Page 24 of Snake

Knox

“Idon’t know whether to be pissed off at her, or proud of her,” Mason says.

Like I fucking knew he would.

We’re in my room, the air hazy with weed smoke. Fuck knows where Silas got the joint, but for the first time in a long time, we’re all smoking it.

“If you had a video of yourself beating off to horse porn, then we wouldn’t even be having this discussion,” Silas mutters, studying the glowing tip of the joint before putting it to his lips and hitting it again.

“You made her blow you under the cafeteria table,” Mason says.

Silas sneers at him and hands me the last inch of the joint. I finish it with a hard pull, dropping the roach in the remnants of my coffee cup.

We sit silently for a moment, contemplating.

“She has to go to the dance. How the fuck else are we going to smoke out her sponsors?” Silas says.

“Is it worth it?” I shrug when they both look at me. “What’s it going to change?”

Mason opens his mouth, but closes it a second later without speaking. That same contemplative silence sinks down. This time it’s Silas who breaks it, clearing his throat. “I don’t care how we do it, we have to get Nim to that dance.”

I open my mouth, but he knows what I’m going to say because he waves it away with a frustrated flick of his wrist. “I don’t care about her fucking sponsors. That elitist bullshit is for you guys, not me.”

Mason grumbles unhappily, but either he’s too stoned to argue, or he accepts Silas is right.

“Then what do you care about?” I ask, picking up my packet of cigarettes and sitting back as I slide one out of the pack with my teeth. “Because I sure as shit can’t figure it out.”

Silas’s eyes auger onto me, and even Mason looks miffed at my words. Because they think I’m hinting about Silas’s lackluster mourning the past few days? “Not that,” I say, flicking a lighter and torching the end of my cigarette. “Jesus.”

“Fine, you want to know?” Silas has my wooden study chair backward, his arms resting across the back. “If we don’t go to the dance, then Eliza gets what she wants. And I’d rather you two cut off my dick than make her life even one fucking iota easier.”

Mason snorts. “Why would Jackson care if we went to the dance or not?”

“Fuck knows,” Silas snaps. “But if she cares enough to threaten me in the halls about it, then she sure as shit cares enough for me to pay attention.”

“What do you mean, she threatened you?” I tug at the cigarette, studying Silas through the cloud of smoke as I exhale.

He ignores the question. “So how do we do it, huh? How do we get that bad little bitch of ours to put on her pretty little dress and walk her pretty little ass into town hall on Friday?”

One side of my mouth curls up as I think about the pretty little dress she’ll be wearing. Fuck, my cock wants to stand full mast just imagining how gorgeous she’ll look in that gown.

“—Christ, he’s not even listening.”

I snap out of my reverie, sending Mason a hard frown. “Because you’re talking bullshit.”

“How would you know?” Mason shrugs his big shoulders like he couldn’t be bothered to carry on arguing. “I was saying, she won’t change her mind about us. Not after all the shit we put her through.”

“I’m only hearing problems, not solutions.” Silas gives me an icy stare. “Nothing?”

I tap my finger in the air, my eyes narrowing as I lock eyes with him. “Problem is, we need something from her, and she doesn’t want to give it to us.”

“So we take it,” Mason says through a laugh.

“We can’t handcuff her and drag her into the town hall.” I blow out a plume of pale smoke, glancing up at the ceiling as I think. “This needs a delicate touch. You guys ever been fly-fishing?”

Silas snorts. Mason sighs. I carry on talking regardless.

“If you want to catch trout, pretend you’re something that you’re not.” I wave my hand around in the air, flipping it gently, like I’m casting. “Convince the trout that your fly is a real insect, not some lethal hook ready to pierce through its lip. And to do that, you have to be gentle.”

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