“That’s Preston Hicks,” Arden explained. “He’s been dating Allison Grant for ages.”
I nodded slowly, though in truth I wasn’t sure why an intimate tête-à-tête between a guy (however overscented) and his longtime girlfriend had so thoroughly scandalized Lydia and Arden. Surely that sort of thing was par for the course at high school parties?
“That’s not Allison.” Lydia jerked a thumb at the shiny tan girl, whose neck smelly surfer boy was now nuzzling.
Terry sucked a breath through her teeth.
“I know, right?” Arden shook her head.
“It’s so brazen,” I said.
“Super shady,” Lydia agreed. “One summer of protein shakes and Proactiv and he thinks he’s God’s gift to womankind. And poor Allison is probably sitting at home all lonely and sad, because from what I hear in band, he’s still stringing her along while he tries to upgrade.”
“Who’s she?” Terry asked, indicating not-Allison.
“Rachel James. Her father owns a car dealership, which apparently makes her Princess Chevrolet.” Lydia rolled her eyes.
“So she’s rich, and the other girl is poor?” I asked.
Arden tipped her hand back and forth. “Allison is average, like Preston. Both of them worked at the smoothie place over the summer.”
I didn’t need to hear any more. “It’s likeAn American Tragedy.”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Lydia said. “Yes, it’s a total dick move—”
“That’s the name of a book,” I explained.
Arden pulled out her phone, swiping several times before looking up at me. “I’m ready.”
Lydia frowned at her. “What are you doing?”
“Taking notes. Go ahead, Mary.”
“It’s about this guy named Clyde, who’s really into this rich girl but figures she’s out of his league because he’s working class, so he gets together with someone from the factory where he works. Only then the rich girl does notice him, but when Clyde tries to dump his poor girlfriend, she tells him she’s pregnant.”
“Dang,” Arden whispered, pausing in her typing.
“That’s not all. Horrible, wishy-washy Clyde takes the poor pregnant girl sailing, and she ends updrowning.”
“He murdered her, didn’t he?” Terry asked.
“That part is sort of ambiguous. In his mind it was an accident, but Clyde isn’t the most self-aware guy on the planet. He spent the first part of the day thinking how great it would be if she wasn’t around anymore, and the second part not trying very hard to save her when she fell overboard.”
Lydia narrowed her eyes at Preston, the Perfumed Philanderer, who was demonstrating his virility by hoisting his non-girlfriend in the air. “Tell me he didn’t get away with it.”
I drew a finger across my neck.
“Somebody cut his throat?” Terry asked.
“Electric chair.” To the best of my knowledge, there was no way to mime that particular fate.
Arden’s lips pursed. “I might need to drop a warning in Allison’s ear.”
“Ix-nay on the water sports,” Lydia intoned, crossing her arms in a forbidding manner. “Or we could pull the plug on Preston right now.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. Discussing such matters in the abstract was one thing; the idea of confronting wrongdoers in the flesh had never crossed my mind.
“Remember what you told me when we were in sixth grade, Lyds?” Arden patted Lydia’s arm. “Vigilante justice is a double-edged sword.” Her expression turned thoughtful. “Which one do you think is worse, death by train or death by drowning?”
