She’s staring at me with a hand hiked up on her waist. Ava is blonde, slender, and the cliché of a bombshell social butterfly.
No clue how someone like her became friends with someone like me. I’m a year older than her but feel like I’m a generation away. Where she’s loud, I’m reserved. Where she’s extroverted, I’m introverted. Where she’s searching for trouble at a club, I’m all for quiet nights in.
But I guess it’s our differences that have made us gravitate toward each other since we were kids.
And this is about the worst time to be caught by her.
“A night walk,” I say coolly. Definitely not sounding suspicious at all.
Not.
Ava’s eyes narrow to slits, barely allowing any of the blue to peek through. “You’re going to do something fun without me, aren’t you?”
“No.” My voice is high-pitched, uneasy, and sounds absolutely terrible.
“You totally are.” She headlocks me teasingly. “How can you leave me all alone? Do you have it in your heart to let me flounder in misery by myself?”
I poke her in the ribs. “Stop being needy.”
That only makes her tighten her hold on me, nearly choking the living hell out of me.
The door to the flat opens and in comes a pretty doll in a beautiful purple dress with matching flats and hair clips.
Annika, our fourth roommate and a new friend, pauses at the scene, frowning slightly before she grins and speaks in an American accent, “What’s going on?”
“This bitch was going to betray us and wander out alone for fun times.”
Annika’s eyes widen. She’s the brunette version of Ava, only seventeen—going on eighteen, as she likes to remind us—and is the personification of a people person.
Always kind, smiling, never makes others feel unwanted or uncomfortable, and has the energy of a butterfly on steroids.
“Take us with you,” she says enthusiastically.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Ava agrees.
“I’m not going anywhere.” I shove her away. “It’s just a walk.”
“We can walk, too. Right, Anni?”
Our friend bobs her head up and down with excessive energy, then pauses, all the joy dropping from her face. “On a second thought, if Jer finds out I was walking at night, he’ll put me on house arrest, and I’m not a fan.”
“Your brother really sucks.” Ava pauses. “No offense.”
“He has his moments, I guess.” Anni’s expression continues to be caught in that disappointment limbo. “You girls go. I’ll root for you from here.”
“Nonsense.” Ava flips her hair back. “We can always have a girls' night in. Right, Cecy?”
The mention of my name brings me back from a weird state. An out-of-body experience, as if I’m seeing myself from outer lenses.
I was out of focus—here in body but completely elsewhere in mind, as if my spirit was abducted and I was left hollow.
It started after Annika mentioned her brother’s name.
We’ve known since she was admitted to REU this semester that she’s a mafia princess and her much older brother, who’s almost twenty-four, is not only a mafia prince, but also the heir to a blood-soaked empire.
I first heard his name when I got into uni last year. Anyone on Brighton Island is well aware of that name and the promise of fear it brings.
Jeremy Volkov.