Mayhem At Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #3)(101)

“Bernadette,” Victor warns, surprising me. I look back at him and find that he’s watching Oscar and not me. The dickhead in question is staring out the window with his jaw clenched. “Let it go for now.” Vic pauses for a moment. “But Oscar … there are no secrets in Havoc.”

“I’m well-aware, thank you,” Oscar retorts, proceeding to ignore me for the rest of the ride. I’m fucking dying to know what that was all about, but I can see that tonight is not that night. With a sigh, I slump back into my seat and turn to look at Callum instead.

“Do you mind if I ask what happened to your parents?” I ask, because for as long as I can remember, he’s lived with his grandmother. Once, in sixth grade, she made cupcakes and little party bags and dropped them off at our class. She seemed really sweet at the time, but that’s about all I know. “I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned them.”

Cal stares down at his fingertips for a moment, rubbing his thumb across them as he thinks about what to say.

“My mom is dead; I have no idea who my father is.” He looks up and smiles at me. “My grandmother raised me as her own son for years. I didn’t find out she wasn’t actually my mother until I was fourteen.” He shrugs his shoulders. “My real mom is dead, choking on ash and bone …” He trails off as my eyes widen, and I shiver. Jesus. Callum smiles at me again, crinkling up his eyes with the expression as he rubs at the scars on his throat. “Everyone thinks my grandmother killed her, but I don’t know the full story, so how can I judge?”

“Your grandmother …” I start, my mind reeling. Wow. It’s like we were all designed for each other by a cruel and unforgiving universe. Then again, there are very few students at Prescott High who have backgrounds that aren’t drenched in blood and secrets and bullshit. Callum’s story should be weird, showstopping, but it’s not. Not at Prescott. “Wow.”

“I mean, not anytime recently,” he explains, leaning a shoulder into me and gesturing with his hands. “Just before I turned three. So, it’s not as big a deal as it could be.” Callum pulls a package of peanut M&Ms from his pocket and pours some into his palm. He offers them up to me, but I put up a hand to turn them down. “My grandma was a prima ballerina in New York City once upon a time; she wanted me to be everything she wasn’t.” Cal stares at the candy in his hand with a faraway expression in his gaze. “What a disappointment I must be,” he muses, but not like he’s at all upset about it.

He knocks the candy back in one mouthful, chewing thoughtfully.

“Did you tell her your family was featured on a murder mystery show once?” Hael asks, and Cal laughs.

“Ah, that,” he says as I gape at him. “What? The episode came out when I was five, trying to pin my mother’s murder on my grandma. Nothing came of it anyway.”

“Why would your grandmother murder her own kid?” I ask, aghast at the idea of it. But then … Pamela, am I right? She’d have definitely murdered me and Pen and Heather if it served her well to do so. Oscar makes a sound of disgust from behind me.

“Rumor has it that Grandma killed her husband when Mom was thirteen, and made her help with the body.” Callum pours more M&Ms into his palm and flips a blue one into his mouth. “Apparently, my mom confessed everything to my aunt before she disappeared.” Cal slumps against his door so he can look at me better. “Do you feel sorry for me, Bernie? It looks like you do.”

“Of course I do,” I say, but Callum just chuckles again.

“Don’t. I don’t remember any of it. I’ve only heard stories.” Cal tosses another M&M into his mouth. “My grandma’s always been good to me. Not even sure if I believe any of the stories.” He pauses for a moment, his smile faded and his expression glazed over. “Even when I got my injuries”—he taps at one of his scarred knees with a hand—“and her dreams for me were shattered, she took care of me without complaint.”

“How have I never heard about any of this?” I ask, and Callum shrugs again.

“I wasn’t in danger with my grandmother, Bernie. Even though we’ve always lived in South Prescott, I had a good life. I got to dance. For a while there, I was the best. That’s a feeling you don’t ever forget.” Callum finishes off the M&Ms and then picks his rifle up off the floor, laying it across his knees. “What if our distraction doesn’t work?” he asks, changing the subject abruptly. I guess that’s his right; it’s his story.

I sit back as Oscar finally turns to join the conversation.

Much of our plan tonight involves the Charter boys paying attention to Aaron as he drives Hael’s Camaro into the first race.

Mitch, Logan, and the Ensbrook brothers don’t race until later. We just need to buy Hael time to get to their cars without being seen. He’ll do his thing, and then … well, hopefully the Charter Crew will be a hydra without any heads.

“It’ll work,” Oscar assures us, like he has any way to guarantee such a thing. “People are predictable. As soon as they see Aaron, they’ll be like sharks with blood in the water. The most important thing is that we make sure he gets out of there alive.”

My blood chills and I wring my hands together.

This is dangerous as fuck, but it’s also not something we can’t handle.