Havoc never rests, so even as we’re sitting there and watching all of this, I notice the boys’ eyes scanning the crowd, checking the shadows, listening and waiting and wondering. Oscar keeps his phone on his lap, scrolling through texts from our crew.

During a particularly painful performance from the first graders, I turn around once again to see if I can’t spot Ophelia and Maxwell in the crowd. It takes me a few minutes—especially since I’ve only ever seen Maxwell Barrasso in photos—but then I spy them near the back row.

Ophelia is the one who catches my attention first. Likely, because she bears such a striking resemblance to her son that my eyes can pick her out, even in the midst of a well-dressed bourgeois crowd.

She’s wearing a bright red dress, the color striking against her skin, but ominous, too. Like, who wears red satin to a graduation? Her dark hair is coiffed into a bun on the top of her hand, a few oil-dark strands framing her face on either side. Beside her, a man that can only be Maxwell Barrasso sits, legs crossed, hands resting on his knee. He’s got on a navy-blue suit that may or may not have pinstripes—I’m too far away to tell—that screams money and power. Add in the fancy watch, the large ring on his right hand, and the bespoke brogues on his feet and it isn’t difficult to imagine that he’s the head of a gang that makes Havoc look like small potatoes.

My gaze moves away from him, searching the crowd for more familiar faces. Hael’s mom is supposed to be here along with Cal’s grandma. The Peters—Oscar’s foster family—are also supposed to be in attendance, along with Alyssa, the little girl we saved. Nobody is here for Aaron, but it doesn’t matter because he has Kara and Ashley, me and Heather, and all the rest of the Havoc Boys.

As for myself … it’d be impossible to miss someone like Breonna Keating, the only person in that gala who isn’t wearing money like it’s going out of style. Instead, I spot her because she’s also the only figure there who’s wearing an old t-shirt under an unbuttoned suit jacket. Still, she looks professional and worldly and so much worthier of the space she takes up than anybody else in that crowd.

I’m surprised at myself for how happy I am to see that she’s actually come. I mean, when I texted her and asked, she enthusiastically agreed. I’m just so used to being disappointed by people—adults in particular—that I didn’t really let myself believe it.

With a smile fixed firmly in place, I turn back around just in time to catch the beginning of Heather and Kara’s play. It’s a short piece based on The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, complete with costumes and music. Kara and Heather are both stagehands, so they’re not actually in the performance which annoys the fuck out of me, but this school, like anywhere else, prioritizes people based on money and influence and power. Oil Tycoon Girl’s little sister is the lead, dressed in Dorothy’s gingham dress.

As their performance is coming to a close, Trinity Jade excuses herself and heads across the green, up the stairs, and into the bathroom. The boys watch her as she goes, and we exchange looks. As if a second performance is happening in the audience behind us, Ophelia also rises in a perfectly coordinated move to slip into the restroom.

“The fuck are they up to?” Vic wonders, and I can tell as his gaze scans the audience that he’s considering going up there to find out. Only, not two minutes later, Sara Young and John Constantine appear at the edge of the amphitheater, stealing two seats at the very end of the front row.

“This is certainly an unusual development,” Oscar murmurs, but then a few minutes later, Trinity and Ophelia emerge from the bathroom. Ophelia takes her seat while Trinity rejoins us; Heather and Kara file offstage with their class to sit in front of us.

Everything seems to be progressing as it should. We sit there for two more hours, watching each grade give their presentation before the intermission is called and guests file up the steps to a light catered lunch, sitting under awnings and reclining in metal bistro chairs.

Our girls remain in the uniformed anonymity of their respective classes as they head back to the Oak River cafeteria for food. As far as what we do, well, we sit and wait and theorize on what Ophelia and Trinity might be up to or why Sara and Constantine are walking around like they’re just another set of parents here to support their kid—or, really, most of the parents are here because they enjoy this delicate social dance of politicking and backstabbing and wealth flaunting.

Regardless, we finally get ourselves some plates and fan out in pairs to make our rounds. Cal and Hael visit their grandmother and mother respectively while Oscar and Aaron stop by the Peters’ table. Victor and I decide to visit Ms. Keating before we bother with Ophelia.

That bitch can wait.

“You came,” I say, sounding far more like a seventeen-year-old girl than I mean to.

Ms. Keating smiles, and I finally realize what her shirt says: Abolish the Electoral College. Aww, look, I’m not the only person who thinks politics aren’t just something to be left at the door when they involve human rights and dignities. Cute.

