A Deal With the Devil (Boys of Preston Prep 2)

“Do me a favor?” I say, slipping my phone into my pocket. She looks at me questioningly, openly, but I can’t help it when my gaze finally travels down to her bare legs. She probably catches it. “Wear some jeans tonight, okay?”

“Oh.” She blinks, following my gaze to her shorts. “Yeah, sure.”

“Because of the fence,” I explain.

Yes, because of the fence. Not because your thighs are hardcore distracting.

“My parents are going to have questions,” she says, casually slipping the paper into her back pocket. “I’m

not sure how I’m going to get out of there.”

I think on this for a moment. “Tell them you’re going to cover something for the paper. Football isn’t the only sport that’s in-season, right?”

“True,” she replies. “Softball and water polo.”

“Just pick one and tell them it’s at another school. Emory can cover for you and say he’s driving. He’ll be gone all night anyway.” She gives me an odd look. “What?”

“It comes so easy for you, doesn’t it?”

“What comes easy?” Because nothing in my life feels easy right now.

“The lying, I guess.” She ducks her head, fidgeting with the volume on her phone. “I feel really bad whenever I do it.”

“Like with the drugs?”

Her expression shifts and she straightens. “It didn’t feel good hiding that from them, but they were so worried about everything. I couldn’t add something else to the list.”

I try to choose my words carefully. I’m not trying to sound like an after-school special or anything, but it nags at me. “Opioids are serious shit, V. It’s not like with weed or something where you can just do it casually on the weekend.” Way too many of the kids at Mountain Point were in there because of that crap.

“You think I don’t know that?” she says, eyes flashing. “Like I said before, I’m clean now. It’s not a problem.”

“I’m just saying, I’ve seen people kick it, and I’ve seen people ‘kick it’, and then I’ve seen people kick it.”

“What’s it to you?” She’s awfully defensive for someone claiming it’s no big deal. She stands, signaling that she’s ready to go—or rather, ready to get away from me and this conversation.

“Hey, come on,” I say quietly. “I’m not trying to judge you. I just… I guess I’m trying to understand you a little better.”

“There’s not much to understand. I used to do it, now I don’t.” She slings her bag over her shoulder and calls out to Emory, “I’ll meet you at the truck.”

He looks up and nods, eyes darting over to me. I pick up my trash and wait as Aubrey follows Vandy up the stairs. Emory turns off the bunker lights, voice low when he says, “I’m trusting you with my sister. Do not fuck this up, okay?”

I look him in the eye and give him a promise I hope I can keep. “I won’t.”

I wait at the gas station for a good twenty minutes before Emory’s truck pulls into the parking spot next to mine. I hop out of the Jeep, feeling erratic with all of the energy building inside of me. I wasn’t lying to Emory before about doing best under pressure, but that pressure usually didn’t include having to drive with Vandy for the first time since almost killing her. I blame this restlessness for going to the truck and opening Vandy’s door for her. She’s wearing a black top and dark skinny jeans, and I’m relieved she heeded my request. Whatever sour note we’d left things on this morning isn’t going to interfere with what needs to be done.

A large canvas bag sits in her lap. Hesitantly, I reach for it, and she lets me. Inside is a large, flashy pair of paper mâché devil horns.

“Where did you get this?” I gesture to the horns.

“From last year’s homecoming float,” she says. “Each class gets a storage room at the school to keep supplies for the next year. I figured it would work.”

I nod appreciatively. “Good thinking.”

“Hey,” Emory calls to me from the driver’s seat. “I’m going to get Aubrey and we’re heading up to Sparrowood. I doubt we’ll be back before midnight.”

Vandy steps down on the running board. I offer her my hand, but she just shoots it a glare and hops down on her own. She looks back at her brother. “We’ll text when we’re done to coordinate getting home at the same time.”

“Be careful,” Emory calls to her. His eyes dart to mine. “If anything goes south, both of you get the hell out of there. At any cost.”