Page 24 of Crybaby

“Pretty sure you wanted me to wax something else,” I counter with a snicker. “Try to blackmail me again, and I swear to fuck, it’ll be the last thing you do.”

I hate men like Coach Anderson—I’ve been around enough of them. And I won’t sit around and let slimeballs like him prey on kids.

“We clear,Coach?” I mock, using his title as a clear fuck you. “You stick to football and not trying to get your dick sucked.”

I deadpan him, ensuring he knows I’m not playing.

When his head bobbles in a shaky nod, I smile.

“Fucking peachy.”

I don’t wait for him to reply because I’ve given this waste of space enough of my time.

I open the door and almost bump into Foss, who is standing by the coach’s office. He quickly sidesteps, pretending he didn’t have his ear pressed to the door. I ignore the jocks who are looking at me weirdly.

I walk to where my backpack is and get dressed. As I slip into my jeans, I meet Carson’s eyes from across the locker room. He looks livid…and I suspect it has nothing to do with our fight and everything to do with the fact that I did something he couldn’t—I told the coach to go fuck himself.

It seems I’ve just given Carson another reason to hate me, and as I kiss my middle finger and give it to him, I make clear that I don’t fucking care.

I leave him and his bunch of lapdogs and make a quick trip to the library. Most would be returning books or to study, but for me, the quiet means a place where I can make a discreet exchange. I enter, and this is the one place in this hellhole that I actually don’t mind.

I like the quiet, and I like books. Something about both allows you to reflect on life and all that philosophical shit. I understand why some people choose to live their lives as a recluse. Sometimes, the noise becomes deafening, and the only way to deal with the chaos is to seek utter solitude.

I wonder if that life is for me.

It seems a waste to continue doing what I do because I can live comfortably for a very long time with the money I’ve saved. But that’s not the reason I do it. I do it because I want to give my mom the life she never gave to me.

“Rev,” whispers someone, breaking the silence.

I see Ms. Taylor, our art teacher, peering at me through the gap in the shelves. She’s hiding behind a modern history book. “Have you got it?”

Nodding, I subtly check down the narrow aisle to make sure we’re alone.

We are, so I open my backpack and retrieve the painting I stole from Maree Vanderbilt and slide the tube through the shelf.

Ms.Taylorhas been a great client of mine because she’s got good taste and she also knows where to sell these stolen artworks. I don’t ask questions. She pays, and I deliver. Being an art teacher at the local high school is a great cover because no one would ever suspect her of dabbling in criminal activities after school hours.

She doesn’t even look inside. She trusts me because I’ve never double-crossed her in the past.

She slides a small white envelope to me, and by the feel of it, I know she’s stuck true to her word and paid the ten grand I asked for.

“Let me know what you have next.”

Nodding, I slip the envelope into my backpack and bounce. That’s how easy it is.

I don’t need a secret lair or special code word for shit to go down because I make shit happen on my terms. I exercise control in all aspects of my life, but when I shove open the door and see that asshole Carson talking to Darcie, I realize she is the one exception to my rule.

Instantly, jealousy stirs in my stomach. I want to punch out Carson’s teeth, but instead, I watch because that’s what a smart predator does. I have no idea what they’re talking about, but it’s apparent Darcie isn’t totally repulsed by him.

No girl is, though.

I mean, he’s tall, muscled, and smooth as shit, so I get why women would find him attractive. However, I want to throat punch him every time I see his fucking face. Images of doing just that flood my brain, and I inhale happily—my happy place is laced with violence and broken teeth.

I think back to the bonfire, and although Darcie rejected his advances, I could see it wasn’t because she didn’t find him attractive. She did it because maybe she wanted to kiss someone else, and that someone is me.

I have no idea when she got under my skin, but it’s unknown territory for me. I don’t like it. But I know it’s a game I’m going to lose.

I’ve gone to bed early because sitting around with my aunt and uncle watchingWheel of Fortuneis something I’d rather skip. It’s nine o’clock, and I’m restless, scrolling through my phone and watching tarot readers on TikTok telling me something about mercury retrograde. The stars outside my window are super bright, and it’s almost like the night is fighting with them to be dark.

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