“ARGH!!! FUUUUGGHH!” Johnny howls inarticulately.

His two buddies rush at me from either side.

I was expecting that. Still, I can only do so much to fend them off. I’m 6’2, strong but lean. These dudes probably weigh 240 pounds each. They look like they spend their weekends benching and injecting each other’s asses with racehorse ‘roids. I may not have stuck with those physics classes long, but I learned enough to know their combined mass is gonna take me down.

So instead of waiting for them to plow into me, I run at one on the left, skidding into his ankle with both feet outstretched, like I’m sliding into home plate. His ankle bends at a nasty angle and he topples over on top of me.

Unfortunately, that gives his buddy time to kick me right in the face. He gets me in the mouth, splitting my top lip. Kicking is a bitch move, especially three-on-one.

Johnny is still howling and clutching his nose, and Red is screaming too, though I’m not sure for what reason—because I’m scuffling with these two meatheads, or because I busted up her boyfriend’s face.

I’m pummeling every inch of the second guy that I can reach. He really pissed me off with that kick to the face. I’ve got him down on the ground and I’m hitting him again and again until my knuckles are bloody. His buddy hobbles over and cracks me one in the eye, and I retaliate with an elbow to his face.

At this point, Red’s shrieks have drawn a crowd. Five or six dudes yank us apart, pulling me off the face-kicker.

While I’m being restrained, Johnny takes the opportunity to slug me in the gut. It slams the air out of me. If I didn’t have people holding both my arms, I’d knife the fucker for that one. I have a switchblade in my pocket. I wasn’t gonna use it in a friendly fight, but now he’s really making me mad.

Before I can get loose, Levi steps between us, shoving us both back.

“Alright, alright, you had your fun,” he says.

Levi’s got bleached blond hair and a bunch of chains around his neck. He’s wearing a stars-and-stripes windbreaker and acid-washed jeans. I’d tell him that he looks like Vanilla Ice, but he’d take that as a compliment.

“If you want to keep fighting, you gotta go somewhere else,” he says.

“I’m gonna kill that little shit!” Johnny roars, still cradling his nose.

“Fine,” Levi says again. “But not here.”

He looks over at me. I spit a little blood out on the grass.

“How ‘bout you?” Levi says.

“I’m good,” I say. “I’ll come inside.”

“Cool.”

Levi nods at his buddies to let go of me. I straighten up, tossing the hair back out of my face.

“You’re fuckin’ dead, Nero,” Johnny hisses as I walk past him.

I just smile at him, blood in my teeth. If I’m in a bad mood the next time I see him, I’m gonna cut his fucking throat without a word of warning.

I head into Levi’s house, which is even hotter than outside and packed with way too many people. The air is so thick with smoke that I could get high just by breathing hard.

The heat makes my lip throb. I head into the kitchen, planning to grab a handful of ice.

Levi’s kitchen is a time capsule of the 70s—pine cabinets and avocado fridge. Granny didn’t give it a facelift, and Levi sure as hell won’t bother. I doubt he’s cooked a meal in his life. The counters are covered in half-eaten take-out boxes.

I crack the freezer door. The only thing inside is an empty vodka bottle. No ice at all, not even the trays.

I close it up again. Over the thud of EDM music, I hear an irritating drawl that’s all too familiar to me. Bella Page, sinking her claws into somebody.

I look over at the girls. It’s the three wicked bitches, surrounding some girl with dark curls tied back by a bandanna.

I usually could not give two shits what Bella is doing. In fact, I’d rather avoid her at all costs. There’s nothing interesting about her practicing her mean girl routine—in fact, I’d be a lot more shocked to see her doing anything else.

It’s their current victim that catches my eye.

Camille Rivera.

Now that is a blast from the past. I could be looking through an eight-year time-warp tunnel. Bella is sniping at her just like she used to in the good old days. And just like back then, Camille looks like she wants to pop Bella right in the eye.

I was always surprised Bella went to such great lengths to fuck with Camille. It’s not like they were in competition or something. Bella had the money, the clothes, the friends, the boyfriends (pretty much anybody worth fucking at school, other than me—though not for lack of trying on her part). Plus, objectively speaking, Bella is way hotter. She’s got that supermodel pout, mile-long legs, and the I-had-four-ribs-removed-to-look-this-skinny thing going on.

Camille isn’t feminine in the slightest. She dresses like Billy Joel in “Uptown Girl.” She’s constantly filthy. She’s got a low, husky voice that hardly belongs in the same conversation with Bella’s biting tone. And she’s poor as dirt. Her dad does good work, but he never charged enough. His shop is so rundown that it’s anti-marketing for the business. She was one of the only kids that always brought her own lunch to school instead of buying from the cafeteria or snack bar. It was always super depressing leftovers in old yogurt containers, not even Tupperware. Bella used to rail on her about that, along with a hundred other things.

But the number one thing Bella would give Camille shit about is her mom.

Everyone knows Camille’s mother worked as a stripper. She had Camille super young, and she was still stripping when we were at Oakmont. People used to throw dollar bills at Camille in the hallway. They’d say they were going to visit her mom at Exotica, and ask Camille what song they should request.

Maybe that’s why Camille tries so hard to be plain. She deflects male attention like it’s her job. Trying to prove she’s nothing like her mother.

Or maybe she just hates showering. How the fuck would I know?

Bella makes some bitchy comment about Camille’s mom.

That’s where I insert myself into the conversation. Not because I care about defending Camille, but because Bella needs some new material.

All the girls spin around to stare at me, Camille most of all.

Bella smirks at me, one hand on her hip and her chest thrust upward for my approval.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” she purrs.

“Why would you?” I say, coldly.

Bella’s smile turns to a pout.

She’s been thirsty as fuck since the day I met her. It’s funny—I’ve banged a lot of girls I didn’t like. But I’ve always held out against Bella. It’s almost a game at this point. The more she wants it, the more I enjoy not giving it to her. She’s so damn spoiled it’s probably the one time in her whole life she hasn’t gotten her way.

It ain’t happening. Not tonight, and not ever. I know how hard she’d be to shake afterward—I don’t need that kind of drama.

Bella is the one person who might be as vicious as I am. Trust a snake to know a snake. Who knows what kind of crazy shit she might pull if we were alone and naked.

Those shiny pink lips part as she’s about to shoot her shot again.

To cut her off, I turn to Camille and say, “Is that your Trans Am out there?”