Page 31 of Crew Princess
Zeke glanced over, his eyes narrowing, but he turned back to Cross right away.
“We don’t have an official leader here. That’s not how we work.”
Except he was, and thatwashow we worked on some things.
I caught a small grin from Jordan before it vanished.
Zeke nodded, edging back. His hands went up. “Okay. I get it. You all are some sick badasses.”
“Come on.” One of his friends hit his arm, and the four of them walked backward, out through the fence.
We waited. One of the Normals went to the gate, watching. We heard a bunch of car doors slam shut, engines roaring, and tires peeling out, and he raised an arm. “They’re gone.”
“Fuck,” Cross said, under his breath.
“How’d you know all that?” Jordan asked him.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” I asked Zellman.
“What the hell just happened?” Race asked, looking around for anyone with an answer.
Then, Cross sighed. “This is actually happening now. Shit.”
He looked at me. I knew what he was thinking.
We were in a town rivalry. It was officially on.
Everyone was vulnerable.
That was the part of a town rivalry that sucked, but it was the truth. You didn’t know what your adversary would do—if they’d go after someone considered innocent or weak, or if they’d step up and face off against someone equal to them. We’d never fought against this group from Fallen Crest Academy.
Cross explained that he had done just what he’d told Zeke. He’d called a few people and asked who ran their school. Everyone said Zeke Allen, so he’d gotten the details on him. I hadn’t known he did that. No one did, but we were damn glad he had. Because we’d showed a small edge over them, they’d walked out with a prickle of fear. That small prickle could double, triple, grow and grow until we went against them again. Psychological warfare. I’d never known Cross to be good at it, but he’d just proven me wrong.
Yet another reason he was our “unofficial” leader, as he put it.
I was pretty sure after the Academy Crusties left, most the dudes in the backyard had a guy crush on Cross. When we walked back inside Tabatha’s house, there was a new sense of awe and shock. And, of course, the girls weren’t immune. I needed a moment myself, even though mostly what we needed was a crew meeting.
Rivalries required an organized effort, so all the crews were called, and an hour later we were meeting in the basement of Rossou’s pizzeria. Even some of the Normals were there: Tabatha and Sunday were the ringleaders for the girls, and a few of the Normal athletes had come, plus one guy from the student council. He kept adjusting his glasses and tugging down his sleeves. I was guessing he’d never been a part of something like this.
Moving up next to him, I asked, “You need the bathroom?”
He fixed me with a steady glare from behind his glasses. “Why? Because I look like I’m going to piss myself?”
Well, yeah, but also, “You look a little green in the face.”
“Oh.” He frowned to himself, his face twitching before he shook his head. “I’ll be fine. I did have a touch of food poisoning, but that was two days ago.” He fixed me with another look, swallowing tightly. “Do you even know who I am?”
That was easy. “You’re on the student council.”
“Yeah. That’s why I’m here, but do you know my name?”
Roussou wasn’t super big. I should’ve known, but I couldn’t lie. “Don’t take it personal. I make it a habit not to know. Just how I am.” I gestured to my head. “Heed the rumors. I’m a bit messed up here.”
He scowled. “Everyone has issues. You’re no better than the rest of us with your issues.”
That was… I wasn’t sure what that was. “Okay. What’s your name?”
“I’m Harrison Swartz. And I’m the student body president.” He nodded. “Thank you very much.”
