“And I never thought I’d see you with a popular girl,” I say. “Good for you. She’s a good one.”
“Oh, I’m not—” Dixie stammers, turning pink and busying herself fixing her tiara. “I wouldn’t say I’mpopular. I just like to be part of things. Everything.” She giggles, glancing up at Colt. He grins down at her, looking genuinely happy for once.
As if to prove my point about her status, a handful of girls in Harry Potter attire rush over to hug Dixie, squealing her name and jumping up and down with her in excitement about her flag-holding. Apparently it’s a big deal.
Colt hovers back, letting her relive her moment and bask in the glory. But I notice he’s looking at her with something different, like he’s just seeing her for the first time.
“I should have known you’d be here,” says Eleanor Walton, stepping up beside me in a Sookie Stackhouse costume. Everleigh, dressed as Taylor Swift, tags along behind her, a starry-eyed grin on her face, obviously high as hell. Eleanor doesn’t seem to have bought into the whole Bye Week truce, as she gives me a dirty look that says she doesn’t appreciate my attendance.
“Your sister street races,” I say, trying to take the high road. “I’m impressed.”
“You think you’re the only tough chick at Willow Heights?”
“No,” I say. “I just didn’t expect her to be one.”
“Why?” she asks, her tone way too confrontational, as if she’s intentionally trying to start shit. “You think just because we’re cheerleaders who carry Gucci bags and date the best guys that we can’t be cool?”
“Well, yeah,” I say. “Kinda. But she proved me wrong. I don’t mind saying she’s cool as hell.”
“Duh,” Everleigh says, then giggles and sways on her feet.
Eleanor huffs like I insulted her. “We don’t need your approval,” she says. “And stay away from Royal. I saw you pulling your whole drama queen act, making him chase you. It’s not going to work, you know.”
“It might,” Everleigh says, giggling and swishing her purple dress.
Her sister shoots her a dirty look before turning back to me. “He might throw you a pity fuck, but trust me, that’s all it will be.”
“You obviously don’t care,” I say. “So, it must be worth it.”
“Don’t even go there,” she says. “That’s not how he sees me. I’m girlfriend material. Who do you think he’d introduce to his mother? A Walton, or a girl with thigh tattoos showing under her slut skirt?”
“I’m not interested in his mom,” I say, raising my chin and leveling her with a stare. This girl is pissing me off. The more she tells me I’m not worthy of Royal Dolce, the more I want to land him just so she can’t.
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, he’s a guy. You wave fresh ass under his nose, he’ll go sniffing after it. But he’ll never see you as more than a girl he slummed it with on Bye Week. I’m the real deal.”
I cock a brow. “Then why are you so threatened?”
Two cars come roaring up the street toward the lot, their speed making them a blur as they streak toward us.
A buzz goes through the crowd, and I hear the same names repeated from earlier.Gloria Walton and Royal Dolce.
I spot a few people holding slips of paper, and the pieces fall into place. They’re betting on the race.
Eleanor grabs my arm, her nails digging in. “I gave you fair warning,” she hisses. “Stay away or learn the hard way. But whatever you do, I’ll be the one doing a victory lap in the Shelby GT.”
I know zero about cars, but I know a thing or two about being underestimated. So I shut my mouth and watch the two cars fly past Dixie, who brings the flag down. The two cars careen around the lot, skidding their tires and sending up plumes of white, acrid smoke. People scream and scatter when Gloria’s Mustang slides too close, sending them stumbling away choking on the fumes. Royal’s white car blurs by just as she turns, and I suck in a breath, sure they’re going to smash into each other. He whips by her, though, missing her by inches. Instead of freaking out that she was nearly sideswiped, she laughs and pumps her fist, her hair flying crazily as she does another doughnut.
Royal’s car skids to a stop in front of us, his tailpipes belching exhaust, the engine roaring so loud I cringe. The window is down, his arm draped along the sill as he leans out, a bright white smile lighting up his gorgeously tan face. “If you know how to handle a stick, hop in and let’s ride, baby.”
The line is so cheesy and Duke-like that I can’t help but laugh. Beside me, Eleanor lets out a little squeal, shoving her tray of True Blood into Everleigh’s hands and skipping forward to claim her victory lap.
Fuck that.
I take a giant stride, catching up to her and grabbing her ponytail and jerking her backwards. As she flails to keep balance, I casually move my foot into the path of her backpedaling legs, adding a little more strength to my grip on her hair. She goes down with a shriek of fury, but I don’t stick around. I slide across Royal’s sleek hood, open the passenger door, and drop into the seat with a triumphant grin.
twenty-three
Harper Apple