Don't Kiss the Messenger (Edgelake High School, #1)(18)

…

EMMETT

I stood in the packed living room of our house, listening to Tuba talk. CeCe, Bryn, and VanBree stood around us. The party was fairly tame—mostly football and basketball players we knew.

I noticed that sometimes Tuba got overly energetic when she was telling a story. Her long arms and wide hands would start to flail and spin. This one was about her apartment’s current mouse infestation, specifically last night’s encounter involving a tennis racket and culminating in one very dead mouse. It was a lively story with lots of sound effects and vigorous hand motions. The forceful climax of the story sent Tuba’s arm flying into CeCe’s shoulder, knocking her to the side. I reached out a second too late and she barely stopped herself from bowling over a girl standing behind her. CeCe sat there, on her ass, and shook her long hair out of her face. She looked up at the girl, an apology probably on the tip of her tongue, but when the girl looked down at CeCe, her expression changed.

It took me a second to register why she looked so repulsed, until I remembered the scar. The girl stared openly at the fissure running across CeCe’s face.

“Watch where you’re going, Scarface,” she muttered as she kicked her way around CeCe.

An unexpected burst of heat blasted through my body like a cannon suddenly discharged. I was about to step in, but CeCe looked surprisingly calm. Even disappointed. She got to her feet.

“What did you call me?” she yelled after her.

VanBree instinctively grabbed CeCe’s arm, but she shrugged it off.

“I think you heard me, Scarface,” the girl said over her shoulder and laughed at her brilliant joke. Gasps popped around the room and people shushed one another to be quiet. Music faded and conversation halted with the anticipation of a girl fight.

“Relax, CeCe’s got this,” Bryn whispered next to me. I felt her fingers curl around my arm. For the first time, her touch had no effect over me. My muscles were flexed, ready to strike out.

CeCe looked at the girl and nodded slowly. “That’s what I thought you said.” She walked around her, sizing her up. Tuba tried to cut her off, but it was useless.

The girl looked over at Tuba and VanBree with recognition. Her dark eyes narrowed under her straight, black bangs. “What are you going to do?” she asked CeCe. “Spike a volleyball at me?” She smirked and flicked her hair out of her eyes. “That would be tragic.”

CeCe opened her hands with disappointment and raised her voice so everyone could hear. She knew she had an audience and it only seemed to energize her.

“What’s tragic is that you missed such a great opportunity. There is so much potential here,” she said, gesturing toward her face, “and you wasted it with something as unoriginal as Scarface. You have no creativity. That’s the tragedy.”

My mouth curled up at the side. This girl had no idea who she was messing with.

“You can think of a better insult?” she dared her.

CeCe smiled. “One? Oh, I can think of a dozen better insults.”

The girl crossed her arms over her chest and raised a single, thin eyebrow. Tuba breathed out a sigh and took a step back. I watched CeCe with fascination. I realized why she was so good at playing defense. That’s why volleyball came easily to her. She was used to standing on the tip of her toes, always anticipating the attack.

“You could have tried something dark, like: no, no, you did it all wrong. You’re supposed to slit your wrists,” CeCe said.

A few smirks erupted around the room and the girl shot looks at the growing audience. Everyone was spilling into the living room to watch CeCe’s performance.

“Or cheerful: just think of all the fun ways you can accessorize it. Have you considered scar piercings? Na?ve: it’s a little early for Halloween, but I like the zombie face paint. Morbid: looks like your mom’s home abortion kit didn’t work out.”

Shocked laughter shot out around the room. It gave CeCe momentum.

“Way to tell her off, CeCe,” Bryn shouted with encouragement.

“Concerned: Do you mind if we put a bag over your head? The other party guests are feeling sick. Science fiction: Did an alien impregnate you in the face?”

People clapped and laughed, urging her on. A smile spread across my face.

“Inquisitive: Can it do any tricks? Motherly: oh, honey you can hardly see it…from a mile away. Cinematic: Is your favorite movie The Lion King?”

CeCe glanced over at Tuba. “I lost count,” she said to her.

“That’s nine, captain,” she told her with a proud smile. CeCe nodded.

“Disgusting: you know, with the right tattoo art, you could make it look like a vagina. Sexual: you know what they say about girls with scars. They’ll try anything.”

The room broke out into whistles and laughs.

CeCe got in the girl’s face and checked out her tight, ripped jeans that showed off convenient patches of thigh. She smiled into her eyes.

“Clueless: Oh, is that the latest fashion? Distressed skin? Cool, it will go so well with my distressed denim.”

She turned and addressed her audience with a bow.

I lifted my hands and Bryn’s fingers slipped off my arm. I initiated the applause that moved through the room like a ripple of waves.

“Bitch,” the girl muttered next to her.

CeCe shrugged and offered her a cocky smile. “Maybe. But at least I’m not stupid.”