I pull out my handbag, empty my satchel, and refill it with what I need for homework.

“Clay, I’m your best friend.” She steps to my side. “Or one of them anyway. What the hell were you two doing in there?”

The shade was down on the door. Could she have opened it and peeked inside without us hearing?

But I guess she wouldn’t have needed to. We kissed right outside the door like idiots.

“We were knitting sweaters,” I mock.

“Bullshit.” Her voice sounds like she’s spitting out a bug. “God, Clay. Seriously? I’ve been naked in front of you! Slept in your bed. Are you serious?”

I slam the locker door and keep walking. She follows.

“I’ll tell your parents,” she says behind me. “I’ll have to.”

I stop. Excuse me? I turn, glaring at her so hard my eyes feel like they’re on fire.

“I don’t give a shit about what those ‘woke’ assholes try to tell us,” she spits out. “There’s something mentally wrong with people like Olivia Jaeger.”

I reach out, grab her by the collar, and haul her ass into an empty classroom. She stumbles, and I let go, yanking the door closed behind me.

“It’s not natural, Clay,” she argues. “Just stop. Right now. I’m not letting you throw your whole life away.”

I advance on her, and she backs up.

“Clay, you’re not gay,” she tells me. “She’s confusing you. You’ve been through shit, and you’re an easy target.”

“Shut up.”

I drop my bag to the ground, and she bumps into a desk, quickly stepping away.

“So, you’re telling me we’re going to raise our kids next door to each other someday? You, a man-hating dyke with a shitty haircut and your sperm donor offspring, and me with my kids asking why Auntie Clay is groping the babysitter?”

I grab her by the collar with both fists and slam her up against the wall.

She whimpers and tries to push me off, but I grip her hair at the scalp with one hand and dig my fingers into her stomach, pinching the skin there with the other.

She cries out. “Clay!”

“Shhhh…” I whisper over her lips.

She squirms, but her hair is wrapped around my fingers, and she’s trapped.

“Stop,” she snivels.

But I’m not listening. “If you ever speak to me this way again, I will knock your teeth out.” I stare down into her eyes, a new energy filling me that kind of scares me, but I won’t fucking stop. Nothing comes between Liv and me. “Do you understand?”

Fear fills her blue eyes, and I squeeze harder as she tries to shift out of my grasp.

“Do you understand?” I bellow.

“Clay—”

But I’m doing the talking now.

“Now, Amy, I realize your sister is a Jesus-freak who mainlines coke to cope with her minister-husband getting another woman pregnant,” I say calmly but firmly. “And your father likes to court teenage boys for two weeks every summer in Thailand, so you’re just projecting your demons onto an easy target, but if you’re not my friend anymore…” I bite out my words and dig my fingers in harder, “I just don’t know how I’ll survive.”

She groans.

“Everyone will believe you and not me,” I tell her, both of us knowing that’s not true at all. “Because your word means so much more than mine, right?”

Wrong.

I continue, the sudden rush of power emboldening me. “I’ll lose all my friends,” I say. “The rest of the school year will suck. No parties. No prom. Can you imagine the TikToks and tweets? In fact, I think I have several gay-bashing tweets for you to find on my feed. I think I also have a picture of myself in blackface at a Halloween party from a few years ago.”

The threat hangs in the air, her eyes widening as she remembers who’s really in fucking control here.

“Clay…”

“Those have probably been screenshotted already,” I say, feigning concern. “Won’t look good when I apply to Omega Chi or go for a fucking job interview in five years. Hatred for me will go viral.” I gasp. “Oh no, Amy. You’ve got me.”

“I was Beyoncé…” she whimpers, trying to explain her Halloween costume, but I push her into the wall again before I let go.

I swipe my bag off the ground and hook it over my shoulder as she stands frozen against the wall.

If she talks, I will end her.

“And don’t worry,” I say, casting her a glance up and down like I’m checking her out. Like I ever checked her out when she was sleeping over at my house or naked in a dressing room with me. “I was never tempted. You ain’t got what Liv’s got.”

And I stroll out of the classroom—and the school—quickly logging into Twitter and screenshotting all the shit I just bluffed I had on her before she deletes it.

• • •

I check my face in my side mirror, feeling a little weird, less dressed up than when I go to school.

Last visited: Page 121 of Tryst Six Venom

Tryst Six Venom - Page 121