Eight

"What do you mean parties aren't your scene?!"

I stayed silent, leaning back against my headboard and purposely letting the silence stretch to mess with him.

"Remington? Is this thing even working? I just got these headphones last month," Michael grumbled, the sound of him fumbling with his gear crackling through the line.

"I'm here," I finally said, unable to hide my amusement. "And as I've mentioned—I will not be attending any party whatsoever." I turned my focus back to my desk, putting the finishing touches on my math homework.

These teachers weren't pulling any stops; the workload was getting heavier by the day.

"You're such a fun-sponge," he groaned, sounding as dramatic as a soap opera lead.

I chuckled. "I can have fun, Michael. I just refuse to do it in an overly crowded house that reeks of cheap alcohol, sweat, and poor decisions. Did I forget to mention it's a biohazard? All those cramped, sweaty bodies in one place? No thanks."

I picked up my phone and flopped back onto my bed.

"We could just stay outside! Come on, it'll be fun. I promise," Michael persisted. He was like a dog with a bone; it had been three days, and he still wouldn't let the topic go.

Ever since some random junior approached us at lunch and told us we were invited to his 'legendary' bash, Michael had been a broken record.

"My presence holds zero importance. Why do you want me there so bad?" I was genuinely curious about his desperation.

"Well, if I'm being truthful..." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "It's about what you told me around the beginning of the week."

"What's with the whispering? And what did I tell you? I've said a lot of things this week, Michael."

I heard a muffled thud over the phone—the unmistakable sound of a face-palm.

"What happened between you and Margaux, duh!" He suddenly shouted, his voice so loud I nearly dropped the phone.

"Ugh! My ear! Why don't you tell the whole world while you're at it?" I hissed, sticking a finger in my ear to stop the ringing.

"I would...if you don't come to the party with us." Michael giggled, and I could practically feel his smugness through the screen.

"Fine. Sheesh."

I knew he wouldn't actually snitch—he wasn't that kind of guy—but I agreed just to get him to shut up. If I didn't say yes, he'd probably show up at my front door and drag me out himself.

"That's my girl! Now, search your closet for something eye-catching. Hair down, too—I rarely see it when it isn't in that fuck-ass bun."

"Uh, my bun is fire, thank you very much," I countered, feeling personally attacked by his lack of taste.

"It sucks blazing balls, that's what," Michael shot back instantly. "Seriously, Remi, let the curls breathe for one night. Trust me."

I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn't see me. "You're lucky you're my friend. But fine, I'll consider it."

I tuned out his continued ranting about 'looking fabulous,' my mind drifting back to the locker room encounter that had changed everything.

> Flashback <

I had stayed behind, making sure I was the last person in the locker room. I'd double-checked the stalls, convinced I was finally alone.

I was moving gingerly, my right wrist still throbbing in its compression wrap, making the simple task of pulling on my spandex shorts a struggle.

Suddenly, a force slammed into my back. I was shoved hard against the cold metal locker, hands pinning my shoulders.

"What is it with you and slamming me into things?" I sighed, closing my eyes in irritation. It had been a grueling day, and my patience was paper-thin.

"You don't speak unless spoken to, freak." Margaux spat the word, and I couldn't ignore the sting it left.

"I don't recall you being my superior, Dubois." I used my good hand to pry her grip off me, turning around to grab my shirt. I tried to ignore the way my wrist flared with pain at the movement.

"Considering I know what's between your legs," she whispered, her eyes flickering down to my shorts before locking onto mine, "I'd say I have quite a bit of power over you. Unless, of course, you'd rather I spread your little secret?"

I felt a surge of pure panic. My heart hammered against my ribs, and to my absolute horror, I felt a traitorous stir of heat below the belt.

"You wouldn't dare," I breathed.

"Oh, I would. I'd love to watch you suffer. Having you forced out of this school—or the state—would be a nice touch, don't you think?" She shrugged nonchalantly, and I felt sick.

"That's low, even for you, Margaux. You promised to keep it to yourself. Stop being cruel for five fucking seconds." I was shaking—partly from anger, mostly from fear.

"I don't remember promising you anything, Remington." She tilted her head, challenging me. She was banking on my desperation, and she was winning. I couldn't move again. I couldn't put my father through another relocation because of me.

