“Back when Don was trying to win her over, we played charades, and he used her to mime an ironing board,” Lewis explains, and I’m grateful he notices how confused I look. “That’s how the game works—you use your partner to act out a word.”
Interesting. I have a bunch of different ideas for how I’d use his body.Sounds like my kind of game.
Carrie covers Don’s mouth with her hand and looks over at me meaningfully for the second time tonight.
“Top tip, Amy—your answer shouldstillbe no. Lewis plans on making you his guinea pig, and I predict someone is gonna get hurt.”
“Hey!” he protests. “There’s no way I’d hurt her!”
“You wouldn’t. But I’m pretty sure she would.” Carrie grins at me. “I’ll never forget how you bent him over your hood that day. It’s one of my personal highlights—maybe even the best day of my life.”
I can’t help but laugh. I can’t help but notice I’m doing a lot of that tonight, too.
While Lewis continues on his mission to try to get a game going, Jeff plucks a baseball out of his hoodie pocket and tosses it from hand to hand.
I scour the crowd for a glimpse of Amber.There she is.
Lucky for her, she’s keeping her distance, but I can see her sneaking quick glances at Lewis, and I want so badly to go over there and get up in her face.
I talk shop with Lane, discuss the latest big blocks with Adam and Don. I was scared I’d clam up and have nothing to say for myself, but it turns out these guys are really easy to talk to.
When Becca jumps up to fetch her phone, I realize Amber had been sitting on her other side all along, deep in conversation with two other girls, blissfully unaware I’m staring at her now. I’ve been looking for an excuse to move in for the kill since the moment she arrived, and here’s my chance. I glance over at Jeff—still throwing and catching, throwing and catching. Hearing the leather ball slap against his skin doesn’t break my focus. In fact, it stirs my senses, priming me for action, my muscles twitching as my vision narrows. And that’s when I see her. I see what this queen is up to behind everybody’s back, and this must be standard for her, because she’s cool as a cucumber. Confident. Smart. Not smart enough to fool me, though.
“Pass it here, Jeff.”
The conversation is flowing; the energy high. None of them have noticed what’s playing out in the background and the grand finale I have in mind.
Jeff tosses me the ball, and I catch it without flinching, rolling it in the palms of my hands and throwing it high, checking the weight out for size, tweaking my aim. I keep my eyes off Amber so as not to arouse any suspicion, and I give her a few seconds more to backtrack, though deep inside, I hope she sees her plan through. I tighten my grip on the ball. I don’t want to back down now.
Lane is talking the table through his latest screenplay, and I watch as slowly, deftly, Amber’s hand sneaks its way over to Becca’s bag, her fingers disappearing into the folds. Finally, my patience pays off. She whips her hand back out, clutching my new friend’s wallet, and I throw back my arm, take aim, and shoot.Headshot!
I’m probably the only person close enough to make out the dullthwack of the ball bouncing off her head, but everybody hears her cry out in pain. Silence falls over the room. Well, except for Amber and her screaming, that is.That felt good!
“Who did that? Who thefuckjust did that?”
I wince. Her nasal drawl is unbearable, and I really wish I’d aimed for her mouth, instead.
There’s an edge starting in the room as people swap glances, trying to figure out what just happened, and how and why, until eventually they follow the ball’s trajectory, heads turning my way, all eyes on me. The buzz I’m enjoying is temporarily flattened when I remember why I even came here in the first place, and what this might mean.Hey, nice to meet you! I’m Amy—your new Campus Driver. You know the one—the girl who beans pickpockets with baseballs. But relax, guys. She’s still alive, isn’t she? I could’ve just let someone know, I guess. I could’ve just given Becca a heads-up.
“What the hell was that?” Jeff yells.
Some guy pipes up from behind Lane. “Is she fucking insane?”
“Why’d you do that?” Lewis is glaring at me, a combination of shock and rage flashing in his eyes, and the only person laughing right now is Carter.
I watch as Lewis bends down to Amber, wishing so hard I had a second baseball, grappling for my wine, doing my best to avoid Donovan’s gaze.
“Care to explain what the hell just happened, Firebird?”
Lewis is running his hand through Amber’s hair. That’s going to be one hell of goose egg—I can tell already.
“You’re out of control, Amy…”
Maybe.
I stare at her writhing on the floor like a helpless little princess, tears running prettily down her face, whimpering like I just delivered some kind of fatal blow to her heart, and it takes every drop of self-control I have not to kick her in the guts. I guess they do things differently around here. Back in Brooklyn, everybody would instantly justgetthat she must have done something to deserve what came her way. Here in Sycamore Heights, it’s like I have to hold back and explain from the start—why I did what I did, why she got what she was given. Lewis has a point—sometimes, Icanspiral out of control, and that’s gotten me into trouble in the past.
“I caught your girlfriend with her hands in Becca’s bag,” I say flatly.
