Prank Wars Page 8

  The scratching stopped.

  I took a steadying breath. This was ridiculous. It had to be an animal, possibly a rat? I shivered and took a step away from the sound. There was no way I wanted a rat lunging at me from the darkness.

  “Help me.” It was a whisper, so soft that I almost thought I had imagined it.

  Wasn’t this place empty? Both Tory and Lizzie swore that we had chased our neighbors away, but that didn’t stop me from remembering a tiny girl with black hair coming in late one night. Was that during my watch? I had pulled an all-nighter cramming for a test when I heard the sound of a key scraping into the lock next door. Time seemed suspended during this prank war, but was I really that out of it? It couldn’t have been that long ago. My neighbor was only a memory now. If she hadn’t moved from here, what had happened to her? I thought of the threatening note we had found jammed into her door. Maybe it wasn’t meant for us. Was it even from Byron?

  “Help me.” This time it was louder. It was definitely human, at the same time not, like I was hearing some sort of echo from the past.

  Stop that. What a completely idiotic notion. “Who is that?” I croaked out.

  The scratching started again and I took a deep breath, steeling myself. Whatever it was, I couldn’t run like some scared little girl. No way. Not when Lord Byron could catch wind of it. I had always wondered what was going through the minds of potential slasher victims. Whatever possessed them to go investigate? Well, now I knew why. Pride. Plain and simple.

  The sound was coming from one of the rooms. If it was our apartment on the other side, the room would’ve been mine. How ironic. Taking a deep breath, I sternly told myself to open the door. The handle twisted easily under my fingers, and I jerked it open. It was dark inside. I quickly flipped on the light to peer around. There were two mismatched beds. One consisted of a blue flowered mattress stacked on cinder blocks. The other lay flat on the dingy brown carpet. There was no way I was supposed to be here, but still I stepped inside the room.

  The scratching had stopped. Yet, it had come from here. I turned a full circle, searching for anything. A forgotten clock that scratched out time, a CD player left on a crackly AM station, an air-conditioner pounding its way on, but there was nothing here that could’ve made such a noise. By now, it was completely dark outside. I could see the ominous clouds through the metal screen at the window. Everything inside me told me to run. And for once I decided to listen. I turned to escape and ran into the closet door. “Ouch,” I hissed in pain. I crumpled to the ground, holding my leg, trying not to look directly at that nasty closet. I’m not quite sure how to describe the horrible thing, but let’s just say that the closets in our complex had the creepiest doors ever. They reminded me of the closets found in every scary remake of Japanese horror movies. The flimsy wood could’ve been made of paper, it was so fragile. I could almost imagine what was behind it—and how easily it could get out. What had the little girl with the black hair left in there for me to find? No one had seen her. For how long had she been missing? What if I opened it…and she was in there?

  I scrambled to my feet. That was it. I didn’t care if anyone saw me now. I made a dash for the door and froze when I heard it. A long scratch. It trailed from the top of the closet to the bottom, slowly, like a long fingernail dragging painfully on the other side of the door, sounding worse than against a chalkboard. My heart beat rapidly, but instead of running like I told myself, I wrapped my hand over the handle of the closet door. I knew I shouldn’t. I knew I really really shouldn’t, especially when I ripped the door open and saw two eyes staring back at me.

  I screamed.

  Tory screamed.

  I screamed and hit her.

  She doubled over laughing.

  “How could you!” I shouted, but I was too busy laughing at myself. For some reason, Tory felt it was her duty to keep me on my toes with scary exercises like these. “Oh.” I took a shaky breath. “Save it for the enemy, Tory! What were you thinking?”

  Tory couldn’t answer. She held her stomach, her red hair escaping from her black hoody. No wonder I had a streak of white hair. It was shell shock from all the time spent with these crazies. One thing was for certain: Tory kept my reflexes catlike in times of war. I just wasn’t sure how I’d survive it.

