Page 5 of Final Girls and F*ck Boys

4

Sawyer sprawled across my bed like she owned it, one hand lazily tracing patterns on the comforter while the other held her phone, the screen glowing as she scrolled aimlessly. Her groans of frustration filled the room, drowning out the soft rustling of leaves outside the open window. She had been bemoaning the fact that she’d missed my brother, Chamberlain, and his friends, and she wasn’t letting it go. Meanwhile, I stood in front of my floor-length mirror, trying on outfit after outfit, searching for the perfect look for tonight’s party.

The evening had begun with a bit of a mystery. I’d woken up in my own bed under a blanket I distinctly remembered seeing in Chamberlain’s room. It was one of those heavy, soft throws that you could get lost in, and the scent of his cologne still clung to the fabric. I wasn’t sure how it had ended up on me, but that wasn’t the most pressing concern. My phone had lit up with ten missed calls from Sawyer, who was no doubt freaking out over something, so I’d told her to just come over early so we could get ready for the party together.

Now, as I sifted through my closet, pulling out clothes and tossing them onto the bed, Sawyer’s groans turned intoan exasperated sigh. “Girl, I just…” she started, pausing dramatically to roll onto her back, staring up at the ceiling like it held all the answers. “Just thinking about Chamberlain makes me wet, I swear. I just want to sit on his face once in my lifetime.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, the sound echoing in the room. “Good luck with that. Last I heard, he lets Atley pull his women, and they share.” The words left a sour taste in my mouth, but I kept the discomfort from showing on my face. I had no reason to be jealous, no right to feel anything at all when it came to Chamberlain, but that didn’t stop the idea from gnawing at me.

I rifled through the clothes hanging in my closet until my fingers brushed against a pair of ragged denim overalls. The shorts were so short, they barely covered my ass, with the frayed hem folded up just beneath the globes. The back pockets were essentially nothing but gaping holes with strings, exposing more skin than they covered, but there was something about the careless, rebellious look that I liked. I shrugged out of the dress I’d been wearing and stepped into the overalls, threading my arms through the straps and adjusting the fit until it felt just right. The denim was rough against my skin, but the way it clung to my curves made up for it.

I plucked at the fabric, lifting my tits so they nestled perfectly in the tight material. My naked chest pressed firmly against the denim, the sensation of the rough fabric against my skin sending a shiver down my spine. It was daring, maybe even scandalous, but I didn’t care. I slipped a red bandana onto my hair, tying it up in a messy, yet deliberate knot, and then tugged on a pair of knee-high cowboy boots, completing the look.

Sawyer watched me with a raised eyebrow, her lips quirking into a grin as I turned back to the mirror, admiring the result. “Damn, girl. You’re going to kill it tonight,” she said, her voice full of approval.

I smiled at her reflection in the mirror, grabbing my makeup bag and moving to the vanity. We chatted about her school plans while I began the process of transforming my face. Sawyer had been toying with the idea of traveling for a year before settling into college, and tonight, she was more determined than ever. I nodded along as she explained her reasons, though my focus was on the eyeshadow palette in front of me. I swept a bright blue powder across my lids, the color bold and eye-catching. Then, I darkened the crease with a charcoal shade, blending it out into a smoky eye that made my blue eyes pop.

With a finger, I added a hint of glitter to the center of my lids, catching the light just right. I grabbed my waterproof eyeliner next, tightly lining my waterline with precision before switching to a felt-tip pen to carve out a sharp wing. The makeup was dramatic, but that was exactly what I was going for. It was a statement—bold, unapologetic, and impossible to ignore.

Sawyer continued talking, her voice rising and falling as she weighed the pros and cons of her post-graduation plans. I barely heard her, my attention consumed by the final touches of my makeup. I waved a fake lash in the air, letting the glue dry to just the right tackiness before attaching it carefully to my lash line, pressing it down until it blended seamlessly with my natural lashes. A swipe of bright red lipstick added the final touch, the color vibrant and daring. I set everything with a generous spritz of setting spray, ensuring my hard work would last through the night’s festivities.

