There won’t ever be another opportunity for me to make up with him. He’s gone…forever.

Naomi stands and rubs her hands together like she’s trying to decide whether she wants to stay or go.

“Are you going to tell me why you came in here, or dance around the topic? Because you’re scaring me. Naomi Adesanya, future news anchor, isnota woman who stays quiet.”

Her shoulders slump, as if she’s considering giving up everything she’s holding back.

Swallowing back some anxiety, I ask, “Nims, you’re my best friend and my mouthpiece. What is it?”

She shifts on her feet once, then lifts her chin before she quietly confesses her worries. “Do you ever feel like you’re being watched?”

I gasp but quickly recover. My pulse pounds at a thunderous pace.

“I mean…”

Naomi breaks my stammering with a scoffed laugh. “It’s so stupid. So silly. I’m getting freaked out about Terror Tuesday, but we always win. That’s all it is.”

“Are you sure, because—” Should I tell her something? “I mean, I have felt like that before.”

“Caliphylla,goddess of all of life. I’m messing with you!” The chuckle she lets out doesn’t meet her eyes. “Anyway, it’s almost three. We need some sleep for President Harvey’s luncheon tomorrow. And I need to take good notes for the newspaper.”

Part of me wants to press her, to ask her if there’s something more. But if I begin, how many lies will I need to tell to cover up everything that’s happened? Each one that leaves my lips makes me feel further away from everyone in my life.

“Right, yeah. I need sleep desperately.” Without a thought, I dig out my embalmed butterfly wing from my nightstand drawer and rub it mindlessly between my fingers and thumb. It’s cold from being left alone. And the stone is rougher. But this is exactly what I’ve been missing all night. The motion soothes me in a way nothing else can.

Naomi catches the movement, and her dark brown eyes widen, the whites around them glaringly visible.

“What?” I ask, pausing my motion.

She opens her mouth, but then she quickly closes it and hurries to the door. “Goodnight,” she says over her shoulder before slipping away.

four

People closingtheir eyes to the mayhem? Just as guilty as the manipulators. The society has done an excellent job convincing the sheep to beg for slaughter.Willingthemselves to be sacrificed.

Maybe they deserve it.

Her long legs peek out of a skirt so short, it’s easy for the representative to shove it up. Probably one the catering company forced her to wear to get those extratipsfrom the president and his ilk. So sanctimonious.

Indifferent, I watch the little lamb struggle against the politician as he presses her against the side of President Harvey’s house. Her squeal of discomfort sets my lips into a straight line. Not rage. Not shock. Just…exhaustion. My camera captures it all. But what good is footage when no one gives a shit?

Yet, I document everything. Evidence is a weapon, and one day, when the right match strikes, it’ll burn the world down. Even if the fire comes late, I want my proof stacked high andready. Records are for the reckoning. For the few who haven’t drunk the wine.

And for her, if she ever needs to remember why I did what I did.

A bang on the passenger window makes my entire body jerk and slam my laptop closed. “Fuck!”

“Bro! You jumped ten feet!” Lex Lynx’s voice is muffled through the car, but sharp enough to set my molars into a grind.

Stepping out into the crisp night air, I give him a deadpan look behind my mask. Beckham Locke bounces into the seat I leave empty. I snag my backpack from the rear bench.

“No, I’m driving!” Lex pulls out his pistol and holds it against the other initiate’s forehead.