Page 61 of Pretty Little Lies

All I ever wanted was come here and learn, get a really good education, and make money. My dream was architecture and drawing since I was a kid. Half the graffiti in South Shore is mine, and since I couldn’t build at fifteen, I drew on them to make them so. Half of Levi’s tattoos are me doodling and practicing. It’s how I met Nessa when I snuck out of my house one night to spray paint Sherriff Muncy’s cop car for being a class-A prick. She was in the middle of covering artwork I did on one side of the party store, and I didn’t take it very well.

We fought, and she pulled half my hair out of my head while I bit her. Stupid young teenage shit, and we’ve been best friends ever since.

So when Reeve guides me to the football field with a game already playing, I’m nervous. I don’t know who I’m going to run into here. This is a free-for-all, so anyone from South Shore could be here, and I’m hanging out with the infamous rival gang.

Yeah, this was a bad idea.

“What’s he going to school for?” I ask Reeve as we pass a booth that sells tickets, but Reeve just continues walking through, and no one stops him. “How to be a terrorist?”

He chuckles, spinning around to walk backwards and look at me. “He doesn’t go to school. However, he wanted to be a gym teacher when we were kids. He thought playing capture the flag was what he could teach the next generation.”

My lips crack a little. “Ambitious.”

“And stupid as fuck.” He slows his pace so I can catch up with him. “But it’s to be expected, right?”

“Mhm, right.” Reeve stretches out his hand, as it would be if this conflict between our towns was never happening. It’s in such a simple and relaxed manner that it’s not too hard to comply with his request.

I want to hold it.

We get to the set of metal bleachers, jam-packed full of a bunch of kids our age as we climb up, stopping at a row, and Reeve gestures for me to step in. And when I look up, my stomach knots.

Cairo.

Watching the game with unadulterated interest in a gray tank top, his black tattoos on display, and those gauged-out ears. He rubs at the dark stubble along his jaw, resting his other elbow on his knees as his eyes follow the players on the field.

He doesn’t look like a dude who enjoys sports, but emo music and devastating girls into deep levels of depression after he breaks up with them. The broody fucker who flicks a lighter while he’s thinking. Someone always with the perfect comeback when he believes it’s worth a response.

His head cranes over then, dark eyes fastening to my body as I force myself to fucking move.

He doesn’t scare me. He’s just hot as fuck.

And as much as he doesn’t seem to care for me almost as much, if not more, I can say the feeling is mutual.

Still doesn’t mean I’m blind.

Reeve reaches out from behind me and bro-pounds it out with Cairo’s fist, leaving me to sit next to him and become a Forsaken Crew sandwich.

Almost.

When Cairo moves, a prim and pretty blonde is on her pink cellphone, hammering away at the keys with French manicured nails. Her ivory legs are crossed, exposing red-bottom heels, and it’s not just any chick—it’s Vivian.

If I didn’t know any better, and maybe I don’t, I’d think Reeve might be trying to get me assassinated.

“South Shore decided to grace us with her presence today, huh?” Cairo inquires, voice dripping without malice this go-around. Instead, my paranoia states that it sounds like he’s amused I’ve made myself publicly known I’ve allegedly switched sides. So I opt out for the obvious reason why I’d show up with my spoken enemy.

“Couldn’t miss the opportunity to see Pretty Boy get pounded on like I’ve been wanting to do since I met him.” I feel those mocha eyes latch onto my face. A challenge. As though he needs to see how I’m taking this, ironing this out in my head, and that this is a dangerous game I’m playing. “When can I see you?”

That’swhen Vivian decides to lean over and discover me. Her green eyes widen a tad before she quickly rights herself and flicks her focus to Reeve.

“I see you brought your whore, Reeve,” she says sweetly, tapping the surface of her phone with her long nails as if she’s borderlining a fit.

“Better yet, your competition, Vivian,” Reeve replies dully. “Go back to shopping on your phone, and we’ll let you know the moment we start giving a fuck about what you have to say.”

Vivian doesn’t falter or cower back. In fact, she’s too busy taking inventory of my outfit and where she can probably classify me in her head. “Not sure what you mean. I’m not set to marry you, but Cairo.”

Surprise number two, ladies and gentlemen.

One of my brows mindlessly upheaves. “What?”

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