Poison Princess

Next week, maybe I could turn everything around. Hell, I’d almost gotten used to the plants. Take that fear out of the equation, and maybe . . .

“The most important thing to remember is that you’re my best friend,” Mel said, her voice the sweetest it’d ever sounded. “Do you know how rare and wondrous that makes you?”

I sighed, turning to hug her. “Aw, Mel . . .”

But she pulled me into a headlock, rubbing her knuckle into my hair. “You’ve always kept me on the straight and narrow, Greene. Don’t go breaking up with me or anything, okay?”

* * *

“This is hella creepy,” Mel said as we waded through dried-out brush near the mill.

We’d driven as close as we dared in her Beamer, then started walking into the withered woods. The fog was so thick I could barely see where I was stepping. Another of Gran’s sayings surfaced: Be wary of droughts—snakes slither about. “This was not my idea, Mel.”

“I should seriously hope not. Two cheerleaders going out into the woods, at night, to a supposedly haunted mill?”

“I can’t decide if it sounds like the beginning of a joke or a horror flick.”

“Hey, you’ve still got your endangered hymen. Which means you’ll make it to closing credits—I’m s.o.l.”

“Do you think the others are already here? Maybe they parked on the opposite side? I should try to call.” Then I remembered I’d left my overnight stuff and phone locked in her car, along with my precious sketchbook. I turned, but couldn’t see the Beamer through the fog.

“Call?” Mel hastily said. “Don’t be silly. We’re almost there, right?”

As we neared what was left of the mill, I murmured, “Did you hear something?” I rubbed my nape, again feeling like I was being watched—

Lights blinded me. Bodies lunged at me, faces rushing closer.

I shrieked at the top of my lungs.

Shouts of “Surprise!” faded, dozens of students startled into silence by my reaction. Grace Anne, Catherine. Brandon. All of them looked stunned.

Oh. My. God. This is a surprise birthday party. Someone had strung up lights all over the walls. Speakers perched atop rusted cane crushers. Kegs sat in aged iron kettles.

I’d just humiliated myself in front of all of these people.

Mel’s jaw had dropped at my scream. Just when I was about to burst into tears, she recovered, saying loudly, “Evie! You totes knew about this, didn’t you, bitches? Freak out the surprisers?” Then she imitated my shriek, punctuating it with a yodeled “Lay-hee-hoo.”

When people started laughing, I forced a smile. “Yep. I totally knew. Been waiting all day to do that!” Keep smiling, Evie!

Now everyone relaxed, some giving me play punches on my shoulder like I’d just done something cool, a funny prank. Good save, Mel.

Out of the corner of her mouth, she muttered, “You had no idea, did you?”

“None-point-none.”

“Carefrontation?”

“Probably unavoidable.”

“Then have fun tonight, little soldier. ’Cause tomorrow, shit gets real.”

Brand swooped me up then and swung me around until I was truly laughing. “I hope you don’t mind.”

I bit my bottom lip. Maybe if the party didn’t get any bigger or the music too loud.

A horn honked then. And another. Mel, Brand, and I gazed out the front entrance. Down an old tractor trail, headlight after headlight shone through the fog. It looked like a mass evacuation was pointed directly at the mill.

The last thing I needed was for my mom to call the cops, not realizing it was her daughter throwing the rager. “Look, guys, maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

Mel and Brandon blinked at me in confusion. Evie Greene didn’t often utter those words.

“It’s not like we’re going to trash your house,” Brand said. “It’s outside.”

“My mom—”

“Will never know. We’ve got, like, miles between us and your house. Plus the walls keep the sound down.”

Mel said, “He’s got a point. And think of the pics! You could get some serious uploadables from a party like this.” Then she added, “Popular girls celebrate their birthdays by having a rager in a haunted sugar mill.”

Hadn’t I just been worrying about losing my popularity? Wouldn’t it be abnormal for me to not have a sixteenth-birthday kegger? Hell, Mom might take it as a good sign. She’d been rebellious with Gran and usually wasn’t too strict with me.

On the other hand, she might reconsider Brandon being “such a good boy” or hit her limit with Mel’s hijinks.

Earlier tonight, Mel had called her “Woman Who Spawned Evie” to her face. Mom had been unamused.

I didn’t know what I’d do if she outlawed either of them.

“I promise you, it’ll be okay,” Brand said. “Scout’s honor.” Instead of the three-finger Scout salute, he held up a peace sign.

I chose to think he was making a joke.

I was wavering when Brand dug into his pocket. “Oh, I almost forgot! Your birthday present. Was saving this for Monday, but I thought you might want to wear it tonight.” He handed me a wrapped box with a crushed ribbon.

I ripped it open to find a huge solitaire on a white-gold chain. Stunning. It would match my diamond earrings perfectly.

Mel clasped her hands over her chest, saying in a cajoling tone, “And all he wants is to throw a rager in your sugar mill?” Then she frowned. “Wow. That sounded raunchy.”

“Do you like it?” he asked, seeming nervous. Which was so adorable.

Game. Set. Match. “I love it. And I love my surprise party.” I stood on my toes to give him a quick kiss. “Thank you.”

He grinned, handing me a sweating Solo cup of beer. “Cheers, Eves!”

I raised my cup, hesitating. Would alcohol act wonky with my pills? But hey, how much worse could my head get? Perhaps I might even start . . . hallucinating? Ha-ha.

My time here was short anyway. “Cheers, guys!”

For the next hour everybody partook heartily of keg juice, until we were—in Brand’s estimation —“fitshaced!”

More and more people showed up, turning my party into a wild and woolly kegger. I saw faces I didn’t recognize, spied letterman jackets from other schools.

Over the course of the night, I’d watched several of Mel’s ill-fated attempts to flirt with Spencer. Yet now, as she danced with me up on a ledge, he was actually checking her out.

She and I sang so loudly I was losing my voice, danced so madly to the thumping music that the world was spiraling. For once, I didn’t fight it. We were laughing at something when I saw Jackson Deveaux leaning his shoulder against the crumbling brick wall in the back.

Then I noticed the other transfers beginning to mingle with the crowd. Clotile’s outfit tonight still made mine look Amish.

But I couldn’t muster any outrage that they were all here. With a shrug, I thought, This ought to end well.

As I danced, Brand’s eyes were glued to me, not on Clotile. I cast a smug look in Jackson’s direction; his darkened gaze was locked on me as well.

Flustered, I reached out two arms for Brand, prompting him to come help me down. But he swung me up instead, twirling me around in his arms. I laughed, throwing my head back. Spinning . . . spinning . . .

Tingling nose?

I suddenly saw the cryptic boy. He gave me a defiant kind of shrug—like he’d done something I might get