Page 41 of Raise Hell

My wide smile has to resemble the Cheshire Cat’s. “Exactly.”

Felicia nods, expression resolute. “We are going to this party, and no one is going to stop us.”

“Like girl bosses. No one is going to stand in our way.”

Felicia gets up to take our trays to the trash. She stops at the table of girls and says something to them. They all laugh together in response.

It’s amazing what a little burst of confidence will do for you.

For a flashing second, I feel guilty. Then I remind myself who she is. If Drake had cared even a quarter as much about the girls Havoc House abuses as he does his little sister, then Olivia never would have been attacked in the first place.

Even though her innocence reminds me of Olivia so much that I want to cry, Felicia Nwosu isn’t anything more than a means to an end.

All is fair in love and war.

* * *

The party is alreadyin full swing when we get to Havoc House on Saturday night.

It took me almost an hour to convince Felicia she couldn’t wear a sweatshirt and jeans to her first campus party. She primly informed me that the code of conduct prohibits the wearing of skirts above the knee while on school property.

I had to remind her that the kind of girls who go to Havoc parties don’t give a shit about the dress code.

Then it took another hour to convince her that the slinky red dress I pulled out of my own closet wouldn’t send her straight to hell.

Despite the time, the end result is totally worth it.

With her hair twisted out into a riot of kinky curls and the red dress hugging curves I didn’t even know she had, Felicia looks good enough to get in anywhere.

Invitation or not.

She looks hotter than Danai Gurira did in that casino scene from the Black Panther movie.

Felicia trips as her heel catches on the cobblestones and I reached out to steady her. Anya left a half-full bottle of vodka in the kitchen, and I found some cranberry juice in the back of the fridge. I needed the liquid courage and a few drinks was the best way I could think of to loosen Felicia up. She made such a big deal of how good it tasted that I might have let her have one or two more than was strictly necessary.

How was I supposed to know that she has never had a cocktail before?

She isn’t drunk, but the vodka cranberries haven’t made managing high heels any easier.

“Stop pulling on your skirt,” I hiss as we mount the steps of Havoc House. “You’re better off showing your whole ass to people than constantly pulling on your hemline like you’re doing a walk of shame. Flashing someone isn’t embarrassing if it’s on purpose.”

“That sounds like something a slutty girl would say.”

“And here I was thinking we were trying to fit in.”

Felicia closes her mouth on whatever she wanted to say next as we reach the door. An underclassman I don’t recognize is standing in front of it with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Invitation?” he asks gruffly, gaze on the place where Felicia’s skirt rode up as she mounted the stairs.

He has to be a pledge if they’re forcing him to stand outside and check invitations, which means we actually stand a decent chance of getting past him.

“Is that a Zegna tie?” I gush, voice flirtatious.

He looks down in obvious confusion. “Uh, yeah. I think so.”

“It’s gorgeous.” I glide forward and rub my fingers down the front of his tie, as if admiring the fabric. I use just enough pressure on his chest that it distracts him as my other hand reaches around to the stack of invitations in his back pocket. Deftly, I slip one out before stepping back. “Oh, here’s our invitation.”

I make a show of pretending to pull the shiny white card I just lifted off him out of my clutch purse

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