Not a little campfire. Not some modest circle of seniors roasting marshmallows and pretending they respected tradition. No, Desert Saints Prep did even rebellion expensively. They had dragged half a dead tree into the middle of the clearing and built a fire big enough to signal aircraft. Trucks circled the party in a loose ring, headlights glowing, tailgates down, coolers open, music thudding across the desert.
The girls wore denim skirts and white boots.
The boys wore hats they hadn’t earned and belt buckles big enough to compensate for entire personalities.
And Brielle Carson stood near the fire beside her brand-new white Bronco, laughing with her head tipped back like the world existed to admire the line of her throat.
The Bronco was ridiculous.
Lifted. Shiny. Custom everything. A graduation present, probably, because girls like Brielle got forty-thousand-dollar apologies for having to attend school with people beneath them.
I rolled in slow.
Not because I meant to be dramatic.
Fine. Mostly because I meant to be dramatic.
The bike’s engine cut through the music like a blade. Heads turned one by one. Laughter thinned. Someone lowered a red cup. Someone else said my name, but not like a joke this time.
Destiny.
There it was.
My name moving through the crowd.
Not soft. Not pretty.
A warning.
Tris and Jake pulled in behind me, their truck coughing dust into the headlights. Tris jumped out first, all grin and sharp eyes. Jake got out slower, scanning the party like he was already choosing the best escape route.
Smart boy.
I swung off the bike and took my time removing the helmet I had absolutely not worn correctly and only remembered at the last second. My hair spilled loose around my shoulders. The leather jacket caught firelight. My boots hit the dirt.
For once, nobody laughed.
Brielle stared.
Her mouth opened slightly, then closed.
I walked toward her.
The crowd made room, which was new and delicious.
Addison whispered something behind her hand. Mia looked nervous. Paige looked sick. The boys near the cooler watched me with bright, stupid interest, like cruelty hadn’t been fun anymore now that the punchline had teeth.
Brielle recovered first.
Of course she did.
“Well,” she said, lifting her cup. “If it isn’t Destiny.”
I smiled. “That’s my name.”
Her eyes flicked to the bike, then to my jacket, then to Tris and Jake. “Cute entrance.”
“Thanks. I dressed for the theme.”