“I came,” she agrees, her hair twisted into small braids and decorated with tiny metal rings. “Bernadette, I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you here today. Didn’t I tell you that you’d make it?”

Vic grunts and digs his hands into the pockets of his robe, stepping away like he’s actually interested in the array of food on the nearby table. Really, he’s just giving me a minute which I appreciate.

“You did,” I agree, reluctantly, and with a bit of Prescott sass. “It wasn’t easy.”

“Nothing worth having ever is,” Ms. Keating agrees, echoing a similar thought I’ve had more than once in the past several months. I decide that if we really do make it to Vic’s inheritance, and she still wants to teach, we should bribe the local schoolboard to make Ms. Keating principal of Prescott High and give her a huge paygrade. We could do that, if we wanted. Havoc can do fucking anything. “And I appreciate you inviting me. I was sorry to hear about your mother.”

“I wasn’t,” I retort, and I don’t mean it to sound so bitter or so caustic, so I just sigh instead. “I hear you were sort of awesome during the shooting?” I make it into a question, but it isn’t really. When Sara Young told me about what Ms. Keating did, I believed it. I saw her stand up to Neil for me once. That took huge fucking ovaries, and I’ll forever be impressed.

“Not really,” she replies just as easily, downplaying her involvement. “But if you ever need someone to talk to about anything, you always have my number. Doesn’t matter if it’s tomorrow or in ten years, I’ll be here.”

“I appreciate that.” This time, my reply is much less sassy and when she offers me up a hug, I actually accept it.

“Now that, that was a fucking sight to see,” Vic murmurs as he takes my arm and we finally, begrudgingly, make our way over to Ophelia. Maxwell is nowhere to be seen, but I expected that. On our way up here, I noticed he was waiting outside, near the door that leads back down to the amphitheater. He didn’t even look at us as we passed by. Whether that’s because he didn’t recognize us, or he just didn’t care to acknowledge us, I have no idea.

“Victor,” Ophelia greets, giving him an air kiss on either cheek and then looking over at me like I’m the scum of the earth. Her dark eyes immediately latch onto the ring resting on my finger and her beautiful mouth tips slightly down at the corners. “I see the two of you are working diligently at maintaining Trinity’s impeccable standing in the community.”

“As always,” Vic agrees, leading with a sharp, tight smile of his own. “We wouldn’t want to do anything scandalous, like allow other students to see us mid-fuck in the school gymnasium.” One of Ophelia’s perfect eyebrows twitches, but that’s a lie. We never got caught mid-fuck in the gym, just once in the girls’ locker room and even then, only by Trinity at the end of the school day.

“Well, just so long as you continue with your legal marriage to Trinity,” Ophelia says in a voice with the distinctive undertone of a threat. “Just remember that Trinity and I are the only reasons Maxwell hasn’t slaughtered each and every one of you.” She taps her finger against the tip of Victor’s nose as he scowls.

Ophelia moves away then in a swish of red satin, leaving me and Victor behind. I let out a long breath, but he’s frowning already like something’s wrong.

“You okay?” I ask, but he just shakes his head and takes off after his mother, watching her as she rejoins Maxwell outside the door and then heads back down the steps toward the amphitheater. They take their seats and Victor reluctantly pulls himself away, but not like he’s fully at ease with any of this.

We gather the rest of the boys and rejoin the group of students headed back to the lawn. It’s as we’re heading into the rows of folding chairs that we first notice that something is wrong.

“Ophelia is no longer in her seat,” Oscar grinds out, sounding frustrated by the change of plans. As we pause by our chairs and look up the towering row of steps to where Maxwell sits, we see him reach into his pocket and pull out a phone. He answers it and puts it to his ear. After a moment, he, too, stands up.

I look around for Sara and Constantine, but they’re not there either.

“Ophelia was just fucking there,” Vic growls right back, but not like he’s angry at Oscar. No, he’s clearly pissed off with himself. “In the two minutes it took us to get down here, she left?”

“Apparently.” Oscar checks his phone as Aaron goes to do the same, frowning at the sound of it buzzing in his pocket. He drops those pretty green-gold eyes to his screen and then turns a shade of pale that I equate only to the faces of corpses. Bloodless. Empty. Terrified.

His eyes lift up to mine.

“What’s wrong?” Hael asks as Callum crowds close and reads the message from over Aaron’s shoulder. His pink mouth flattens into a frown and his blue eyes go dark with violence.