Page 18 of Vicious Little Snakes

I reach into my bag for a toothpick.

Caroline was my first muse and doesn’t even know it. I saw her here, at the Met, hands fastened behind her, staring at John Everett Millais’Ophelia. A painting on loan from the damn Tate.

She looked so small, hair pulled back by a ribbon that matched her eyes, standing so still, not at all like the other kids running around the museum during our field trip. Caroline was never like the other kids, always more of an adult in a child’s body.

God, she seemed almost as immovable as the woman floating in my favorite painting. I don’t think she even blinked.

Caroline’s all I remember about that day.

It was that moment—me staring at her and her at that painting. That’s when I was filled with this overwhelming desire to draw her. It wasn’t so much desire, more like I was possessed by the need. So I did.

Looking back, I think I did it partly because she looked so pretty but mostly because it felt like I would be able to keep a piece of her.

That’s when my doodles became art and a way for me to save all the details, the memories, the perfect fucking moments, forever.

I only managed half a sketch before almost getting caught by Grey, but it was enough to ensure that every painting I’ve ever done since has a piece of Caroline in it.

My phone vibrates, pulling me back from the memory. I smirk, swiping it and hitting the speaker.

Kai’s deep bass vibrates through the phone, making me actually smile.

“Bitch ass.”

Music’s playing in the background, loud enough that he’s talking over it.

“What’s up is that I was just booked by the Good Room for Sunday—which officially makes me the coolest person you know. That place is a whole experience. It’s gonna be a perfect after-the-party party.”

Kai’s started making a name for himself over the last few months, which is cool because we get to go to dope-ass parties but even cooler because he’s good at it. All my best playlists are curated by him.

“Sweet. Celebrity kid DJ looks good on you, man. Mark me down with a plus one.”

“Plus one? I’m proud. Who says second place has to lose?”

He’s joking—maybe. Either way, I shake my head, grinning.

“Fuck you.”

His horn blares as he yells expletives before coming back to our conversation, laughing. “Come on, Duckie. Don’t get mad.”

“Who the fuck is Duckie?”

He chuckles. “Pretty in Pink—the skinny boy in wingtips obsessed with the redhead, where he waits for her to figure out she likes him too. That’s you with Donovan.”

My shoulders shake. I’m going to kick Kai’s ass when I get to school. I look up to see my car pulling through the Hillcrest gates and smile.

“I’m gonna take a hard pass on that reputation. Fuck that. And, you know, the joke’s not funny if you have to explain it. I’m disappointed in you.”

“Well, I have to save all my good material for the girls—they’re smarter.”

“You’re an asshole. Just for that, I’m ghosting. And I’m gonna buy all the tickets so that you have to sit and spin by yourself.”

He barks out a laugh. “Stop pretending the idea of watching me deejay doesn’t make you want tocome.”

He whispers the last word in the creepiest, most suggestive way, making me tip my head back and laugh hard.

“All right, let’s stop jerking around,” I tease, saying the last part with a high-pitched moan. “Because I’m definitely coming.”

He’s still laughing as I say goodbye. Shoving my phone into my bag, I throw my arm through the strap as the car slows to a stop. Opening my own door, I give the driver a nod. My foot hits the ground, and I push out to stand, locking eyes across the pavement with Caroline Whitmore.