The black sand of Rockaway Beach stretches before us like a funeral shroud, haunting in its beauty.
Waves crash against the shoreline in a relentless rhythm, their thunderous force sending sea spray high into the air before gravity drags it back down. The briny scent of salt mingles with the sharp tang of pine from the surrounding trees, and I find comfort knowing I’m still home in a roundabout way. And now, thanks to Ellis Harrison’s arrival, there’s a new note in this olfactory parade—the unmistakable earthy aroma of his botanical experiments circling through the air like a lazy vulture. I still think it smells as if a herd of skunks trotted by.
What was supposed to be a romantic outing with Gage has morphed into what appears to be West Paragon High’s unofficial social hour. Students pour in from the parking lot in waves that rival the ocean, with blankets and drinks in hand as if summoned by some teen telepathy—AKA Logan’s Keep Gage’s Baseball Bat Away From Skyla Oliver battle cry.
I’ve been relegated to the edge of my own blanket with Lexy, Emily, Chloe, Nat, Michelle, Brielle, and—most shockingly—KateWinston, whose head is still firmly attached to her shoulders. For now.
Gage sits beside me, more as an observer than participant, with his mouth set in a firm line as he watches the bitch squad verbally eviscerate themselves and everyone they’ve ever come in contact with—mothers, grandmothers, aunts, and uncles, no one is safe from their prolific vitriol. But the girls from East seem to be taking the brunt of their brutality. Better them than me.
Funny how our mutual hatred of East Paragon High ended up being a stronger bonding experience than surviving the faction war in all of its lethal gory glory. Nothing brings people together like a common enemy in a rival school’s colors.
Off to my right, Logan, Ellis, and Drake huddle around the bonfire they’ve built, the flames dancing higher with each log they add. Logan catches my eye and smiles, clearly pleased with himself for turning my private date into a public spectacle. Apparently, sharing me with Gage comes with a surveillance team this time around.
My phone screen lights up with another text from Marshall.
Ms. Messenger.
Second verse same as the first.
Short, cryptic, and perfectly timed to be annoying. I flip the phone over quickly, hiding the screen from prying eyes—especially Gage, whose mood has darkened to match the sand beneath us. Suffice it to say, nothing makes Gage angrier than Logan’s perfect timing.
“All I’m saying,” Michelle insists, tossing her lustrous locks, “is that Dudley has this way of looking at you like he’s memorizing every detail for later.”
“And just what is he doing later when he’s thinking about you, that is the question,” Lexy adds with a suggestive waggle of her brows.
I study Michelle for a moment, marveling at how her bald spotsseem to have healed themselves overnight, and the length of her hair looks miraculously restored as well—not to mention her sanity. All it took was getting rid of that haunted rose. And for as much as Michelle and I didn’t see eye to vindictive eye, I much prefer this reality. Believe me, if Michelle knew the alternative, she would, too. Not to mention, she’d pen Logan a thank you—by way of her body on top of silk sheets. She wishes. So does Lexy. And here I am writing all sorts of dirty messages to Logan with my body nightly. Or I was at least until I got trapped in teenage hell with about a dozen or so of my so-called friends.
A secret smile creeps across my face as I contemplate the deliciousness of Logan’s body falling over mine on a regular basis.
“What are you smirking about, Messenger?” Michelle barks, catching me as I ogle her.
Chloe’s chest thumps with a laugh that never initiates. “She’s probably fantasizing about Dudley ravishing her.” She mimics stuffing her face as if she were eating a donut—a Skyla-filled donut.
It might have been Logan I was thinking about, but they look so much alike, she was close.
I look right at Chloe and shake my head. Oh, honey, I don’t need to fantasize. That naughty Sector can’t wait to have his dirty ways with me. Of course, I wish I could say those words, but don’t.
“Eh.” Brielle gives a nonchalant shrug. “I already did him.”
“Bree!” I swat her on the arm for that confession. Though in retrospect, I already knew that little bit of dirty and completely inappropriate history. The guy is like six or seven thousand years old. She always did have a thing for older men.
“Brielle?” Gage moans and covers his eyes for a moment. “Say it ain’t so.”
“Oh, it’s so,” she’s quick to correct him. “And it was so many, many times in a row.”
Bree has always been a showoff when it comes to keeping score in the bedroom. And it’s those exact bedroom shenanigans that land her knee-high in diapers before the rest of us.
“I’ve been with him, too,” Chloe is quick to confess, and I squint her way.
Wait… I’m pretty sure I didn’t know that. Or at least not this quick in the game.
“Don’t worry, Gage,” Chloe purrs, her eyes glowing with far too much naughty intent for my liking. “I memorized all of his best moves to share with you later.”
The bitch squad lights up with laughter—including my bestie, and I shoot Brielle a look that sayset tu?
Gage shakes his head, his dimples flexing with more than a little restraint. “I’m good,” he says, voice dripping with cool disdain as he shoots down the demon among us. “Some of us don’t need training wheels to satisfy the people we’re with.”
All the girls on the blanketoohandaahat the very same time, and I smile his way as if to saycan’t wait!Gage has moves that I’m sure could teach even Marshall a trick or two. And I can certainly attest to that.
