Angry God (All Saints High 3)

Good Girl was standing by her new locker, her hair now jet-black. She was applying an extra layer of eyeliner (she needed that like I needed more reasons to hate the world) while staring at a pocket mirror glued to the inside of her locker door. She had on an OBEY beanie, but had corrected it with a Sharpie so the word was now Disobey.

What a fucking rebel. Someone should notify the authorities before she did something really crazy, like eat non-organic blueberries in the cafeteria.

“Yo, SourAss Kid, what’s good?” Knight, my best friend, neighbor, cousin, and full-time douche canoe, clapped my shoulder from behind and gave me a bro-hug. I trained my eyes on an invisible spot ahead, ignoring both him and Astalis. With all due respect to Lenora—and I had absolutely none—she hadn’t earned my attention. I made a mental note to remind her where she stood.

Or, in her case, kneeled.

I still remembered how she’d reacted when I slid into her room that night. The way she’d shivered under my finger, brittle like a china doll, practically begging to be shattered. Crushing her wasn’t even going to give me the usual high. It was like taking candy from a baby. There was no kindness behind my decision to spare her. I was naturally pragmatic.

I had an end game.

She wasn’t going to stand in the way of it.

Risk. Reward. Return.

Hurting her would have been redundant. Astalis had kept her little pink mouth shut all these years—clearly intimidated. I knew she hadn’t blabbed, because I’d checked. I had eyes and ears everywhere. She’d kept my name out of her mouth, and when her sister came to live here sophomore year, she’d stayed back in England, probably piss-scared of me and what I was going to do to her. Good. Worked fine for me.

But that fragile trust had been broken the minute I saw her here.

In my kingdom.

A Trojan horse with a belly full of bad memories and bullshit.

“Your Cuntness has that extra shine today,” Knight observed, looking me over as he glided his fingers through his shampoo-commercial hair, the color of buttered toast. He was the star quarterback, the prom king, and the most popular guy in school.

Hey, whatever helped him sleep better at night and pacified his adopted-kid complex.

“I’m surprised you can see anything through the mist of your own self-righteous farts,” I sneered, stopping at my locker and throwing it open.

Just six lockers away from Astalis, I noticed. Karma really was a piece of fucking work.

Knight propped an elbow on a nearby locker, studying me intently. He unintentionally blocked my view of Lenora. Just as well. Her Robert Smith custom didn’t exactly add sex appeal to her already bland appearance.

“You coming to Arabella’s back-to-school party tonight?”

“I’d rather have my dick sucked by a hungry shark.”

Arabella Garofalo reminded me of tiny, inbred dogs with diamond-studded pink collars and squeaky barks, who occasionally bit your ass and pissed themselves when excited. She was mean, desperate, mouthy, and perhaps worst of all—entirely too eager to offer me blowies.

“Why don’t you get your dick sucked by Hazel? She just got old-school braces, so it’s practically the same,” Knight suggested cordially, fishing his Alkaline water bottle out of a designer leather backpack and taking a swig.

I knew there was vodka in there. He’d probably popped a few Oxies before getting here, too. Asshole made Hunter S. Thompson look like a fucking Boy Scout.

“Booze before ten a.m.?” I twisted my lips in a lazy smirk. Love letters and nude Polaroids spilled from my locker in a river of teenage desperation. No girl had the guts to actually come talk to me. I collected and tossed them into a trash can nearby, never breaking eye contact with Knight. “I thought being a virgin at eighteen covered your pathetic quota for senior year.”

“Eat shit, Spencer.” He took another swig.

“If I did, would you go the fuck away? ’Cause in that case, I’m tempted.”

I slammed my locker shut. Knight didn’t know about Lenora Astalis. Bringing attention to her wasn’t on my agenda. Right now, she was a Goth freak with zero reputation or social status to speak of, and that’s how she was going to remain in these hallways, unless I showed any trace of emotion toward her.

Which—spoiler alert—I didn’t have.

“Don’t be fresh, Spence.”

“I’m stale as a five-day-old shit.” I threw my backpack over one shoulder. Ain’t that the truth.

“Gross, man. Having Luna, Daria, and me as friends didn’t really humanize you as much as your parents had hoped. It’s like putting a little hat on a hamster. Cute, but useless.”

I stared at him blankly. “Are you even talking in English right now? Get your ass something greasy and a bottle of water before everyone gets secondhand alcohol poisoning from your breath.”

“Suit yourself. More prime English meat for me.” Knight waved me off, a spring in his step.