I don’t believe him.

Not for a second.

It takes the detective and his pretty, blond assistant the better part of a week to work their way through the student body of Prescott High. By Friday, they’ve circled all the way back around to me again.

“We’ve really got to stop meeting like this,” I deadpan as I step into Ms. Keating’s office and flop into one of the two chairs. They’re in considerably less good shape now than they were when I came here and found the box of Havoc shit. All these students in and out, with no Ms. Keating to command respectful authority, and the chairs are picked at, cut up, and scratched to shit. There’s even the word gullible scrawled across one in purple Sharpie.

Gross.

“Bernadette, how’s married life?” Sara Young asks, trying to smile at me. There’s some genuine curiosity in her statement, but her expression couldn’t be anymore patronizing. Getting my brains fucked out, trying to balance my relationships with three other guys at the same time, desperately searching for a reason not to kill Oscar Montauk.

“It’s great.” Just that, no elaboration. I stare at Constantine since I can tell talk of me being a child bride is upsetting to him. “What’s up?”

“Do you mind if we record our conversation again?” The detective asks, and I glance over at Principal Vaughn with a what the actual fuck, man? sort of a look. He stares right back at me, and then flicks his shit-brown eyes back to the cops.

“Doesn’t she need a parent or guardian here?” Vaughn clarifies, but Constantine just gives him a smile as patronizing as the one Sara gave me.

“No, actually. Because Bernadette here is a legal adult now, aren’t you Bernie?”

“Do not call me Bernie,” I tell him, my voice flat and serious. “Question: am I free to leave?”

“Um, of course,” Sara says, pinching her pink lips together. “But why would you want to do that? We’re just looking for as much information as we can get about your stepfather. Last time we were here, you seemed to express a fear that he might be coming after you? Do you want to talk about that?”

“No. I want to know if I’m free to leave,” I repeat, because if I’m not then this investigation has just amped up to another level. Also, if they tell me no then it’s time to contact a lawyer. “I can’t be seen spending so much time here with—no offense—a bunch of pigs. It won’t look good to the rest of the school.” I glance shyly in Sara’s direction and tuck some hair behind my left ear. “Maybe though … I could stop by and we could talk sometime, like have coffee or whatever?”

Sara’s eyes light up with triumph as Constantine narrows his own.

“That would be fantastic. Are you free on Sunday?” I nod and Sara smiles. “Good. Do you need a ride?”

“No, I can get to your place if I go early enough and take my bike …” I trail off, shifting my eyes to the side, opposite where Principal Vaughn is standing, like I have something to hide … or something to be afraid of.

“Why don’t you text me when you’re on your way, and we can pick things up there?” I nod a second time and slip out the door before Constantine pisses me off and I lose my temper. I can feel the suspicion rolling off of him; he wants to peg me with something, anything.

“Real quick,” Sara Young calls out, popping out the door and causing me to turn around, nice and slow, like I’m afraid of being seen with her. She seems fairly sympathetic to my position and stays where she is, near the door of the office. “Do you know a girl named Ivy Hightower?”

Shit, fuck, damn.

“Yeah, why?” I ask, waiting for her to drop the bomb on me.

“Because she hasn’t been seen in a while, and her family is extremely worried.”

“She was dating Danny Ensbrook,” I say, feeling my chest get hollow. Anxiety pours into me, but I fight the physical tells with every ounce of strength I have. “Maybe they got knocked-up and ran off together? Happens all the time.” I turn away before Sara can probe any further, but I can see from her face that this is the response she expected, but one she isn’t buying.

Likely, she’s heard from Danny’s brothers that running off would be out of character for him, that something bad probably happened, that Havoc is very much responsible.

Fuck.

The walls feel like they’re closing in, but I walk it off, down the hall, right back to Mr. Darkwood’s class. I ignore Kali Rose completely this time. After all, she isn’t worth anymore of my energy. I’m just fucking done with her, to be honest.

I slide into my seat and put my pen to the paper.

A careful dance of dangerous boys,

A choreography where each missed step could break a heart,

A single girl with a soul as black as pitch,

With newfound dreams as big as the Milky Way.

Watchful eyes and grasping claws,

A war that can only end in blood,

Sex and violence, love and grief,

A list, a jackpot, a twisted test of romance.

