Dace
“Does anyone mind explaining just what the heck is going on around here?” Lita stares down the length of the lunch table, pausing on each of us. “First of all, where’s Daire? Does she even go here anymore? And second, how strange is it that she disappears only to have Phyre show up? And not that I’m keeping track, so don’t anybody get the wrong idea since I’m totally over him, but Cade Richter is still missing as well. And since nobody seems the least bit concerned by this series of strange events, I have to ask: Was there a memo I missed? Am I the only one who gives a flip about finals this week? And, for the record, I’m mostly looking at you, Whitefeather, since you’re the one with the closest ties to all three of them.”
The guys at the end of the table turn away, relieved to be off the hook. While I shrug, focus
hard on my vending machine burrito, and say, “Daire’s not feeling well. And Cade and I don’t really talk, as you know.”
Lita sits with the information. Head bobbing back and forth as though the scale of justice is embedded in there. “And the whole deal with Phyre? What’s up with that?”
“Don’t know,” I mumble, knowing all too well where she’s heading with that but unwilling to take that particular trip. Phyre’s a memory. A ghost. She has no place in the life I live now.
“Oh, no.” Lita straightens, staring me down with her well-practiced, interrogation glare. The one that alerts Jacy and Crickett to sit up straighter too, unwilling to miss whatever comes next. “That does not work with me. Where does Phyre fit in—and how come you acted so weird around her?”
They stare. All of them. Even Xotichl’s eyes dart suspiciously toward me. Leaving me with no choice but to flash my palms in surrender and say, “Phyre fits in wherever she chooses. She doesn’t consult with me. She’s been off my radar for years.”
“Two years.” Lita smirks, the words illustrated by the two fingers she shoves in my face. “It’s been only two years since she left. And, my guess is, from the way she looked at you, she wants to pick up right where you guys left off. And from the way you acted all squirmy and weird around her, you don’t know what you want. Or, even worse, you do know what you want, only now you have a little problem called Daire standing in the way. Which leaves you all … conundrumed and kerfuffled.”
“Are those even words?” Xotichl asks, causing Jacy and Crickett to laugh into their hands, as Lita rolls her eyes and dismisses them all with a shake of her head.
“The problem with you, Whitefeather”—Lita pauses, demanding my full attention—“do you want to know what your problem is?”
I stare at my lunch. Wondering how I even got here. Why I ever agreed to befriend her, when it’s clear she’s barely changed since reclaiming her soul. But, instead, I just say, “Yeah, why not? Have at it.”
She nods, crosses her legs and arms, taking on a defensive posture as though I’d even consider engaging in verbal combat with her. “The problem with you is you’re not used to people thinking you’re hot.”
Xotichl frowns.
Jacy and Crickett gasp, barely able to contain themselves.
While my shoulders sink in relief. I expected much worse.
“Or, correction, you’re used to only one person thinking you’re hot. Phyre. And that was only because she was stuck on that reservation with you, where there weren’t a whole lot of other options for a girl to choose from.”
“Lita—” Xotichl swings toward her, trying to dissuade her from going any further, but Lita ignores it. She’s on a roll. Won’t be stopped ’til she’s done.
“Anyway, back then, when Phyre was the only one who wanted you, the choice was easy. But now—now that Daire also thinks you’re hot, along with a few other girls, who, although it makes zero sense to me, I’ve actually overheard them discussing the quality of your newly perceived hotness as well—you’re suddenly faced with choices. As for me, I don’t see it. You look way too much like Cade for my tastes.”
“Um, yeah, because they’re identical,” Jacy says, causing Lita to frown and Crickett to shoot her a disapproving look.
“So, what I’m trying to say is, don’t go getting all bigheaded just because you’ve had a little surge on the hotness scale. Don’t be an ass. Don’t be your twin. Do the right thing by Daire, or you will have to answer to me. Comprehendu?”
My jaw clenches. Comprehendu? Guess that passes as Spanish in Lita Winslow’s rarefied world. I stare down the length of the table. Take a full inventory. Counting a group of guys I have nothing in common with, and who clearly want nothing to do with me—and a group of girls who have no problem dangling me over the burning hot coals they continue to stoke.
I was better off eating lunch by myself in the hall.
I focus on my food, refusing to answer. This is ridiculous. And despite my supposedly good and pure soul, I’m beginning to resent it.
But the thing with girls is, the silent treatment never works. They’re too verbal to allow it. And they want me to be verbal too.
“Whatever,” I say, knowing I have to say something, if only to put this to rest. “Phyre is history. No matter what’s going on with Daire and me, we’re solid. My heart beats for her, and her only.”
“Solid, huh?” Lita squints, clearly not believing a word of it. “Then make sure you get her to the Rabbit Hole tonight for my Secret Santa party, okay? I don’t care if you have to drag her by the hair like the caveman I’m convinced that you are. I want her there, Whitefeather. I want everyone there. I’ve worked my ass off to make this party my best one yet. And I don’t think I should have to remind you that you’re lucky to be invited. So don’t make me regret my act of generosity, K?”
She shoots me a final look of warning, then turns her focus to Jacy and Crickett. Polling them on whether or not she should ditch her highlights for the winter: No. And if she should keep her Marilyn piercing or let the hole close up: They vote to keep.
When the bell rings, I swear it’s never sounded so sweet. I push away from the table, eager to get the hell out of here and never return, when Xotichl grabs hold of my wrist and says, “We need to talk.”
I close my eyes and stifle a groan. I don’t know how much more grilling I can take. These girls are insane.