Page 2 of Devil on the Lake

Fine, goth girl. You won that round.

But the war will be mine once and for all this weekend.

“Dude. What’s up with you?” Phoenix stops at my side, slouching against the lockers.

People usually mistake us for twins with our similar dark hair. Mine’s shaved on the sides while his is a thick mess, and my amber eyes are much lighter than his bottomless dark brown ones. We used to roll with it growing up to see how many people we could trick.

I shake my head. “Fucking Willow Stewart. She’s dead meat, P.”

His head jerks with the force of his snort, sending his dark hair flopping over his face. “Forget about her.”

I tried. Not happening.

“Whatever. You ready for how sick this weekend will be?” The corners of my mouth lift at the thought of the shit I have planned for the party and for my prank. “We’re gonna be goddamn legends.”

Phoenix smirks. “We already are, brother. The race last weekend crushed both of our personal best times. Thought I was going to lose control of my bike, but damn, we did it.”

He taps my shoulder with the back of his hand as he tracks Luna through the hall. She pauses to give him a bright smile and a wave before the girls with her tug her along. A soft sigh leaves him and he rubs at the center of his chest like it aches.

He’s been attached at the hip with his best friend Luna since they were babies, but when you grow up together it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. A smirk tugs at my mouth. Poor bastard still hasn’t figured out why he’s all out of sorts over her yet.

Shaking my head again, I clap my hands on his shoulders and steer him around in the opposite direction for our next class.

TWO

WILLOW

The full moon illuminates eerie pockets of light through the pine trees this high up in the Rockies. I can’t help but think of the balled up note I got the other day, the one I smoothed out and refolded before sticking it in my bralette.

Be careful at the party. There are cougars in the mountains.

The creepy, vaguely threatening message is burned into my brain. I want it on me as evidence just in case I end up in some kind of Carrie situation at the hands of Dante and his asshole friends for daring to rock out to the beat of my own drum and dress differently.

They’re all so entitled, each one dripping with more privilege than the last. And he’s the worst of all of them. They could get away with murder and no one would blink. While I have to bust my ass to make sure I get into a top college on academic merit, they’re set for life with their wealth and names that open any door.

Except Dante was weirdly…nice to me all day. He must have asked if I planned to come to the party at least four times. It’s got me on edge.

Especially with his freaky note. It’s the latest in the unending mind game someone is playing with me. My money’s on Dante.

They started last spring, not long after that jackass somehow got a copy of my essay. Him and his buddy Lowell both tried to pass off my caliber of work as their own. When the teacher failed all three of us for plagiarism and cheating, of course I had to clear my name and prove my work was my own. It’s not my fault those idiots got scammed into buying stolen homework.

If you ask me, they got off easy with suspension. Even with no option to make up the assignment, the school still kisses their asses.

It’s not only a point of pride I take in my schoolwork. I work hard because my goal is to attend an Ivy League school. My parents can’t afford it without me earning my way in, unlike Dante and Lowell, who could buy their way in if they wanted. They coast through school while I bust my ass, and I would’ve jeopardized my future if I hadn’t defended myself. Stealing my work and believing they could get away with it is just another extension of their privilege.

After that, we began fighting more.

I don’t know if he slips the whiplash-inducing notes to me as a cruel joke or because somewhere underneath the chiseled jawline, sadistic attitude, and piercing amber eyes there’s a heart, but they drive me crazy.Hedrives me crazy.

Dante Adams is nothing more than a brainless adrenaline junkie with a pretty face who only cares about the crotch rocket motorbikes he races with Phoenix Murphy. The difference between them is that Phoenix has a future in the sport with his talent if he wants to pursue it, while Dante is someone just looking for a high.

I eye the line of cars ahead of us. Fog moves through the headlights. Someone honks up ahead and another car is blasting a dubstep remix of Spooky Scary Skeletons.

A sigh leaves me and I prop my chin in my hand. I don’t know why I bothered coming out for this party. These people aren’t my crowd. I don’t enjoy being around anyone in my grade. Maybe I should’ve stayed home and done my usual—a Scream movie marathon.

But as much as I love a comfort horror movie re-watch, I wanted something different this year.

IloveHalloween. It’s my favorite time of year. And I want to make this one a Halloween I’ll never forget.

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