Turning to Sawyer, I struck a pose, my accent exaggerated as I declared, “I’m a fucking star.”

Sawyer grinned, hopping off the bed to join in the fun. “Babe! Stunning, beautiful, outrageously gorgeous!” she cried, mimicking paparazzi as she struck ridiculous poses and pretended to take my photo.

“Darling, darling,” I continued, waving a hand at her like I was trying to ward off adoring fans. “Please, no more photos.”

We dissolved into giggles, the energy electric as we fed off each other’s excitement. I had gone for a more recent Final Girl look, something modern and edgy, while Sawyer opted for a classic—Sidney Prescott, but with a twist. She’d taken the iconic character and added a goth flair, pairing a leather jacket with booty shorts that showed off every curve. Her black Doc Martens clomped loudly as she twirled in front of the mirror, her outfit a perfect blend of tough and sexy.

As we gathered up our things—keys, phones, wallets—I couldn’t help but admire Sawyer’s boldness. She led the way down the stairs, nearly bouncing with each step, despite the heavy boots on her feet. Her tiny, distressed shorts were cut high on her waist, hugging her voluptuous figure in all the right places. Sawyer had curves for days, the kind that made people stop and stare, and she knew exactly how to work them.

I followed her down the stairs, groaning in mock frustration as I caught up to her. “I don’t know how men resist this,” I said, my hands finding their way to her ass. I gave it a playful squeeze, unable to resist the temptation. “I can’t even resist it, and I rarely play for the home team.”

Sawyer laughed, her body shaking with the sound as she wiggled her hips for emphasis. “If only they knew what they were missing,” she teased, giving her ass a shake before opening the garage door.

If there was one thing Sawyer and I had in common, it was the pride we took in our bodies. We’d been blessed with beauty, and we weren’t shy about showing it off. It wasn’t about being cocky—it was about owning who we were, refusing to let anyone make us feel lesser. People could hate all they wanted, but that just meant we had something they envied.

That confidence had brought us together back in high school, when we’d both been outcasts in a private school full of elitists. We were rich and pretty, but we didn’t fit the perfect mold they expected, so they’d cast us aside. But we’d found strength in each other, realizing that the friends who smiled to your face were often the ones who spat venom behind your back. Chamberlain and his crew had been the exception, but once they graduated, the girls at school turned vicious.

Sawyer and I learned to rely on each other, our bond growing stronger with every passing year. Now, as we headed out for the night, that bond was as unbreakable as ever.

Sawyer sauntered over to my black Range Rover, her hips swaying with every step. She unlocked the doors, and we hopped in, the cool leather seats a welcome relief against our skin. The garage was chilly, the air-conditioned air brushing over us as I stuck the key in the ignition.

As soon as the engine roared to life, my stereo blared with music, the bass thumping through the car’s speakers. I grinned at Sawyer as I typed the manor’s address into the GPS. The garage door lifted, revealing the darkening sky outside. I pressed my foot to the gas, and we tore out of the garage, leaving the St. Claire mansion behind.

We were young.

We were alive.

We were free.

Tonight, we were going to live like there was no tomorrow, and nothing was going to stop us.

5

The trees closed in around us like a fortress the closer we got to the manor. The road, just outside the well-manicured boundaries of the West Windsor campus, had long since been forgotten by the groundskeepers. The once-pristine pavement had crumbled away, leaving behind a rough path of dirt and gravel that crunched under the tires of my SUV. On either side, heavy brush and overgrown foliage choked the edges of the road, wild and untamed, as if nature itself sought to keep the place hidden.

The limbs of the trees reached out like skeletal hands, their gnarled fingers scraping against the sides of my vehicle with a sound that made me shiver. The canopy overhead was so thick that it blotted out most of the moonlight, the few stray beams that pierced through flickering like dying embers. There were no streetlamps this far out, no comforting glow to guide our way—only the sharp, focused beam of my headlights cutting through the inky blackness ahead.

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