"Please, Margaux. Don't do this."

I did the unthinkable. I dropped to my knees right in front of her, my hands clasped in a silent, desperate plea. I felt the cold floor against my skin and the heat of humiliation in my chest.

She laughed, the sound echoing off the tiles. I went to stand up, but she placed both hands on my shoulders, forcing me back down.

"I'll keep my end of the bargain," she said, leaning down so her face was inches from mine. A deceptive smirk played on her lips. "But only if you do exactly as I say. Every time I ask."

My eyes flickered to her lips, then back to her emerald gaze. I was trapped.

"S-sure. Yes. Anything. Just keep it between us."

She snorted and gave me a final shove backward, making me land hard on the floor. I watched her walk away, her long legs moving with a grace that felt like an insult.

Margaux Dubois was stunning—there was no denying that. Small, button nose, full lips always slick with gloss, and those doe eyes.

But she was a predator, and I had just handed her the leash.

> End of Flashback < 

"So yeah, that's what I want everyone to think when they see us," Michael's voice pulled me back to reality.

"Mhm," I hummed, pretending I'd heard a single word of his plan.

"You think it's a good idea?"

"I think—no, I know it's a good idea!" I said, injecting as much fake enthusiasm as I could muster.

"I thought so too! Okay, it's 6:30. Get ready. We'll pick you up at 8:00. Remember what I said!"

I don't.

"Yes, Dad. Go get ready so you can find someone to bump privates with—you clearly need it." I ended the call before he could retort.

I stood up with a groan, stretching my sore limbs.

"What to wear, what to wear," I muttered, heading into the walk-in closet.

After ten minutes of agonizing, I settled on a cream-colored button-down with short sleeves, paired with loose-fit dark blue slacks and off-white Puma suedes. I laid it out on the bed, nodding in approval.

By 7:50, I was dressed. I'd left my hair down, defining the center part and adding enough oil to make my curls look healthy and hydrated.

Looking in the mirror, I felt a rare surge of confidence. My light brown eyes looked piercing, and the outfit made me look...spiffy.

I look like I could steal someone's girl with just a smile, I thought, then immediately felt embarrassed by my own ego.

I grabbed my wallet, purposely leaving my phone behind on the nightstand. I wanted to actually be present for once.

I raced down the stairs, nearly colliding with Marcus near the landing.

"Where are you running to? Is there an emergency?" Marcus asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

"No emergency. I'm heading to a party with the guys," I said, giving him an apologetic smile as I tried to sidestep him.

"Alright. Be safe. Keep me on speed dial if anything feels off." He followed me into the kitchen, his gaze heavy with a protectiveness I didn't quite understand, but I appreciated it nonetheless.

I stopped by the island, realizing I should probably mention it. "Actually, I'm leaving my phone upstairs. I'm trying to...I don't know, socialize without a screen."

Marcus stopped in his tracks, his expression shifting from concerned to flat-out disapproval. "Wait here," he commanded.

Before I could argue, he was already halfway up the stairs, moving with a speed that reminded me he wasn't just my 'stiff' housemate—he was a professional.

A minute later, he was back, slightly out of breath but holding a small, outdated-looking flip phone. He tossed it to me, and I caught it with my good hand.

"What is this? A relic?" I asked, turning the burner phone over in my palm.

"It's for emergencies," Marcus said, his tone leaving no room for debate. "My contact and your father's are the only ones programmed into it. It's for calls only. No social media, no distractions. If you're leaving your smartphone, you're taking this."

I looked at the small device, then at Marcus. He looked like he wouldn't let me out the door without it. I gave a small, appreciative nod and tucked it into my back pocket.

"Understood. Thanks."

The doorbell rang, the sound echoing through the house. I rushed to the door and swung it open.

"Guys!"

"Remi!" Michael shouted, matching my energy. The others—Peyton, Franklin, and Tom—tried to look nonchalant, but I could see the amusement in their eyes.

"You ready to get down and dirty?" Michael asked, pulling me toward the car.

"Not even a little bit, but let's go!" I laughed as he spun me around.

Once we were all piled into Peyton's car, Michael let out a cheer. "Time to have some actual fun!"

I looked out the window as we pulled away. I just hoped Margaux wouldn't be there to collect on her 'favor' tonight.