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

It’s just nice to see her smile up at me and say, “Okay.”

Emory’s behind us, making gagging sounds. “Barf.”

“Sorry that some of us have game and you don’t.”

“Rule three!” he calls from behind us. “No using game on my sister!”

It’s hard to tell if the looks we’re getting are because I look like I went eight rounds with a hammer, or if it’s because I’m holding hands with Vandy. I can tell she feels it too, because she keeps looking down at her feet. I worry at first she’s being shy, or worse, embarrassed.

But then I catch a peek of a grin.

“Hey,” I say, squeezing her hand. “We forgot about the Stairway.” At her confused glance, I elaborate, “You know, as a Kmart alternative.”

Her eyes widen. “Yes! Oh my god, Reyn, I have third period free on Wednesdays.”

I laugh, because I wasn’t actually being serious. Only now that I think about it… “That could actually work.”

We run into Sydney on the way into the building. She’s standing by a massive stone urn with Fiona, adjusting her ponytail. Her eyes skid to a stop when they land on us, hands freezing in her hair. She quickly recovers, flicking her ponytail over her shoulder and looking away.

But Vandy sees.

She must, because suddenly she’s tugging me that way, a determined set to her jaw. “Syd.”

Sydney does this little shimmy with her shoulders and turns, plastering a snide smile on her face. “Vandy. Reyn.”

“I want you to know,” Vandy starts, “that I’m sorry if the way I’ve disappeared lately hurt your feelings. I was actually really grateful to have you as a friend. And even though you were kind of mean to me and always calling attention to my issues, we had some good times, and I’m going to miss them.”

Sydney looks completely thrown off guard by this, that snide look melting off her face. Without it, she just looks big-eyed and… if I didn’t know better, mournful.

And then Vandy adds, “But if you ever try to make a move on my boyfriend again, I will make you fucking regret it.”

With that, Vandy squeezes my hand and tugs me back toward the building. I can’t help the shit-eating grin I send Sydney’s way, because damn. My girl really sounded like she could back that shit up. I have no doubt she could, either.

One day, I’ll tell Vandy about how I’ve gone back there, to that dark deserted road that almost ended it all. I’ll tell her how I parked and listened, waited, coming to the slow, mind-blowing comprehension of just how much the universe had to conspire to get us in that exact spot, at that exact time. I’ll tell her how something in my chest all at once shattered and mended at the awareness that maybe we were just…

Just fucking unlucky.

We know better than most that all it takes is one blink, one wrong turn of the wheel, one bad decision to end it all. But what people like Sydney and Mrs. Hall don’t understand is that the universe conspired—so fucking painstakingly—and we didn’t flicker out or fade away. We survived. Call it luck or chance, or really good engineering, it doesn’t matter.

I’m calling it ours.

Epilogue

Vandy

I hear the motorboat entire minutes before I see the dark shape of it gliding across the glassy surface. Running lights reflect off the water the closer it comes, and when it’s near enough to make out the driver of the boat, my stomach flips.

The person is dressed from head-to-toe in black, including the ski mask covering his face. It’s a guy, I can tell that much from the silhouette. He docks the boat and cuts the motor, looping the tie around the post to keep it in place. He does this all in an easy, casual display of competence. I stare at that mask, the clothes, and am suddenly overcome by the excitement of this moment.

These are the things I do now. Sometimes impulsive, occasionally brash behavior isn’t such a strange look on me. Not anymore. I don’t always stay home. I read books and I binge watch ridiculous teen dramas on Netflix, but I also go out. Have a bite with the Playthings. Meet my boyfriend in a make-out spot. Go to the movies with my brother.

Get initiated into a super exclusive, underground secret society.

The guy steps easily off the boat, takes a few paces in my direction, and extends a large, gloved hand. “Let me see your envelope.”

I take one last look at the final missive, found in my locker earlier that day:

Initiate,