Beating him in a test won’t do it—I always beat him, and he doesn’t care. WhatdoesRay care about?
Nothing, except eating, working out, and being a part of whatever stupid frat club or fake secret society they’ve got going on at Devil Tower.
A number of the guys in high school are a part of that club, and they never breathe a word about it to anyone. They act like it’s some big special secret. Even Quill Nelson attends, not that I care, though Imayhave followed him on one or two occasions, out of pure curiosity. I’ve seen him walk into Devil Tower after school, and on the weekends, dressed in camo pants and boots, though always with the same black hoodie, slipped under a leather jacket on colder days.
None of the guys in high school are particularly discreet about the fact that they regularly go to Devil Tower dressed in some strange kind of uniform. But even though Dad works at Devil, he’s never told me a thing about what those kids are all up to. No matter how much I’ve tried to needle it out of him.
It’s nothing but curiosity, pure and simple. There’s something exciting about imagining that there might be a mystery in quiet, boring, snobby Astley. The kind of mystery Nancy Drew might investigate.
Even though deep down, I’m sure it’s nothing but a stupid boy’s club.
But what if therewassomething there? Something I could uncover and destroy Ray Campbell with?
Though, in that case, I’d also be destroying a number of other guys at school. Including Quill.
I don’t particularly want to anger the boy who already looks like he’d decapitate me without a second of hesitation if I somuch as blinked wrong.
I cross figuring out the secret behind their frat boy club from my list. My revenge needs to bepersonal.
What would bother an asshole like Ray Campbell more than anything else in the world?
Easy: getting humiliated.
That’s what would piss off most of the people in Astley. This town runs on reputation and self-importance. Humiliation is the perfect antidote to that.
Depantsing him is the first thought that runs through my mind, but it’s a little too on-the-nose. Plus, physical. I’m pretty sure I’d be the one walking away humiliated after such an interaction.
No, I need to hit him where itreallyhurts. His reputation, or even better, his family’s reputation.
They’re perfectly respectable and well-to-do. His mother stays at home to boss the cleaning lady around, unless she’s at the nail or hair salon, or out shopping for some elaborate charity gala that I’m pretty sure never actually benefits anyone in need. Meanwhile, Ray’s father works at Devil.
Devil.
That company again.
Surely that must be my solution, no? Everything and everyone in this town connects back to Devil. There must besomethinghiding in that big, ugly tower that I can lord over Ray Campbell.
Just as I reach that conclusion, the front door opens. I hurry down the steps and greet Dad with a bright, cheery hello that I’m far from feeling.
It seems to take him quite as much effort to return my greeting cheerfully. A pang of worry, mixed with guilt, goes to my chest as I see the bone-dead look in his eyes, that he wears sometimes after a long shift at Devil, and that always seems coupled with the stench of bleach on his clothes.
“Not much time tonight, Pumpkin, I’m afraid,” he says apologetically. “Have to be back at Devil in an hour. But I wanted to check in on you. There’s been another murder, and Officer Jones thinks there might be a serial killer in town. You need to be very careful. No walking alone after dark.”
“Ineverwalk alone after dark,” I say, rolling my eyes at Dad’s overprotectiveness. “I have no friends, remember?”
Dad looks reassured by that, and I roll my eyes again. Luckily, he switches subjects.
“You didn’t by any chance make dinner, did you?” he asks hopefully.
“Oh.” My face falls and the guilty feeling intensifies in my chest. “No, sorry. I didn’t realize it was going to be one of those double-shift days. I’ll go ask Mom if—”
“No, no, let’s not bother Mom,” smiles Dad, and my guilt is edged with angry frustration, as I think of Mom lying in bed as she always does, while Dad works himself sick for us. “I’d love nothing more than a cereal dinner with my favorite girl. Anyway, it wasn’t supposed to be a double-shift. Things are just very busy these days.”
Something flickers in his eyes that I can’t quite understand, and a lump rises in my throat. I really hate these kinds of days when Dad comes home exhausted, depressed, and smelling of bleach.
What the hell do they have him doing over at Devil Tower?
The suspicion that twists in my stomach is vanquished by my own trouble, and even though I know this isn’t the time or place for that, I can’t help but bring it up as we sit down, each of us bearing a bowl filled to the brim with cocoa puffs.
