Lovely Vicious

“And who’s this Kayla?”

“The first person at school to call me something other than ‘New Girl’.”

Mom makes a little applauding motion. “I like her already.”

“Are you…” I trail off. “Are you go

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. When are you coming home?”

“I…I don’t know. Before midnight, definitely.”

“Good.”

“The cop will still be out there, tonight, so you don’t have to worry.”

She sweeps over and kisses the top of my head. “I know. I’m sorry for scaring you like that. It was just me being silly.”

I’m about to argue that it isn’t silly, but she pats my hand.

“Hurry now. You don’t want to be late.”

“But I do! It makes me seem important and busy!”

She laughs. I pull my hair into a side braid and grab my purse. Gum – check. Cash – check. Tampons – check. You never know when someone will start their period or when I’ll punch somebody and make their noses bleed. At least with tampons I can be considerate to my enemies.

Speaking of enemies, I have no idea if Jack will be there or not, and frankly I don’t care. I’m still not feeling the whole war thing, and I’m just barely in the mood to party to begin with. I throw together a hearty beef casserole and stick it in the oven for Mom before I go, and she waves as I pull out of the driveway. Halfway to Kayla’s house, she texts me to pick up red plastic cups. I make a haphazard u-turn and gun it to the nearest supermarket for the timeless keg party staple. I’m still feeling like crap, so I grab a jar of frosting to snack on. After losing eighty-five pounds, putting on two or three because of my still-shitty comfort eating habits is small time crime.

“Speaking of crime,” I whisper as I look into the rearview mirror. Two someones stroll along the sidewalk across from the supermarket, coming out of a fancy Italian restaurant. The guy’s messy but-way-too-perfectly-messy-if-you-get-my-drift hair and towering height gives him away – Jack Hunter. But he’s smiling. A warm, sincere smile decorates his angled cheekbones and makes him look more human than ever. A young woman in a to-die-for fur coat clutches his arm. I know the people of Northplains are mostly rich, but this woman looks Columbus-class rich. She belongs in the capital, in Seattle, LA, not here – her hair perfectly red and her lips soft and pouty. She can’t be more than four years older than me. Probably some rich guy’s daughter.

It hits me just then; Jack’s working. That would explain the smile. He’s getting paid to smile. I fight the urge to leap out of the car and follow them, and in a record time of point four seconds I pull my hood up and bolt out of the car and follow them. It’s a romantic walk, I have to admit. The streetlamps are wrought-iron in an old Victorian style, and the warm glow they produce drives off the chilly October night. Little tourist-trap shops filled with stained glass animals and soulless watercolors of the lake crowd the avenue. I duck behind potted plants and café signs whenever Jack or the lady’s head swivels too far. I’m so nervous and excited I uncap the frosting and dip my finger in it, eating it as I follow them. It’s like watching a movie with popcorn except a hundred times fu

“I didn’t know your dad was an idiot,” Jack says. His voice is…teasing. Light. Nothing about it is boredly flat, like it usually is. The lady punches his arm playfully.

“Don’t make fun of him. He’s the one paying you, technically.”

“Ah, but I’d do this for nothing. That’s how beautifully distracting you are, Madison.”

I shovel more frosting in my mouth before I rip a hole in the space-time continuum with my explosive laughter. The lady finds it much more sincere, and giggles, leaning her beautiful head on his shoulder as they walk.

“Do you want to go back to the hotel?” She asks, quieter. “I bought new rope that needs breaking in.”

I yelp as I bite my own frosting-covered finger. Madison looks behind her first. Her expression gets flustered and confused. Jack turns around, and his face goes from a faintly-smiling mask to deadly-angry not-mask in less than point two seconds. I swallow and raise a sticky hand in abrupt greeting.

“Uh, hello! Don’t mind me! I’m just walking behind you. Not following you.”

“You’re really close,” Madison says warily.

“I’m just…watching so I can manage things!”

“Manage?” Madison raises a brow. Jack’s ice-blue eyes are colder than a snap frozen mountain river in December.

“Yup! I manage stuff! I’m a…manager! I’m his manager!” I point at Jack and wink and put on a corny-old-timey voice. “You’re going to Hollywood, kid!”

“I paid the fee, if that’s what you’re here about,” Madison starts. Jack looks to her, smile flashing on for a moment.

“Let me talk to her. Give me one second.”

“Okay,” Madison giggles. He kisses her passionately, so passionately I almost feel embarrassed for watching. When they part, she’s breathless, and Jack strides over to me with a brewing sneer. He grabs my elbow and pulls me in the other direction.

“Is that how you kissed me?” I ask, nearly tripping as he pulls me along. “Golly gee, it looks kind of mildly fucking embarrassing! No wonder people at school have been talking about it for weeks now. Golly gee!”

“Stop saying golly gee.”

“Tallyho, chaps!”

“Stop saying things!” He snarls, letting go of me only when we’re around the corner and a tea shop separates us from Madison’s view.

“Things!” I shout.

“How did you find me? If you hacked into the Club’s computer to look up my appointments - ”

“Whoa, I think you overestimate me, shitlord. Last time I checked all I did was be in the wrong place at the right time. I saw you and had to - ”

“Stalk me.”

“ - delicately approach you. In a sideways ma

“Why are you even out? I thought you were sick.”

“I was. See, it’s this thing called an immune system -”

He holds up his hand and rubs his eyes. “Okay, stop. Shut all systems down and just. Stop. Talking.”

“Why?”

“It’s a

“That’s never stopped me before!”

“Why did you follow me?”

“I was…curious?”

“Not good enough.”

“You want me to be honest?”

“Preferably yes, so you don’t waste anymore of my time.”

“We are at war. Wars don’t exactly demand honesty. How are you enjoying suspension, by the way?”

“Wonderfully, thank you,” His voice drips acid sarcasm. “I’ve booked seven new clients and earned a thousand extra this week.”

“Impressive. Is that how much they pay for the dick, or for the hilariously cheesy compliments? Or are those extra? If so, count me in! I want to hear you serenade me with them while I choke on my own bile.”

He looks down at the jar of frosting I clutch in my hands. “Are you eating that out of the can?”

“Are you the king of stupid questions?” I fire back. “Of course I am! Frosting is the ambrosia of the gods. God, if you’re into that religious thing. Are you religious? Somehow I get the feeling the only church you’d join is the church of self-worship. Your body is your temple. Work it, boy.”

“What are you saying?” He snarls. “You’re blabbering!”

“At least I’m not whoring!”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

“Uh, really? Because it sounded as simple as a bunch of new rope and a hotel room, and frankly that recipe means you’re either going to get some kinky sex on, or you’re going to mutually hang yourselves.”

He sighs. “She likes being tied up, okay? I don’t. I don’t like any of this, okay? I’m getting paid. So you need to just piss off and go to whatever immature party you were going to in the first place.”