Trick Me Twice

I sighed. “I know, and I’ll try.”

“Good.” Her voice was satisfied. “I’m glad you’re coming.”

“Me too.” I think. How had I been talked into this? Lena was right, though. This was my final year. And if I couldn’t do this, how was I going to manage when I was at university at the other end of the country?

Engrossed in my work, I didn’t notice the large body sliding into the seat next to mine until the scent of spiced cedar hit my nostrils. Lena remained oblivious on my other side, headphones on, tapping at the calculator next to her keyboard as she chewed on the end of a pen.

“Done with your essay already? It’s not even due until Monday.”

I jumped, swinging my head to face Carter so quickly that my ponytail flew around and smacked me in the side of the face. He smirked, and I felt my cheeks heat. Counting to ten in my head before I replied, I wrestled my thoughts under control, the mix of apprehension and awareness that I felt at his presence churning uncomfortably in my stomach.

“Some of us like to be ahead of the game,” I said primly, turning back to my screen.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his lip curl, and he opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly another body was sliding into the space between our seats, breaking the connection between me and Carter and allowing me to breathe. I looked up to see Dylan Rossiter smiling down at me, and I returned his smile with a relieved one of my own.

“Hey, Raine. I’ve been looking for you. Would you still like a lift home after drama club on Monday?” He stared down at me, his soft brown eyes full of warmth. Dylan was also in the drama club, where he worked on set design and helped out behind the scenes. After Carter had left me crying in the hallway yesterday, Dylan had caught me wiping away my tears, and, concerned, had immediately asked me what was wrong. Not wanting to get him caught up in Carter’s drama, I gave him a vague explanation of needing to find a way home from drama club on Mondays, otherwise I may have to drop out. He lived in the opposite direction to me, but he’d told me that he might be able to sort something out.

“I’d love one.” I eyed him hopefully.

“In that case, I’ve got you. Wait for me after drama club.”

“She doesn’t need a lift. She’s coming with me.” Carter’s voice came from behind Dylan, his tone daring me to disagree.

“But you— But I—” I spluttered, caught off guard. What was he playing at? He’d made it crystal clear that he wanted me to find another way home on Mondays.

Dylan’s face fell and he glanced at Carter, taking in what was probably some kind of threatening expression on his face, before turning back to me. He mouthed sorry, then mumbled, “Oh, okay. If your situation changes, let me know.” Then he fled the room, leaving me staring at Carter in disbelief.

“What was all that about?”

Carter stared at me silently for a moment, before he turned his back on me, leaning over to talk to his friend Kian, who was sitting on his other side.

A frustrated huff escaped me, and I glared at the back of his head. What was his problem?

4

Adjusting my costume, I attempted to suppress my rising discomfort as I eyed myself in the mirror. In the end, I’d put together this particular outfit because it was the exact opposite of everything people would expect from me, and therefore, I’d hopefully be able to remain incognito if I ran into Carter and his friends—or anyone from Alstone High, for that matter. I was banking on the fact that other local schools were attending, and no one would imagine that I would show up. Plus, the whole idea of me attending the event was to push me out of my comfort zone, and this was most definitely set to do that.

The mascara I’d applied somehow made my lashes look long and lustrous, framing my hazel eyes and making them appear bigger and more intense, and the toner I’d put in my hair earlier had made it look darker, richer, redder, rather than the usual light brown. Supposedly the toner washed out easily—I hoped so anyway. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this at school on Monday. Shaking my hair free of its ponytail, I picked up my curling wand, and half an hour later it hung in soft curls down my back. After slipping on the green fabric mask that covered my eyes, I was ready.

The Uber that I’d splashed out on roared away, and I turned my attention to the huge wrought-iron gates leading into the two-hundred-acre space of greenery and sports facilities that made up Parton Park, where Fright Night was already underway. I stopped dead outside the gates, taking it all in. Rides and stalls in bright neon colours were set up in large clusters throughout the grassy open area that was normally used for casual sports games and summer picnics. A large Ferris wheel stood tall at the near end, and at the far end where the grassy area ended, before the skatepark area began, stood a haunted house, the entrance a huge, sinister-looking gaping mouth. Sweeping lights illuminated the huge space, and thumping music boomed from speakers all around us. A steady stream of people moved in through the gates, and the scent of popcorn and candy floss hung heavy in the air.

Despite myself, a smile tugged at my lips. Maybe this was going to be fun, after all.

I spotted Lena, aka Harley Quinn, near the gates, loitering by a shooting stall where you could win a prize if you managed to shoot a set of moving targets. Looking as edgy and gorgeous as she always did, she was watching a guy dressed as Captain America take shots at the targets over and over again, each time coming close but missing. Every now and then, he’d glance over at her with a flirty wink, but she remained impassive.

After having my ticket scanned at the gate by a guy dressed as a skeleton, the bones made from some kind of glow-in-the-dark material, I made a beeline for the shooting stall. Sidling up to Lena, I spoke in her ear. “Got your eye on Captain America?”

“No way.” She snorted, still staring at him. “I’m counting how much money he’s putting into that game. So far he’s paid twenty-five quid and hasn’t managed to hit any of the targets yet.”

“I’m sure those games are rigged,” I mused.

“Probably.” She turned to me, and her jaw dropped. “Fucking hell, Laurent! You don’t even look like you!”

“That’s the point.” I couldn’t help smiling at her reaction, even as I shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot.

“You look fucking hot. Stop fidgeting.”

“I can’t help it, I feel weird,” I admitted. “I’m not used to this. Any of this.”