“Margarita,” Davis says, depositing it in front of me.
“Perfect timing.” I close my notebook. “Please take a seat.”
Stabbies’s most overqualified employee scowls down at me. “Why?”
“Careful, Bacon, or I won’t fill you in on my scheme.”
Davis, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, reluctantly sits across from me. The ghosts of Teen Ada and Rhys vanish as I smile at him. “You may be wondering why I’ve asked you here…”
“I wonder about a lot of things you do.”
“And that’s great. Here’s the deal: I want to sabotage all marriageable prospects at my stupid school reunion for the hideous popular girls still looking to snake a husband.”
“Right.”
“This means flirting, drinking, and possibly sleeping with multiple large, dickhole guys, all of whom I hope to persuade to have a huge, jealous fistfight on the Pukekohe High rugby field. And, or, slap them with a fake paternity suit. I haven’t quite decided yet. I wishI already had a communicable disease because I can definitely get them all to go bareback.”
Davis looks like he wants to die. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I need your help. I’ve seenPromising Young Woman, and I am not getting burned in a paddock if things go south, vis-à-vis fucking with dudes. I need muscle.”
Davis looks deeply unimpressed. “You can handle yourself.”
“Not as well as I want to. You don’t have to go on dates with me or anything. Just look out for me when I’m at the bar and intervene if it seems like I’m about to be choked to death.”
His forehead wrinkles as much as his youthful skin will allow. “If you’re that worried, why are you doing this?”
A valid question, and one I came prepared for. “Were you bullied in high school, Davis?”
“Not really.”
“Well, I was. And since I thought you might want proof, here you go.”
I open my notebook and hand him the paper I printed in Cece’s office earlier. It’s an email my mother sent to Principal Friezen two months after I started at Pukekohe High. It concerns the wad of chewed gum Colin Wintergreen pushed into the base of my ponytail during a study period. My mum wanted to know if Principal Friezen was going to punish Colin, who’d told everyone he’d slipped, or Jenny Wallis, who filmed my agonised screams on her pink Motorola Razr and posted the video to both Facebook and Myspace.
The email also mentions how I had to go to the hospital because of a panic attack afterwards, and how the whole thing had really taken a toll on my flute-playing—always a primary area of concern for my parents. That and me not making them feel guilty for moving us to butt-fuck nowhere and having the nerve to have a terrible time.
I watch Davis scan the page, his expression going from annoyed to shocked to horrified. He looks up at me, then back at the email, then up to me again. “Jesus…”
“Yeah, it’s pretty gross. Also,Myspace was like Facebook, except shittier. It was dwindling in social relevance at the time, but I guess Jenny figured it was better to be safe than sorry.”
Davis scowls. “I know what MySpace—This actually happened to you?”
“It does what it says on the can.”
“Ada…”
The kindness in Davis’s voice, not to mention his use of my actual name, makes me want to disappear. “Don’t go all soft on me, Mall Cop. We’re frenemies, remember?”
He keeps looking at me like I’m a drowning kitten. “I’m so sorry?—”
“Jesus, it’s fine! My hair grew back. But as far as my revenge scheme goes, you now know the ‘why.’”
“I guess.” Davis looks back down at the email. “What happened to the dude who put gum in your hair?”
“Nothing.”
“But—”