“Another poem about me I assume?” Kali quips as I walk by at the end of class in my pink leather Havoc jacket. I blink in surprise as I turn to look at her with a frown on my face. For so long, I’ve been furious with her, but … she knows what she did to me. I know what she did to me. And she’s going to pay for that; the Havoc Boys will make sure of that. She means nothing to me now.

“Believe it or not,” I whisper after I put my poem on Mr. Darkwood’s desk, and then turn to lean over Kali’s. I can see she hasn’t written a fucking thing on her own page. “You don’t factor much into what I do. I have everything you ever wanted: the respect of this school, a body you could only dream of, and the love of Havoc.” I move in even closer and put my pink-painted lips up against Kali’s ear. “So get fucked, bitch. I am done with your ass.”

I stand up and head for the door as she starts to shriek behind me.

But I’m not listening. I don’t care. I got to fuck Vic and Aaron at the same time, and it was glorious.

“At the same time,” I say to Principal Vaughn when I come out of the classroom, lighting up a cigarette and laughing at the confused expression on his face. Once upon a time, I was almost afraid of him. Of Kali. Of the world. Not anymore. “Next time: all of them. Every single one!” I hold my cigarette up as I howl, and half the hallway joins in.

Vic better be working on that motherfucking crown because I am here for that shit.

Besides, I might be a shitty poet, but I’m a damn good queen.

Every year, Prescott High holds an absolutely hilarious dance that the administrators have the audacity to call the winter formal. There are a couple of reasons that the name—and the concept—are so damn funny.

First: there isn’t a student at Prescott High that isn’t dirt poor. I’m talking, you’re lucky if your mom works part-time at the convenience store for minimum wage type poor. The idea of a formal dance of any kind is stupid as shit since none of us can afford the clothes needed to fit the theme.

Second: we don’t even have the budget some years for prom. Or homecoming. The only homecoming I’ve ever been around for at Prescott is the one that I didn’t go to. The one that Kali wore my dress to. The night that I fucked Aaron even though I shouldn’t have.

Third: this is South Prescott. You think anyone wants to go to a party run by the administrators? Are you fucking kidding me? We throw our own motherfucking parties.

But, but, but … that being said, we do all look forward to that Friday before Christmas break. In fact, we’ve readjusted our traditions here at Prescott High so that ‘the winter formal’ is now known colloquially as ‘Snow Day’.

Here’s what happened: once, in the early nineties, this stuck-up dickface from Oak Valley Prep decided he wanted to get into a coveted Prescott party. Back then, Prescott students didn’t allow Fuller High or Oak Valley or anyone else to attend their parties. You’d have to be invited by someone who knew not only where the party was being held but also someone at the door, so you could get in.

Anyway, this too-rich-to-shit asswad bought a ton of cocaine, drove it out to the party in his sportscar and used that as a bribe to get himself and his dickhead friends in.

Ever since, we’ve been tolerant of other schools at our parties—provided they behave. Oh, and provided Oak Valley Prep ponies up and brings the goods to Snow Day. They donate a shitload of money, too, so that we can have our gym decked out with a DJ, catered food, and decorations.

The only thing that stays rachet are the Prescott students.

Freshman year, I wore an adorable pink dress that Penelope stole for me from Pamela’s closet. But junior year? I wore red leather pants, a black leather bra, and a black denim jacket with stilettos. Stacey Langford stole a four-hundred-dollar gown from Nordstrom, but her best friend got caught and lost her gear. She came in her PE clothes, hair and makeup done to the nines.

Where am I going with all of this?

Well, unlike last year, I have people I can actually dance with on Snow Day. In freshman year, I had Aaron, and not having him the two years in between … that killed me. Not having Penelope around … that wrecked me. She was just a year older than me, so at least this time, I can pretend like she graduated and that my senior year is everything it’s supposed to be …

I shake my head and rub my hands down my face.

I’m standing outside the hall to Studio C at the Southside Dreams Dance Company. Last time I was here, I was furious. I threw Oscar’s iPad at the wall, broke the mirror, nearly rage-screwed Callum Park … Okay, Bernie, focus, focus, focus. It’s only been four days since Vic gave us the go-ahead.

None of the other boys have touched me since Tuesday morning, but the tension is starting to get thick. I feel it every night when I crawl into Victor’s bed and let him mount me like an alpha in heat. Gah! I shove open the doors to the studio and find Callum stretching on the floor in the middle of the studio.