Page 6 of The Executioners Three
Freddie and Divya both gasped in unison. Everyone in Berm knew about the prank war with Fortin Prep—because of course they did. There was no missing the spray-painted lawns or disrupted football games or dyed marching band uniforms or insert any other obvious prank here that happened each fall.
Yet for all that locals saw the effects of the prank war, no one ever knew who was behind them. It was like the secretest of secret societies.
“It all started when the bell went missing from the Allard Fortin mausoleum in 1975.” Cat creaked back the cover on the log. “The Fortin students blamed us—even though we obviously didn’t do it, since the bell was found years later.”
Freddie nodded emphatically at this. She might not have known about the school prank war origins, but she did know heaps about the missing bell.
After all, it had been her mom who’d first worked to get a replica made for the mausoleum.
And then it had been her mom who’d found the original bell hiding in plain sight in the schoolhouse years later.
“Fortin Prep retaliated against Berm,” Cat continued, “by putting underwear on the school’s flagpoles.” She tapped the logbook, where sure enough the first line read, October 27, 1975: Fortin Prep stole BHS flags and put up lingerie .
“We of course had to respond.” This came from Laina, whose voice was suitably grave for discussions of such weight. “So we stole their mascot. A woodchuck named Bubba. Then they painted our football field, so we covered theirs in cat litter.”
“It has gone back and forth like that ever since.” Cat flipped pages.
“And this journal contains twenty-four years’ worth of those pranks.
Now we”—she stopped two-thirds of the way in—“are right here.” She tapped at the bottom of the page, where it now read, October 13, 1999: Freddie Gellar got half of Fortin Prep arrested.
“Oh,” Freddie exhaled, heart pattering ever so slightly. Her act of terrified conscience had landed her in the Official Log. She felt Very Exalted Indeed. In fact, for the first time since Wednesday night, she felt like she might have done a good thing.
“And when we graduate,” Luis inserted, “we’ll pass this log on to a few chosen juniors, just as the class of ’98 passed it on to us. So you see? This book right here is sacred, and now you have to swear to never tell a soul about it.”
Again, Freddie and Divya reacted in unison, each nodding. Each offering a rapturous “We swear.”
Yet before Freddie could ask if the Prank Squad was sure they wanted to include a lowlife like her in their ranks, a figure moved into Freddie’s periphery.
Kyle, she assumed, and instantly her body flooded with heady flames.
Until she realized no one was smiling. In fact, Cat was suddenly closing the Official Log, Laina’s teeth were baring, and Luis was puffing his shoulders to twice their size. Divya blinked Freddie’s way, so Freddie blinked her neighbor’s way.
To find that he was not, in fact, Kyle Friedman.
This boy was a head taller than Kyle. Lankier too, and where Kyle’s hair was a dark chocolate shade, this boy’s was a dishwater blond combed into side-swept perfection.
He also lacked Kyle’s tan, his skin instead a perfect match for Tom Cruise’s in Interview with the Vampire.
And the biggest difference of all: this guy wore a Fortin Prep uniform. A navy blazer with the school’s initials, a scarlet tie, and fitted khakis—all of it impeccably tailored and ironed.
He looked like he’d stepped right out of the TV. Not in a hot way, like Kyle, but in the I am a stereotypical bully way.
Freddie instantly disliked him. Especially because he was looking at her with recognition when she had no idea who he was. “Gellar, I presume?” He plunked into the seat beside Freddie and offered a hand. “Theo Porter.”
She didn’t shake his hand. She didn’t move at all except to mold her face into a glare. Clearly he was the enemy.
“Nice to meet you too.” He grinned a devastating grin, hand lowering as his other hand whipped up a soda cup. He took a long drag; it rattled. “No need to stop what you were doing on my account, friends. Continue, continue!”
Laina was the first to speak. “Why are you here, Porter?”
He batted his eyelashes—thick, pale, and framing blue eyes. “I just wanted to see the new prankster. She ” — he motioned toward Freddie with his cup—“got a lot of us into trouble on Wednesday night. Myself included.”
He smiled again, and this time, there was a layer of respect to mingle with the mocking. “But listen.” He bent conspiratorially toward them. “If you’re going to escalate things over at Berm High, then we will gladly escalate things on our end. Just be warned: we don’t pull our punches.”
“Bring it,” Luis snarled while Laina intoned, “We. Will. Crush you.”
“You sure about that?” Theo’s eyebrows bounced high. “There’s still time to say you’re sorry…” His eyes flicked to Freddie’s.
And this time, she was smart enough not to blurt out It was all a misunderstanding!
Divya clawed a warning on her thigh anyway. Or maybe that was a claw of solidarity. Either way, Freddie didn’t need it. Theo Porter made her lungs expand with heat, and there was an odd rumbling happening in her gut. Part fury, part… part something she didn’t recognize.
Something that prompted her to declare in her primmest, most unfazed voice: “I hope you know, Mr. Porter, that soda is not a balanced breakfast. You might consider orange juice. I’m told they sell it here.”
To her surprise—and seemingly to his—he laughed. Just a punch of air, but a laugh all the same. He pushed to his feet. “Great.” He knocked the table. “So glad we had this talk.”
Then without another word, Theo Porter shoved into the crowd and disappeared.
For several long seconds, no one at the table spoke. Then everyone erupted at once. Did he see the log? How does he know we’re the Prank Squad? Well, now we know he is on the Fortin squad. What a jerk. I hate his guts. I hate his face.
“Sorry it took so long.” Kyle popped out beside the table, a full tray of biscuits in hand. “There were a ton of Fortin Prep kids in front of me…” Kyle’s precious face bunched up. “Why is everyone so pissed?”
As Cat explained what had happened, the crew slid out from the booth. It was time to get to school; Divya and Freddie would have to eat their biscuits in the car.
Unfortunately, Quick-Bis was really crowded now, and Freddie lost Divya on her way to the exit.
She arrived there with Cat instead, and while Freddie held open the door, she gazed covetously down at Cat’s shoes (knee-high riding boots that would never fit over Freddie’s calves).
Freddie was fighting so hard to keep the envy off her face that she didn’t notice the giggles coming from above as she let the door swing shut.
It wasn’t until someone barked, “NOW!” that she finally looked up.
And straight into a bucket of water.
She screamed. Cat screamed. The water connected. Both girls were silenced by cold, cold, cold, and wet, wet, wet. It was a veritable dunking booth and made the drizzle from grumpy clouds seem a mere annoyance.
As if that wasn’t already bad—and wet—enough, Fortin Prep students erupted from cars with water guns.
Luis launched from the Quick-Bis, bellowing like a bull. He was completely unconcerned by the water—and Laina, who followed a split second behind, also didn’t care. Even better: she had her nunchucks.
That sent the Fortin students dispersing.
Except now Divya was shouting a warning, and when Freddie spun around, it was just in time to see Theo darting away from Cat. He had a blue book gripped in his hands.
“I got it!” he crowed, and before anyone could chase him, the Fortin Prep kids doubled down on their attack.
This time, it was water guns and water balloons. And this time, two trucks squealed out of the parking lot before anyone could fight back. Soon enough, all of Fortin Prep was gone, leaving Freddie and the Prank Squad shivering from the cold.
And also from an unquenchable, bone-deep rage.
Laina was right, Freddie decided while she crawled miserably into Kyle’s front seat. We will crush those Fortin Prep kids.