“Wow,” Spencer says, looking me over. “I thought you were in jail.”
“Nope.” Once upon a time, Spencer and I were friends. I’d been friends with a lot of people. But after I got arrested, they all forgot that. They all chose Patrick’s side, even though they knew he was an asshole. But it wasn’t like they were going to turn on one of their own.
Retha looks away, watching the party. Spencer moves closer to me and nods his chin toward her. “These the sort of people you hang out with now?”
I clench my jaw.
He laughs. “Real classy.”
“Fuck you, Spencer.”
He reaches out and clasps my shoulder, massaging it, but squeezing until it hurts. I begin to shrink back. “Be nice,” Spencer tells me through his professionally straightened smile. “I forgive you for screwing up my boy. And you know,” he adds, glancing down my shirt, “I still think you’re really hot. Even if you are psychotic.”
“Homicidal,” I growl. “Now let go.” His fingers are digging deep into my muscle, but I refuse to let him know how much he’s hurting me.
Spencer fake gasps as if I offended him. “That’s not very friendly, Savannah. How about . . .” He looks over his shoulder toward the high rows of corn. “How about we go out there, and you can make it up to me?”
Sickness swirls as I stare at him, wishing I had a pencil to drive through his face. I don’t, so I’ll have to settle for a knee to the sack.
“There she is,” Retha calls, walking over and grabbing me by the arm. She pulls me out of Spencer’s grasp and points toward the keg. I crack my neck, sliding my hand over hers where it rests on my arm, and we walk quickly. My fingers tremble.
“On the way out,” Retha says, fluffing her black curls for the benefit of people staring at us, “I’m ramming my fist through that asshole’s teeth for putting his filthy hands on you. And if I find a weapon . . .”
I smile, squeezing her hand. “He keeps a baseball bat in the back of his truck.”
“Done.”
I rub my shoulder, trying to loosen the muscle, and Retha points toward the keg again. It takes a second, but I find the girl with dumbass pink stripes in her hair. Casey is talking and laughing with some guy I recognize from my time at Kennedy. Her hair is teased, her lipstick is dark brown, and she wears ridiculously long fake eyelashes on her wide-set eyes. She might even be wearing glitter. She’s like a child who got into her trashy mom’s makeup.
Retha and I exchange a glance. “Ready?” she asks me.
My earlier moment with Spencer has thrown me off, but I say yes anyway. This is part of my gig as Retha’s best friend. Sometimes we have to argue, fight. That’s all there is to it. When people think you’re a delinquent, they treat you badly, they disrespect you (like Spencer). This is the only way to get that respect back. Even if that respect is motivated by their fear.
Casually, Retha and I make our way toward the keg. A couple of people call out to me, mostly saying what’s up or asking how I am. I guess not everyone hates me. But I don’t acknowledge them. I barely remember them.
When we stop at the metal keg, Casey doesn’t look up at us. She’s smoking a cigarette and laughing as she talks to the guy. Retha grabs a blue cup out of its plastic sleeve and begins filling it with beer from the keg, glaring at Casey. The girl doesn’t even notice. How can she not feel Retha’s stare? It’s like a million daggers tipped with poison.
As soon as the cup is full, Retha brings it to her lips and takes a long sip. Then she pulls back her arm and tosses the entire cup of beer at Casey’s face. There is aswoosh, followed by theclinkof the plastic cup hitting the dirt, and a shrill scream. She sure felt that.
“What the hell?” Casey calls in a high dolphin pitch.
I laugh. She looks ridiculous. Her mascara is running down her cheeks, and Retha’s beer soaked only half of her head. The other side of her hair is still perfectly styled.
“You call Travis?” Retha asks. She sounds calm. Eerie, scary calm.
The guy next to Casey is staring between her and Retha, holding back a laugh. I can tell he’s hoping for a girl fight, as if it would have anything to do with him. Creep.
Casey’s face tightens as she realizes just who Retha is. She must recall that Retha is not only Travis’s girlfriend; she’s also the girl who punched Mrs. Crowe in the face. Casey narrows her eyes.
“It’s none of your business,” she tells Retha, tossing her wet cigarette in the dirt at Retha’s feet. The guy next to Casey takes a step back, his lips forming a perfect O.
“Just tell me,” Retha says. “Did you call Travis?” Again with the eerie calm.
“Yes,” Casey replies. “I did.”
“What did you say to him?”
Casey laughs. I can’t believe she’s challenging Retha. “I told you it’s none of your business,” Casey says, waving her head from side to side. Her mascara is nearly to her chin before she swipes her cheeks to clear it. Then she flicks the wetness off her fingers.
