Shot in the Dark

{Chapter Two} The Ninth Ring of Hell

“What makes you think you’ll get away with throwing a party?” I asked Avarie, sitting on the spotless white leather couch in their living room. Avarie and Seth weren’t terribly rich, but they were rich enough to make you jealous. Plenty of people in the neighborhood had to have been wealthier, but I’d yet to have seen a cleaner and more organized house than the Lamont’s, making me wonder how Avarie was ever going to pull off a party, which was bound to leave the house in ruins.

Avarie put a bowl of pretzels neatly in the center of the mahogany coffee table, smirking slyly. I reached slowly for one, but she harshly slapped my hand away, scowling. She moved back, “I’ve done it before,” She said simply, shrugging.

I frowned, pulling away and rubbing the spot on my hand where she’d slapped me. That was the closest she’d probably ever get to affectionate. “Then why do you need me?” I asked begrudgingly, pushing my glasses further up my nose.

“Because you’d rat me out if I didn’t count you in,” she explained dully, as if I was stupid. Once she took a step back at the living room, surveying it once more, she smiled and crossed her arms, pleased. She had changed out of the girly sundress she’d worn to a sequined halter top and tight skirt, along with strappy black heels. She, frankly, looked like a hooker, to be perfectly honest, but I couldn’t be surprised in the slightest, really. That was the side of her neither Seth nor my mother ever saw, or probably ever would, if she got her way—which was always.

“You could’ve just bribed me,” I told her, kicking my feet up onto the table, fantasizing over the things she would’ve been able to buy me to shut me up. She probably would’ve bought me Puerto Rico to shut me up, if she could. I knew her too well to know that she’d rather blow up a pet shelter than let me go and blow up her whole “good girl” cover instead.

She scowled, “Like you’re worth it, honestly.” She said, chuckling to herself.

I frowned, wagging a finger in front of her face, “Ah, ah, ah! You don’t want me going and telling Seth about your escapades, do you?” I tempted, smirking superior, feeling that for once, I had the upper hand.

Avarie grimaced, and crossed her arms. She blew a loose strand of hair from her eyes and sighed, “What do you want, Em?” She asked, surprising me. I almost dropped my jaw at hearing that—Sse was really being serious? That whole threat really worked?

I grinned ear to ear, “I want a pony.” I said simply, with a curt nod of my head.

Avarie frowned, raising an eyebrow, meaning to say I was crazy. She rolled her blue eyes and nudged my foot off the table, sending the sole of my foot on the floor with a thud. “And I want you to get your dirty feet of the table,” she said, her voice acidic. “That’s expensive.”

“Oh,” I said flatly, dropping my feet, “and God forbid I get my middle class germs on your furniture.”

She smiled so sweetly it made me nauseous, “So glad we see eye-to-eye, Em,” she said, “but are you going to dress like that during the entire party?”

I frowned, looking down at my plain ensemble of sneakers, jeans, and a t-shirt. I looked up to her, shrugging, “Yeah—and?”

She scoffed, “Nothing—just that you look like a plumber, for God’s sake.” She complained, and reached out to yank my hair loose of its pony tail, trying to make myself look a bit more presentable.

“I can pull it off,” I said, scooting away and fixing my messy hair, smirking and slumping in my seat.

Avarie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, pulling far away. “Just don’t embarrass me.” She said, annoyance in her voice, “I don’t want my friends thinking I hang out with losers.”