“Turn off the music!” another shrieks, waving her arms at some unseen DJ. “Off off!”
“This place is a fucking sewer!” some guy yells from the stands, and another wave of loud laughter erupts as Morgan and Katrina run–or, I should say waddle–off the gym floor with tears streaming down their cheeks.
“What in the world?” Brody murmurs before looking at me.
I merely smile before shrugging my shoulders innocently.
“Well, this stinks, wouldn’t you say?” I snicker. “Literally, not figuratively.”
His eyes darken.
“Cleo,” he warns. “Did you have something to do with this? Those were your old suitemates right?”
I merely shrug again as janitors come out with hoses and mops, trying to clean the mess my bullies made.
“I’ll tell you later, big boy,” is my murmur. “For now, let’s just enjoy the game.”
After all, Morgan and Katrina smeared shit onto my stuff just a few months ago. But what they didn’t realize is that Cleo Fakerstrom isn’t a girl to mess with, and now they’ve learned their lesson.
10
BRODY
The curvy girl and I left a little after the halftime show and went straight back to my hotel. There was no sense in staying because it was clear that the basketball game itself didn’t matter anymore. No one cared, and all everyone could talk about was the diarrhea meltdown of those two cheerleaders.
But Cleo seemed rather smug during the drive, and now, she’s sitting on the bed in the hotel room, fiddling with the remote.
“Oh look,Love Island’son,” she giggles. “It’s such a great show. Trashy but totally addictive.”
But I don’t care about reality TV, and I think she knows. Instead, I take a seat beside her on the bed before grasping one of her small hands in my own.
“Cleo, please be completely honest with me. What happened back there?”
“I don’t know—”
“Cleo,” I growl with a stern look. “What. Happened?Don’t pretend you don’t know.”
She takes in a deep breath before slowly letting it out and looking at me. “Okay, I was the one who caused Morgan and Katrina’s diarrhea.”
I grimace.
“But why? And how?”
“I think the why is obvious. I mean, they trashed my room and smeared shit over my stuff. The how is probably also obvious because I told Jeannie about the bullying, and Jeannie was on it. She gave me her laxative formula and I cooked some up. Don’t fuck with a prison bitch,” Cleo adds. “Especially not my mom.”
I stare at the curvy woman.
“But how did you get it to those girls? I mean, you don’t live with them anymore.”
Cleo merely shrugs.
“It was easy. When I said I was going to the women’s room during the game, I actually went down to where the cheerleaders sit, and snuck the laxatives into their water bottles. No one was watching because it’s too chaotic on the court. Then, I just let Nature take its course. Again, Jeannie’s special formulation is da bomb.”
Cleo’s saying all this in a strong voice, but I can tell that she’s also a bit ashamed. It’s just a sixth sense, but there’s a slight tremble to her voice, and two spots of color on her cheeks.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she continues in a low voice. “But I’m not sorry about what I did at all and I’m not going to apologize for it either.”
“Cleo–” I begin.