“With the clubs and stuff?”
His face says there’s a lot more to it, but he nods. Happy to take expediency over accuracy.
“Robbie worked with us for a while, helping as added muscle when needed. His dad owned property all over the place but had a large storage warehouse that wasn’t used much. We set up the office like it was a crash pad and used to hang out there all the time.”
“Right.” I frown at him, then at the floor before my face gets too twisted with jealousy. “Because it’s not enough that you all have great big homes to go to, you also have this placeanda crash pad.”
His response is a lackadaisical shrug. “Sure. Why don’t you sulk over how rich we all are if it makes you feel better.”
I grab the fork from his hand and feed myself a few bites from his plate since he’s stolen me away from mine. After the first struggle to swallow, it comes easier, and I chew with such gusto that the muscles along my jaw get a fantastic workout.
The numbing spray is doing its job.
The distraction works on Caylon as well as me and he snatches the fork back. “If you’re going to eat from my plate, you can at least let me feed you,” he grumbles like I should know he enjoys doing that. He stabs a few pieces of bacon and slips it between my lips with such care it makes my core temperature rise a few degrees.
“In answer to your original question,” I say when I finish the mouthful. “No. Zach didn’t tell me there was another one of you kicking about.”
“He’s dead.”
I shoot him a cautious look, thinking I know where this is going. A lesson on how he’s already lost a friend to suicide and isn’t it the scourge of our nation?
“Zach shot him.”
I’m not sure if it’s me that grips harder or if Caylon initiates it, but we’re soon clutching each other like the house has been swept away in a storm.
“What’d you mean?” I finally find the common sense to whisper. “Like, in the leg or something?”
“In the head.” Caylon pokes an imaginary dot on his forehead, slightly off centre.
“Bullshit.”
He shrugs, staring at the plate for a minute to regain composure. “It’s true. Lily had a problem with—”
“Lily!” I hold up my hand, my warmth turning to excoriating heat. “What the fuck does Lily have to do with this?”
“She had a friend who was involved with—”
“Wait.” Panic steals up my throat and I struggle for a second, trying to breathe and talk just a little outside my capabilities. “When was this?”
“Late last year.”
My face contorts and I turn away, so he won’t see it.
Late last year. That’s around the same time I first met them all. Bowling into the school for a look-around and acting like the entire place was beneath them.
The assessment was accurate—isaccurate—but it doesn’t mean the pupils who belong in McKenzie High enjoy seeing it displayed so plainly.
I liked it. It was what attracted me to the group. I would have said yes to any of them. Zach was the one who asked first.
I thought it was because he really liked me and didn’t want to waste time playing games. Liked me, even though he had a fling or two on the side.
A stupid assessment from a stupid girl.
I clear my throat before asking, “He knew Lily before?”
You don’t even like me.
Maybe that’s why the words hurt so much. Why I can’t shake the constant repeats in my head.
