“I’m not asking for dirt on her,” I say. “I just want to know what’s going on with them.”
“I don’t know,” she admits. “They have some weird, toxic relationship. Off the record, she’s told me they’re just friends. But I know she’s set on winning prom queen, and he’ll be her date. He was her date to everything their junior year and homecoming this year…”
“Wait, you think she’s just setting it up to look like they’re together for the fucking prom?”
Her eyes widen. “Prom queen is a big deal here, Harper. You have to campaign. It looks good on college applications, and if there’s one thing Gloria wants, it’s to go to a good school. Like, Ivy League.”
I relax a little, leaning back on a sink. “So, they’re just trying to look like a couple so people will believe it and vote for them?”
She twists her lips to one side and checks the door again before lowering her voice to a whisper. “Okay, I like Gloria, but as you can imagine, people don’t share all their dirty little secrets with me. I’ve heard different from… A source.”
“That they’re not just friends?” I ask, my chest tightening.
“I heard they go to Hockington Hotel, like, a couple Sundays a month. I don’t know any details, but my source works across the street and has seen them going in together, like, five times.”
“The hookup hotel,” I say, slumping back and closing my eyes. That explains all the hotel receipts I saw in his drawer when I snooped in his desk.
Of course, I’ve never been to the Hockington, since it’s Faulkner’s only fancy hotel, but everyone’s heard the name. They hold proms and other dances sometimes, which is probably where it got the nickname the hookup hotel, though it’s also called the Hookington and Hooker Hotel by kids in town. Still, there’s no reason for two local kids to get a room there unless they’re hiding it from their parents—obviously her parents, since his dad didn’t seem at all fazed by my staying the night.
Like Royal said, you don’t fuck a respectable girl on the side of the road. Apparently, the backseat of his car is too good for Gloria, too. He’ll fuck me there all day long, but for Gloria, it’s the nicest hotel in town. He told me Sundays weren’t good for him. He didn’t tell me he had another hookup on those days. Am I supposed to be grateful that I get him two or three days a week, and she only gets him once?
Because that’s not going to happen.
“I’m sorry,” Dixie says. “I know it’s not what you wanted to hear. I don’t even know if it’s true. You know he doesn’t date high school girls, and people have seen him around town with other girls, like, older girls. So maybe it’s not what you think.”
“But he’s never dated anyone at Willow Heights, right? In the last year and a half, he’s only gone out with her. Does he hook up with other girls?”
Dixie’s brow wrinkles as she thinks, her eyes moving to the corner of the ceiling. “I don’t think so,” she says slowly. “The twins are total manwhores. They jumped right in freshman year, when they moved here, and started hooking up. But Royal’s more elusive. He’s never dated anyone since he came to Willow Heights. Gloria’s had him on lockdown for all the school functions since she got here, even though they’re not officially dating. I know a few boys are hoping he’s gay, but he’s never seemed really interested in anyone. Until you.”
“What about Mabel?”
“Oh,” she says, her eyes widening. “No way. She’s a Darling. I mean, they went after her and, like, tortured her. I heard that they made some agreement with her to leave Colt alone, and that’s why he still goes here. But they definitely weren’t dating her for real.”
I remember the way the twins went all psycho when I wore Mabel’s clothes, and I think there’s more to that story than Dixie knows. But that’s not my story to tell, so I keep my mouth shut about it.
“Thanks,” I say. “This was really helpful. Let’s get to class.”
The bell rang a while ago, but I still have my Dolce girl privileges until revoked, so the teacher lets it slide. I sit in class thinking about what Dixie said. What Gloria said. Was Royal’s sudden change last night because he was already getting ready to dump me, and he had to get the message through my thick skull? For all I know, my shitty attitude made him seek out something easier, something uncomplicated that he can get from a trusted friend.
And what does she know about him that I don’t? She made it sound like he liked me, like I could hurt him in a way she couldn’t. But he obviously doesn’t trust me—as he shouldn’t. Is it just because I was friends with Colt? Or because I won’t fall in line and obey his every command? And then there’s the possibility that he knows I’m up to something. That he or one of his brothers is Mr. D. But the more time that passes, the more I doubt it. They’d have stopped me by now, knowing I want to destroy their family.
Friday is the last game of the state playoffs, and everyone is too focused on that to notice that I’m not as tight with Royal, that he doesn’t hover possessively around me in the cafeteria line or between classes. And he’s too busy to boot me from the Dolce girl squad or even harass me into coming to his game, which is in Little Rock. For the first time since Thanksgiving, I skip the game and go to Femme Fight Friday at the Slaughter Pen. It feels weird and empty without Dynamo at the gate charging admission and cleaning up after the fights. Again I get that shivery feeling, like his ghost is watching.
But I don’t fight for him. I fight for me.
Tonight, I fight hard and long, landing a shitload of punches. Every time my fist connects, I picture Royal’s face and Royal’s body taking the abuse. I pocket a fat stack of bills for the win and walk out smiling. My knuckles are busted and bloody, every inch of me feels bruised, one eye is halfway swollen shut, and my lip is cut to shit on the inside.
I’ve never felt better.
When I reach the parking lot, I’m zero percent surprised to see Baron Dolce standing against the side of his sleek little Tesla, a sucker tucked in his cheek. I think about ignoring him and walking off, but I don’t want to make a scene in front of my workplace. Not that anyone would care. They’d all stand around cheering, excited for an extra match they didn’t have to pay for. But I’m a professional.
I also know it’s not worth running. I did that the other day, and it got me nowhere. I wouldn’t put it past Baron to do the same thing here, in front of a crowd. And frankly, my ass couldn’t take it. Days later, I’m still so sore I would have skipped the fight if I wasn’t such a masochist.
“Get in the car, Jailbird,” Baron calls, motioning lazily for me. “We’re going to a party.”
“I’m awfully sweaty,” I say, but I saunter over anyway. I’ve fought enough tonight.
Even though it’s Baron’s car, Royal is in the driver’s seat, but he doesn’t look our way. Baron crosses his arms, moving his sucker from one corner of his mouth to the other with his tongue. He watches me watching Royal.