AURORA
“We’re officially tooold for this.”
“You’re only saying that because we got caught,” Juliet says.
I turn my head to glare at her, but she just shrugs unrepentantly, her blonde hair a pale, sickly color in the harsh light of the holding cell.
Yes. Theholding cell.The place I now find myself, along with India and Juliet, while the sparse night shift of Lucky’s finest keeps shooting us glances as we huddle on the bench.
The three of us are dressed in black like the criminals we are—except Juliet has a pink bow in her hair, and India is grimacing at the shards of egg shell stuck to her jacket, and I’ve just noticed the film of raw egg yolk drying on my fingers.
We’re a mess. An embarrassing, ridiculous mess, and I don’t remember the last time I felt this humiliated?—
Actually, that’s not true. I remember. I remember perfectly.
My cheeks flush with heat, and I swallow past the ugly knot in my throat as my eyes search blindly for something to focus on.
They land on the only other person in the cell with us. He appears to be in much better shape than we are—he’s asleep on the floor in the corner, dressed in a suit that definitely does not belong here, his arms crossed easily like this is his favorite place to be.
“Aren’t there usually separate cells for men and women?” I say, watching the gentle rise and fall of his broad chest.
“No idea. I wonder what conditioner he uses,” Juliet whispers, and when I look at her once more, her eyes are on the man too—who, yes, has excellent hair, warm light brown that falls carelessly over his forehead.
“Something expensive,” India says skeptically. “It’s so shiny. And look at his watch.”
The watch is shiny too, glinting gold, but I don’t say anything. I just nudge my sisters with my elbows. “Ignore him.”
Because I’m not actually convinced he’s sleeping. I just don’t see how youcould.This floor is concrete.
“Ladies,” says a stern voice, and we jump before twisting to face the man now looking down at us from outside the cell. Bert Billingsley normally has a kind, pudgy face, but his hands are currently fisted on his hips, his wiry brows pulled down low.
This isPolice ChiefBillingsley we’re dealing with.
India can tell too. “Chief Billingsley,” she says, jumping up and approaching the bars. “Please let us out. We’ll never do this again, okay? Ever.”
“This is high school stuff, girls,” Bert says with a huff that tickles his fluffy mustache. “Egging someone’s car? You’re better than that.”
He’s not wrong. I don’t know about Jules and India, but I feel like a moron. I can’t believe we actually did this.
“We know,” Juliet says coaxingly with a quick nod. “We really do. It’s just…” She bites her lip as she looks at me. “There was this guy Aurora works with, right? Barf—I mean, Bart.”
I stifle my sigh. My sisters have started sayingBarfinstead ofBartwhen referring to my cheating ex,and they refuse to stop. It’s cruel that we’re now talking toBert—he won’t be happy if we mix up names or accidentally call him Barf instead.
“And Barf kind of cheated on Aurora with this girl named Mindy,” Juliet goes on. “So?—”
“He may havekind ofcheated, but he could alsokind ofpress charges, Miss Marigold,” Bert cuts her off. “You understand that?”
“Yes,” Jules says, her voice small now, her lower lip wobbling, just like it did when the patrol car picked us up in the parking lot of Bart’s townhome. Apparently someone called to report three suspicious figures loitering on the grounds, and by the time the officers pulled in, we were two egg cartons deep into defacing his car.
That was forty-five minutes ago, and every minute since has been worse than the last.
I clear my throat and ask the question that’s been sitting on my tongue like a hot coal, burning to escape. “Are you going to tell him who egged his car?” Because that would be the lowest of lows. My nightmare’s nightmare.
Chief Billingsley hesitates, his eyes narrowing beneath pouched lids as he examines me. “Not necessarily,” he says after a second, and relief tries to jump in my chest. He goes on. “But I’m concerned you girls aren’t taking this seriously enough.”
“We’re taking it seriously,” I tell him as more humiliating warmth creeps into my cheeks. “This will never happen again. I promise.” My voice sounds steady, strong.
Good. Now we just need to get out of here. Then I can put this whole thing behind me, and we can pretend I never did something as stupid as letting a man hurt my feelings.
