Chapter Thirteen

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 “Has anyone ever told you you’re an evil genius?”          

 Ava laughs loudly, a playful smirk crossing her striking features. “A couple of times.”

            The two of us are perched on my worn-out bed, in prime position for peeking mischievously out of the window every couple of minutes. It’s been a long day, but after lounging around in my room for hours on end and doing absolutely nothing, at just gone seven in the evening, our plan is finally coming together.

            Quite frankly, I didn’t know my best friend had it in her to be so devious.

            “Any movement yet?” I ask.

            Ava twists round, using her fingers to push the blinds apart a fraction so she can peer out toward the house next door. The house that just conveniently happens to be the home of our main target.

            Because, after a long period of deliberation, the two of us – well, mostly Ava, being the smart one of the pair – had hatched a plan we deemed evil enough to serve as sufficient revenge for Connor Murphy. And a very clever one, if I’m honest. For our strategy consisted of all the important elements: technology, a crowd of teenagers and the promise of underage drinking.

            In other words, we spammed everyone’s Facebook with invitations to Connor’s fictitious party this Saturday night.

            Suddenly, my best friend lets out an excited gasp, jolting me from my daydream at once.

            “What?” I query, eagerly pushing myself upwards and straining to see whatever promising scene might await outside.

            “People are starting to arrive!”

            I squint my eyes, peering through the window in an attempt to get a look at the situation below. Sure enough, the first car has pulled up outside Connor’s house, and it’s a beat up looking truck holding a group of rowdy looking jocks. As the driver cuts the engine and they all pile out, I can’t resist the urge to smirk inwardly. Seeing their eagerness to get inside as well as the beer packs they’re carrying only makes me wonder why we hadn’t thought of this idea sooner.

            If only we had planted hidden cameras – I would pay good money to see the look on Connor’s face when he realizes what’s happened.

            Before the jocks have even started up the front path, another car comes speeding around the corner before coming to a sharp halt a couple of meters away from the truck. Immediately, I recognize its stark newness and shiny exterior as Charlotte’s famous BMW convertible – the winner of North Shore’s most expensive car award, hands down.

            “Hey!” I hear her squeal, as she hops out and hastens towards the group of guys, her loyal cheerleading cronies in tow.

            Her choice of attire is about ten times more indecent than her cheerleading uniform. An unnaturally tight lacy black dress squeezes her slim body, her chestnut-colored hair is teased into perfectly messy waves and a pair of extra high hot pink heels stand between her dainty feet and the floor. It would be a lot more satisfying if she found it a challenge to walk in her deathly shoes, but of course, years of practice means she’s able to hurry up Connor’s front lawn as easily as if she were barefoot.

            Of course, I can only dream of having that much elegance in flats, let alone sky-scraping heels.

            One of the jocks says something and Charlotte laughs hysterically, throwing her head back before the group head towards Connor’s house and disappear out of view on the porch.

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