Teen Hyde (High School Horror Story #2)(40)

She had placed them there.

I shimmied on my stomach until my fist clenched around them. My hollow insides were transforming into a bubbling pit of anger. How dare she? My teeth ground like a mortar and pestle. She’d tried to stop me. She’d attempted to affect what was mine. Stupid, stupid girl.

A computer sat dark-screened and opened, still warm. I swished my fingers over the mousepad. It came to life. In a window onscreen was an invitation to an e-mail address for Cassidy Hyde.

Hello, Cassidy.

A party. Now that could be interesting. I liked having a good time. I liked parties. And it was clear that Cassidy needed to lose her privileges. This is why we can’t have nice things, Cassidy.

Swinging my feet over the side of the bed, I stripped off the flannel pajamas she’d put on in favor of black jeans and a tank top. I shoved my feet into a pair of boots and laced them up to my ankles.

By the time that I’d stretched and shaken out the tension in my wrists, the spiderweb threads of Cassidy had been shed and it was go time.

The drive to Paisley’s house was short. Nearly walkable. I pulled up to a three-story pink house with white shutters. I’d never seen something so large and pink before and the sight of it made me want to tear off the siding and burn it in a fire.

Instead, I parked. My boots made scraping noises against the brick walkway that led up to the house where I rang the bell glowing softly beside the little blue door. Several seconds passed. Commotion behind the door. Then a girl with short blond hair appeared. This girl’s face appeared more than any other in the photographs on Cassidy’s dresser. She was sharper and a bit meaner looking in person and I hated her instantly. A laugh died on her face the second she saw me.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. She was even more petite than she seemed in pictures.

I walked straight past her into the foyer, where I stopped and stared at her home. Porcelain plates were affixed to the wall as decoration. I ran my fingers around a few of the smooth edges. “You seem surprised to see me.”

She still hadn’t closed the door. “I—we—you said you weren’t coming.”

My boots looked too thick and military against the clean marble. “Why?” I turned my attention from the china plates and waited expectantly while she seemed to decide what to do about that door.

At last she made a choice. The door clicked into place and she slid the lock. “Are you okay?” When she frowned she looked like a pouting doll. “You seem … off.”

I raised my eyebrows. Good. This was a start. Time to teach Cassidy and her band of playthings a lesson once and for all. “Never felt so alive,” I said.

“All righty then. Well, we’re all in the upstairs game room.” I decided the conversation wasn’t worth it as I followed her through a kitchen large enough to feed a full restaurant’s clientele and up two flights of steps. My boots pounded the stairs too loudly.

The game room was outfitted with two thick-cushioned leather sofas, a real live pinball machine, and Skee-Ball. How spoiled did a kid have to be to need their own pinball machine? French doors opened onto a balcony overlooking a shimmering blue-green pool underneath.

I noticed that my boots were tracking light footprints of dirt into the carpet. And just because I had the urge, I ground them in a bit deeper until I was sure to leave heftier smudges.

In the room, I found ten kids my age playing video games and nursing beers. The conversation fell to a hush when I entered and I had the not-so-sneaking suspicion that the room’s occupants had been talking about Cassidy before I’d come in.

“Look who’s here,” the blond hostess said, by way of introduction. I stared at everyone. They all stared back at me like a bunch of lazy dairy cows in a field. Too stupid to keep from being tipped over.

“Hey, Cassidy,” one boy piped up. He was attractive in a very obvious sort of way. Slender, slouched shoulders, an easy, imperfect grin.

“Well.” I scanned the room, ignoring him. “This sucks. I thought this was supposed to be a party, but you’re just sitting here playing, like, Mario Brothers or something.”

I walked deeper into the room and punched some buttons on the pinball machine. Nothing happened.

“Excuse you.” The pitch of Paisley’s voice shot up. “Since when did you become Miss Social again? Last time I checked, you were still busy blowing off the world.”

“Christ.” I shook the pinball machine, trying to make a ball appear. “Now I see why.”

“Nobody forced you to come.” The girl’s pitch went up an octave.

“Oh god, is that why the rest of you look so glum? Are you being held here against your will? Blink twice to call for help.” I smirked as everyone stared at me dumbfounded.

In one of the corners, there was a guitar display surrounded by vinyl records. I wrapped my hand around the guitar and pulled it off of the wall brackets to examine it. An autograph was scrawled at the bottom.

“Um, can you not touch that, please?” the blond said, still hovering.

“You mean like this?” I strummed my fingers across the strings and it made an off-tune chord.

She flinched. “Yes, like that. Now can you please put it down. It’s autographed by Dolly Parton.”

I stuck out my lower lip. “But I feel so rock and roll.”

She rolled her eyes. “Stop being stupid, Cassidy. What’s gotten into you? You’re making me nervous.”