  Chapter Eight

  Day106

  1856 hours

  “I was a true revolutionary. I couldn’t live in a place where wrong overcame right and darkness defeated the light. Nothing felt as it should be. And yet, the winds of change hung on the precipice of my life. I could feel it.”

  —Madeleine’s War Journal Entry (Tuesday, May 29th).

  Cameron cuddled with his latest fling on the couch near the entryway. Another beautiful blonde with orange skin and indeterminate color of eyes. He gave her a quick squeeze before letting her go. His thick leather wristband slid across her cheek. “Thank you,” he told her in a low whisper, “for letting me use you.”

  She giggled. I frowned. I was caught between the doorway and the hallway on my way to ward prayer. Not only had the bishop changed the meeting to Tuesday nights, but he had also decided to hold it at the Dog House, and it truly was. This was where my ex resided. Normally, I would never trespass these unhallowed halls, except for one sweet thing, revenge.

  The winter cold was having a hard time letting us go this spring. Rain mixed with sleet misted the night air outside. I checked the time on my cell phone. Ward prayer started in less than five minutes. Maybe if I gave Cameron and this girl until then, they’d clear out...but why did he do this at the door before ward prayer started? If I didn’t know better, I’d think Cameron wanted me to witness his latest conquest.

  “Hey cuz, what are you looking at?” Too late, Byron peered over my shoulder, slapping his wet hair back.

  I shrugged him away before he could see my ultimate shame of an ex-fiancé. “Nothing.”

  By now, the usual flock of adoring fans surrounded Cameron. It would make it easier for me to slip by unnoticed. Melanie, a girl with shifty eyes and whose name no one really had to remember, sat next to him on the thick brown couch and mischievously tied the shoelaces of his leather shoes together. He was loving it.

  My gut wrenched, and I swiveled away. Byron caught me with firm hands. He was still wet from the rainstorm outside. “Are you crazy? You don’t want to miss this. Melanie just messed up Cam’s hair. Don’t worry though. He got her back,” he narrated the scene. “Oh, sick. Now they’re…” I hit Byron back. It wasn’t one of those flirty hits either. He let out a surprised grunt and let me go. “Wow Mad, how did that guy ever have the guts to break up with you?”

  My hands flew to my hips. Who had Byron been talking to? “What makes you think he broke up with me?”

  “Because you’re mad at him.” Byron pressed his palm into the entryway, surveying the room with a bored look. Leftover rainwater dripped down his face. Despite the soaking, he looked like he could fit into a more romantic era, instead of ward prayer.

  I tried to look just as casual as he did. “Well, it’s all part of my strategy really. Get the guy to break up with you and you never have to worry about him again. If you break up with him, he’s always calling and whining, and—” I flinched. Cameron was now wrestling with half the girls on the couch. “Anyway, I’m just happy he’s leaving me alone.”

  “No, you aren’t.” Byron checked the time on his silver Fossil watch...like...like he didn’t just say that.

  My mouth fell open. This was the worst torture imaginable. I was forced to watch my ex flirt it up with every girl in the ward, and now my worst enemy was rubbing it in my face. “Byron,” I finally found my voice, but it was too shaky. “Do you even have a heart? I mean, do you know how it feels to…to…” For once I couldn’t make a good argument for myself. I was so flustered. “I’m not stupid, okay? I was stupid…before. But…I’m strong now. No one can hurt me anymore—” I wasn’t making any sense. To top it off, I heard the catch in my voice. Why was I ge
tting deep with Byron anyway? His eyes didn’t leave mine, almost like he was taking me seriously.

  “So, how did you get him back?” he asked. “A girl like you would take her proper revenge?”

  “No.” It hurt to admit. “I cared about him, okay?” I couldn’t get anything else out. We were going to get married on June 6th, less than two weeks from now. Even if I gave into my anger and hurt, any further moves against him would mark me the bitter, desperate ex who couldn’t move on with her life—though it was very clear that Cameron had moved on with a vengeance. Then he would win. If nothing else, I had my pride. Barely.

