“Mm. Third position.” Callum takes up the pose, and I copy him. Again, he steps forward to correct me, getting too close, touching me too softly. I can't believe this is the same guy who chucked hot coffee in a football player's face and then punched him in front of two dozen Fuller High students. “Do you know why that prick called me Prima the other day?” he asks, like he can read my mind, his velvety voice making me shiver.

I shake my head, and Cal sighs heavily.

“I used to think dance would get me out of here,” he says, and even though it's too dark to see his facial expression, I can feel his emotions in his words. I don't need to ask where here is, exactly. I know he doesn't mean just Springfield, but … poverty. Darkness. Violence. Hate. Abuse. Everything.

He puts his hands on my shoulders, and I shiver, closing my eyes and holding third position with shaking arms. I'm no good at this. But I don't think that was the point. He's showing me his world, and it's a world you can't explain with words.

He readjusts my arms and feet for me, and each place his hands touch leaves a mark that I can just feel when I close my eyes, like bright spots of light in the blackness behind my lids. He stretches out my arm, smirking a bit when my breasts brush against his chest. I don’t exactly have a dancer’s body myself. Too busty, too curvy.

“I don't see why it can't be?” I ask, and Cal laughs again, a dry sound that makes me shiver again. I open my eyes, and find that some cloud cover's moved over, blotting out all the light. We're standing in total darkness now.

“When I was fifteen,” he says, moving my body again. I let him manipulate me and find some sort of comfort in it. For a moment there, I don't have to think or wonder what I should do, what my next move will be. I just exist. It's beautiful. “I made the mistake of sleeping with my dance partner.” He pushes down on my arms until they're relaxed by my sides. “Her boyfriend and his buddies kicked the shit out of me. They broke my left ankle, shattered my kneecap, fucked up my spine. I can't dance for long without hurting. And there are just some things I can't do anymore …” He trails off, lost in dark memories. “Not only that, but the recovery time put me so far behind. What a way to lose my virginity, huh?”

“What did you do?” I ask, because I know that Callum was already part of Havoc in ninth grade. They'd just formed their little gang, but they were small-time back then. Not so much anymore. I can't imagine they didn't seek revenge.

“I almost killed the ringleader,” he says, his voice cracking slightly. “Vic stopped me. If he hadn't, I'd probably be in prison for murder. But he taught me how to get revenge the right way—without getting caught.” Callum steps away from me and moves over to his bag, lifting his phone out and turning it on again. He sets it on top of the stereo and the light plays strange shadows across his face. “You did good, coming to Havoc.”

When he turns around, he’s limned in light. My breath catches, making my chest feel tight as he approaches me in his hoodie, his sweatpants bunched up above his knees. The scars on his muscular calves catch the glow from his phone screen, highlighting the jagged, angry lines.

My heart stops beating for a moment as Cal reaches out a hand for me to take, and I carefully place my fingers in his. City by Hollywood Undead starts to play as he pulls me to him, hard and fast. The sudden movement knocks the air out of me as he draws me in against his chest, my back to his front.

“I’m going to personally make sure every person on your list suffers,” he whispers, his velvety voice against my ear. Callum walks us in a circle and then pushes me forward, making me spin with my hand in his before he pulls me close again. His legs move against mine, forcing my body to perform a dance I’ve never seen before but somehow instinctually seem to know.

It’s him, that’s what it is. It’s impossible to resist Cal’s movements. In this moment, his body owns mine.

As the somber notes of the song drum past, Callum dips me back and then pulls me up, putting his hands on my hips and lifting me into the air. I’m not exactly a little ballet bird, but he lifts me up like I weigh nothing. We spin around together, my hands on his shoulders, our eyes locked. There’s barely any light in here, just the glow from his phone, but it’s enough to see the emotions playing out in his gaze.

There are so many, it’s like a kaleidoscope of colors—robin’s egg blue, azure, cerulean, sapphire.

My feet hit the floor and we’re moving again; his hands are all over me, fondling, caressing, guiding. He even slides his fingers along my bare inner thigh, burning me with the strength of his touch, and then stretches my leg up and out. I end up wrapping it around his waist, and we fall into the mirror.

My back hits the glass and our faces get close, too close, lips hovering. We exchange breath, but there’s not a lot of oxygen left in this room; it’s all been sucked out, replaced with passion and heat and desire.

