Page 127 of Losers, Part I

“God, you are pathetic!” Her voice lifted to a shriek. “You’re whoring yourself out to Wickeston’s trash. Four guys at once, Jessica? How many more do you need?”

“Apparently Manson likes to get cucked by his own boyfriend.” Alex sneered, encouraging some jeers from the people around him. “Where is your dog anyway, Reed? I thought Lucas wasalways sniffing around your heels.”

“Can’t bring him around crowds,” Manson said. He’d leaned his elbows back on the countertop, so chill you’d think he owned the place. “He bites.Apparently, people get pissed about that.”

Alex’s face darkened, his hands clenching. The tension in the room was thick, and people were starting to get antsy. They were all exactly where they needed to be, focusing on us rather than anything happening at the front of the house.

Danielle’s lip curled as she said, “Maybe you want to put on a little show for everyone like you did a few years ago, huh? At Daniel Peters’ house?” She pulled out her phone. “I still have the video.”

I knew exactly what video she was talking about: me on my knees at Manson’s feet, during the drink or dare game we’d played almost three years ago. I’d kissed his boots in front of everyone. I’d soaked in the humiliation like the first hit of a drug and I hadn’t been able to shake my addiction to it since.

Bizarrely, I didn’t even feel angry. This entire situation was ridiculous, with grown adults giving me a hard time for who I chose to form a relationship with. They were trying so hard to cling to this faux dichotomy, determined that there had to be a hard division between “us” and “them.”

“You can put on the video,” I said, draining my cup and tossing it in the trash. “Go ahead, stream it to the TV if you’d like. I think it’s a classic at this point, but in case anyone doesn’t know…” I raised my voice a bit, so everyone could hear me. “It’s the video of me kissing Manson’s boots at Daniel’s Halloween party. We gave each other some wild dares that night, but do you know what’s evenwilder, Danielle?”

She looked like she wanted to hit me.

“It’s wild that you think I care what you think of me,” I said. I felt such a profound sense of relief once the words were out, I almost laughed. Ihadcared; I’d cared so much that it hurt, thatit almost broke me. But not anymore. That paralyzing fear was gone.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, likely the signal from the boys that they were almost ready to bail. Looking at the crowd gathered around us, I said, “Look at all of you! The moment I stepped inside, all your attention was on me.Me, Danielle. I don’t think the world revolves around me. No, I know it doesn’t. But I think you, and all of you other pathetic petty bitches, do revolve around me. You can’t help it. You can’t even mind your own business long enough to realize that nothing you say matters to me.”

She snarled like a shrieking wildcat as she launched at me. In one smooth motion, I reached back, grabbed the bowl of sangria from the counter, and threw the entire thing in her face.

Deathly silence fell. Manson looked stunned, his mouth open in an expression that was dangerously close to bursting into laughter. Everyone stared, wide-eyed, their mouths hanging open as Danielle stood dripping on the kitchen tile. She was gasping, blinking slowly as her mascara began to run.

A sudden loud sound from outside snapped everyone out of it, and I knew instantly that we had togo. Manson heard it too, and as soon as I glanced over at him, he grabbed my hand, pulling me with him as we ran. We shoved through the crowd, sprinting for the door. I had no idea who all was behind us — Danielle was screaming like a banshee, Alex was yelling, and I could hear multiple footsteps in pursuit.

We burst out the front door and the Bronco was there, the back hatch open. Vincent was in the driver’s seat, and Jason and Lucas were crouched in the back, ski masks over their faces and paintball guns in their arms.

I leapt into the back as Manson sprinted for the front passenger seat, and the moment I was safely between them, Lucas and Jason opened fire.

Frozen paintballs pinged off the cars, peppering their windshields and leaving tiny dings across the metal. They’d thrown a few regular balls into the mix too, as bright paint splattered across the Hellcat’s shiny red exterior.

With a whoop of excitement, Jason hauled the back hatch closed and yelled, “Go, Vince, step on it!”

Vincent slammed on the gas, the big tires quickly gaining traction. I watched out the back window, my heart pounding out of my chest as people spilled out of the house. Alex came outside, took one look at our Bronco fleeing the scene, and sprinted for his car. His headlights came on, and I said, “He’s going to follow us!”

Lucas smiled grimly beside me. “He won’t get very far.”

He was right. The red car lurched toward us, and for a few seconds, it seemed like Alex was quickly gaining speed. But his front tires began to wobble, then shake, then —

“Holy shit!” One of Alex’s front tires bent inward, his car swerving to the side and spinning out in the dirt. The headlights on Nate’s truck were on too, but we were gaining momentum and were quickly too far away to see what exactly was happening. I turned, looking at Jason. “What did you do?”

“Loosened the lug nuts on their wheels,” he said. “And put sugar in their gas tanks.”

Lucas continued, “We snipped a few wires, pulled a few hoses…”

“And cut their brake lines,” Vincent called from the driver’s seat. He glanced back at me, shoving his hand excitedly against Manson’s shoulder. “Did you two have a good time in there?”

I shrugged, as if it had just been a casual night out. “I threw a bowl of sangria in Danielle’s face.”

Vincent burst out laughing, and Jason grabbed me and squeezed me into a hug as he said, “That’s our girl! I fucking knew you’d kill it.”

I’d never thought that hearing “our girl” from his lips would give me butterflies.

46

Lucas

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