  Byron studied my face for a moment then his strong fingers slid through mine; it helped that they were still wet from the storm outside. “Just go with it,” he said. Before I could object, he tugged me through the crowd of surprised girls. “Madeleine!” he called in a loud voice. “Hey beautiful, I was looking everywhere for you.” I saw Cameron’s head turn at that surprising declaration, but that was all I could see because Byron leaned over my ear, “Let’s remind the man what he lost, shall we?” Was it my imagination or was there a slight accent to his words? It sounded slightly British? Maybe?

  “Byron,” I hissed in a warning. “He doesn’t care that he lost me.” I tried to push him away and he stole that hand too. Now Byron was getting me all wet. It was all I could do not to give away our crazy cover until I saw Cameron’s face. It was full of unexplained anger. Was he actually jealous?

  AmyLee stood by the door in her oversized short-jacket. Her eyes widened at us and I saw the scene through her eyes. Here I was holding hands with the biggest flirt in my acquaintance, and I just hoped I hadn’t given away that I liked it because then my whole cause against men would unravel. Tory stepped into the doghouse, dressed all in black. Her lips formed an O. Of course, my shame wouldn’t be complete without Lizzie seeing too. She followed her and covered her smile with a hand. Kali was otherwise occupied. Honestly, I wasn’t vain enough to think I was the complete center of attention in our singles’ world.

  Byron lifted my hand to his lips and brushed my knuckles with a light kiss. It meant absolutely nothing to him—I recognized that devilish look—but no one else would see it like that, particularly President Wilkes. He sat next to the announcement girl, his gaze fixed on us with a slight smile. I couldn’t take the false hope in his eyes. Of all our leaders, he cared the most about reclaiming me from my not-so-bright future.

  Byron took one look at him and released me faster than he had grabbed me. I stepped back, feeling a little damp—and a little dumped. The night was not going the way I had planned. “Byron!” I gave him a dangerous smile, but with certain eyes on me, that was all I could do. He didn’t seem sorry at all. I grabbed his wet shirt and pulled him closer, which I’m sure, only added to our illusion of intimacy. “What’s your problem? Are you crazy? Is that it?”

  Byron’s eyes danced. “Why can’t your ex stop looking at you? Do you want me to talk to him?” My gaze followed his to where Cameron sat. For a moment, the girls around him were forgotten. As soon as he saw my eyes, however, he turned back to his women, only he didn’t look as into it. Byron shrugged. “Maybe he admires your shirt. What does MAD stand for anyway?”

  “Me against dummies.”

  “Really? I thought it was the nickname I gave you.” Byron’s leather flip flops collided as he sat down on the light blue carpet. He tugged on the strings dangling from my black knickers. “Sit down,” he called loudly. The announcements were starting and I was the only one standing up in a sea of heads.

  I flopped down next to Byron just in time to hear AmyLee’s lecture. “Okay, listen up!” AmyLee already looked annoyed. She shook the tattered sign-up sheet at us. “Some of you think that boyfriend-for-the-week is just the presidency forcing us to get married or something. But let’s be honest. It’s just their desperate attempt to get you out of your apartments. Guys, video games are stupid, okay? And girls, Edward and Jacob are not real men.” Murmuring broke out. “Move your lazy…”

  President Wilkes put a loving hand on her back. “Thank-you, AmyLee. I’ll take it from here. First of all, brothers and sisters, we’d like to stress how proud we are of all of you. Sister Wilkes and I are delighted with your accomplishments. At the same time, we feel inspired to encourage you to fit this program into your schedules. It’s a great opportunity to get to know other singles in your stake.”

  I bit my lip, trying to ignore the stirrings of conscience as he talked about what the program would mean to us, as if we were supposed to be doing something more with our lives...like maybe date. Byron didn’t seem to care. “What do you say about my conditions?” he whispered, sotto voce. “The letter for the cushions?”

  “First things first,” I told him. “Did you steal our cushions?”

  “What makes you think I’d go to the effort?”

  I bit down a smile at the familiar. “Okay, then second, do you still disavow all knowledge of that letter?”