We’re pressed so tightly together that I can feel Cal getting hard against me, but he doesn’t act on it. Instead, as the song picks up, he steps back and pulls me with him, spinning me in a wide circle and then stepping close again. He turns me around and then lifts me up by the waist, swinging me into his arms as the last notes trail off.

The next song starts up—it’s The Diary by Hollywood Undead. It’s much more upbeat in sound, but the words are about people like us, running the streets, feeling desolate and empty. I have to swallow twice to clear the lump from my throat.

Cal is still staring at me, his gaze dark, his body quivering with exertion. Sweat beads on his forehead, sticking his blond hair to his skin. For the briefest of seconds, I feel myself living a different life. Here I am in a ballet studio, in the arms of the most talented dancer I’ve ever seen, my heart beating out of my chest. It’s like I’m looking at an alternate reality, one where the pain of the past no longer exists.

My fingers trace along the side of Cal’s jaw, and I feel us being pulled together, our lips desperate to meet, to complete this fantasy we’re both living.

And then the lights snap back on, blinding us. The song switches to Losing My Mind by Falling in Reverse, and Cal sets me back down carefully, like I might break. He puts some distance between us, blinking and shaking his head like he’s waking up from a daze.

I’m not sure what to say, so I don’t bother to open my mouth, waiting there as Callum yanks some sweatpants from his bag and chucks them at me. I slip into them and put my jacket and boots back on, tucking my leather pants and the shiny pink slippers into my backpack.

“Come dance with me again sometime,” he says, and then he leads me to the door. I'm almost expecting him to kiss me when we part ways at the doorjamb, but he doesn't, and I don't know why I thought he would in the first place.

Or if I even wanted him to.

For two weeks, we've been waiting for news of Principal Vaughn to hit the school, but starting Monday morning, Ms. Keating made an announcement that the principal was out sick and would be returning as soon as he was well.

By Friday, we get a whole new story.

“He's missing?” I repeat as we sit together in the cafeteria, surveying Billie, Kali, and their collection of assholes on the far end. The tension in this school is coming to a head, but I don't know when or where. It's just a feeling, this itchiness that travels across my skin and makes me nauseous.

“Apparently,” Hael says, his mood dark and somber as fuck. He's still obsessing over Brittany. Fair enough. I'm also obsessing over Brittany. For whatever reason, I really, really don't want the baby to be his. Because, you're a Havoc Girl, like you've always wanted, but you refuse to admit it yourself. “Which is not good news for us considering we blew up his cabin.”

“Why don't you yell that a little louder, just to make sure the whole school hears you?” Aaron snaps, ruffling up his brown hair.

“We're fine,” Vic says, ever the pool of calm. Last Monday, I also found the rest of the morning-after pills we bought in my locker. Clearly, he broke in and left them there. But he hasn't once asked if I took them. I did, but he doesn’t know that. “Whatever happened to Vaughn isn't our problem. He made his bed, he can fucking sleep in it. Hopefully a cougar mauled his ass. Oscar, any news on Brittany?”

I slide off the tabletop and onto the bench seat next to Callum. He eats constantly, but at lunch, I notice he usually goes for Pepsi and cigarettes. It's like he's too wound up to eat in this jungle we call a high school. Sitting this close to him, it’s impossible not to think about our bodies moving in synchronous sensuality.

“Nothing unusual to report. She's been going to cheerleading practice, the gym, and her parents' house. She's barely attended any parties, and when she does, she doesn't drink. I'm almost positive she really is pregnant.”

Hael makes a frustrated sound under his breath and stares out the window like he wishes he could climb in his Camaro, drive away, and never look back. He could, if he wanted to. But maybe he cares too much about the other Havoc boys to leave?

“And Kali and Co.?” Vic asks as Oscar pauses to adjust his glasses.

“They've been selling product, and not just weed either. Meth. Coke. Pills. You name it, they're hawking it. Clearly, they must be getting the drugs from somewhere.”

“They're working with a bigger gang,” Vic says, studying them like a predator on the savannah. The lion with his big, thick mane standing in the sun and staring at the gazelle, not at all concerned with letting them know they are, in fact, the prey. “Working for, I should say,” he corrects, exhaling and leaning back. Vic’s sitting on the other side of Callum. I've noticed he's been very careful not to sit next to me lately. It's driving me nuts. I figured at some point, he'd confront me, slam his palm into my locker, get in my face. But he hasn't.

Maybe Vic’s waiting for me to come to him?

If he is, he'll wait forever. Fucking bastard.