  “It isn’t relevant. Do you want us to give you back the cushions or not?”

  “No, we’re good.” I smiled inanely at him. We would get them back ourselves. Byron’s eyes narrowed at me. Any outsider would think we were lost in each other’s eyes, but I recognized that warlike glint in Byron’s. He wasn’t happy with my answer. For some reason he wanted that letter, but for now it was in Kali’s protective custody.

  “Next week, Battle of the Bands will be playing at the school.” I heard a girl announce in the front. “Our very own Bunk House boys will be competing in it. Byron! Byron!” The unknown girl tried to get his attention. “The name of your band! Tell us the name?”

  “26Down,” a deep masculine voice answered behind us. One of Byron’s roommates. I think it was the drummer, yet another man we had to distract from our mission tonight.

  “26Down?” I asked Byron, hoping to divert him. “Is that your band’s minimum age requirement?”

  “Guess that means you can join—about five years ago, right?”

  No way would I give anything away today, especially my age. We automatically closed our eyes as someone gave a blessing on the refreshments. No amount of blessing would keep Byron safe from me...or make the chocolate fudge cake good for us. I stood up after the chorus of amens, seeing Sandra break through the crowd. There was nothing like surrounding myself with former exes to keep Byron properly occupied. “Sandra,” I called to her. “Byron wants to tell you something!”

  “Really?” There was a slight smile on Byron’s lips. “Are you sure you want to do that?” He motioned with his hands. Enter the twins. I found my path effectively blocked by two short Brad Pitts. They stepped on either side of Byron, crossing their arms and breaking into identical smiles—very mischievous ones at that. One had a deeper dimple than the other, but without that give-away; no one could have told them apart. Strangely enough, the twins never seemed to care.

  “What’s this?” I asked Byron. “Your back-up?”

  “My bodyguards.” They were almost half his size. What were they going to do?

  Sandra sauntered closer. She was fuming. “Byron.” Her finger wagged at him at an impossible speed.

  “Sandra.” One of the twins, the overly-confident one, Adam, I think it was, sauntered over in pristine white Vans to talk to her. It was fascinating to watch…in a sick way. “I wanted to ask you something.”

  “Oh yeah! What?” she spouted. I wasn’t sure how he managed it, but the twin completely changed her course, heading her towards the dessert table. She didn’t even eat desserts!

  “He’s my wing man,” Byron explained.

  “Wha—? What’s a wing man?”

  “In social situations, the wing man is the designated guy sent to flirt away the undesirable girl, so that his friend can flirt with the girl of his choice, or in this case, let us finish our negotiations.”

  “Lame.”

  “It’s a sacrifice all men will make for their mates.”

  Mates? He made the word
sound so Australian. Why did I never notice this accent before? Never mind that the wing man concept would make me rethink all the social experiences of my life, but at least I had a few wing men of my own to throw at him. I gestured Lizzie forward and she swept in. “Hey Byron. How’s it going?”

  The other twin smiled in that sweet way of his and immediately stole her from me, though in his case, he didn’t seem to mind it a bit. He led her away. Byron shrugged at my furious look, and I turned, scanning the room for Kali. If she had been paying attention like she was supposed to, she would be a better decoy than all his monkeys put together. Byron pulled closer to me. “We’re not through. Have you considered my white flag?”

  Ah yes, that. It had to be a trick. “What is this, Byron? Did the bishop call you to be my friend?”

  He tilted his head mockingly. “How did you guess you were our special project, my poor little Miss Havisham?”

  “What did you just call me?” Wasn’t that some bitter old woman in Great Expectations—left at the altar, taught her female followers to hate men? Despite myself, I grinned. It was pretty clever. Suddenly I knew where Byron was going with these peace talks. “Okay Byron, out with it. Which of my friends are you trying to date?”

  He tried to shield the look of disbelief on his face. “Oh, that’s top secret information.”

  “Well, you can’t date any of them, big boy, so forget buttering me up.”