Chapter Eight Piper

Chapter Eight

Piper

Now: Friday, 6:00 p.m.

Ms. Silva crashes within inches of me, her body hitting the floor with a sickening thwump.

Then chaos. Shouting, utensils clanging, benches scraping backward.

"Is she dead ?" Delaney's voice rises above the confusion.

Camille gasps, turning an accusatory glance my way. I scowl. Not again.

Silva is prone by my feet, but Liam rushes in before I can move.

"Boy Scout to the rescue," Wyatt says, droll.

"Eagle Scout," Liam corrects him under his breath, and indeed he does seem to have some sense of what to do. He kneels over our chaperone, one hand flying to her pulse point, then hovering over her mouth, another pressed against her forehead.

"She's not dead," he confirms. "Just unconscious."

Everyone's crowded around now; someone is even leaning hard against my left shoulder to get a better look. They curl a hand around my arm and I shake it off; I only have one good arm at this point, and don't need another injury.

"Sleeping," Eden offers from outside the circle.

"I don't know what could have caused this." Liam frowns down at his patient.

A laugh catches in Eden's throat. "Could be the ass-ton of Ambien that I put into her drink."

We all turn to stare at her.

Her shrug is nonchalant. "What? Do we want to party tonight or not? This way she'll sleep like a log, and we can be as loud as we want."

There's a beat of stunned silence.

"You've got to be kidding me," I start. "This is—"

"Fucking brilliant," Declan says, cutting me off. He pulls Eden into a bear hug and plants sloppy kisses on her cheeks.

It's disconcerting how quickly the group turns. Impressed, Wyatt and Delaney raise eyebrows in Eden's direction. Camille nods—apparently, poisoning only concerns her when she thinks I did it. But she remains practical.

"Are we going to leave her on the floor?" Cam asks.

"Of course not," Eden replies. "The boys will carry her downstairs and put her to bed. She'll wake up refreshed, if a bit groggy, and have no memory of anything. My mom calls it her Ambienesia."

I am surrounded by psychos. Liam is already positioning himself to grab Silva by the arms. Declan is ready at her feet, and Wyatt hovers near an arm in an attempt to be useful.

Only Willa hangs back, mirroring my horror.

"Are you guys serious?" I ask, unwilling to stand idly by. "This is…not normal, or okay. And Silva's not stupid. She's going to figure out that you poisoned her, and then we're all going to get in trouble."

"Go to your room if you can't handle it," Eden snipes. "Surely no one will think you did anything wrong, Petty Piper. " The venom in her words stings. There's no question: Eden's in charge now. "Everyone else meet in the living room in twenty. Boys, when you're done, grab ice, cups, and snacks. We've got the booze." Then she tosses a look at Willa, an afterthought. "Clean up, will you?"

Shaken from her stupor, Willa scurries to grab the dirty dishes. I watch as everyone does as instructed, too shocked to protest. It's only when Willa snatches the plate in front of me that I finally move, marching slowly backward until I bump into the wall, grateful for something solid.

Snick, snick, snick.

Like someone's pelting a dartboard nearby. I peer out the window, porch light illuminating the source of the sound. Heavy, wet snow smacks against the deck, blanketing it white.

"It's snowing," I say, so quiet that I am surprised Willa hears. She shuts off the sink and rushes over to join me.

Her eyes sparkle with wonder, while I feel only dread. "It reminds me of Big Bear. I was there last month." She pauses for a moment before adding, "Glad we didn't have to drive here in snow, though. That would have sucked."

We share a moment of silence, reliving the harrowing journey up the mountain. Now I imagine it with slick snow, the van careening over the side on one of those dizzying switchback turns. Flying into space, before crashing to a bloody end.

"What if we get trapped up here?" My mind flashes to the worst-case scenario. Humans do unthinkable things under pressure. Just listen to any MurderGals episode.

"We won't," Willa says. Her fingers tap nervously against the windowsill, belying her bravado. "Come on, help me finish up."

I follow her back to the kitchen, my mind finally working enough to pitch a plan. "If we're quick, we can slip upstairs before they come back and, I don't know, go to bed early? Gets us out of their way and gives us deniability with Silva."

Willa's hands continue closing a garbage bag. "You can," she says, slow and measured. "But if they decide to pull a prank on you or something, I can't stop them. With them, I've found it's best to play along, stay under the radar."

"How Machiavellian of you," I quip to cover the rejection. Then again, I know all too well the pain Declan's pranks can bring. Being a pariah makes me an easy target.

She's right. I need to watch my back.

We hear the clanking first; then Delaney comes into view. She swings the heavy, liquor-bottle-laden bag onto the kitchen island.

"Thanks again for getting these in for us, Wills," she says, syrupy sweet with an extra emphasis on the nickname. "It's a good thing you're so boring. Silva never suspected."

"No problem," Willa says through a tight smile.

Bottle after bottle clinks onto the counter as Delaney unpacks. Vodka, rum, tequila, whiskey. Delaney's nose wrinkles at the final bottle. "Gin? Gross."

"I just smuggled in what you gave me," Willa murmurs.

Wyatt appears, wearing banana-printed pajama bottoms and a Tetris hoodie. Willa's hand tightens on the knife handle she was slotting back into the block.

"Check the pantry for mixers," Delaney instructs. "And snacks. There should be plenty, according to the helpful inventory list." She fans the sheet of paper I compiled while they were skiing earlier.

One by one they return to deck out the living space with party essentials.

"Look what I found in the pantry!" Camille squeals, revealing her discovery with a flourish. The bell-shaped etched-glass bottle looks heavy in her hands.

"Al'more Liqueur," Wyatt reads the label out loud, then wrinkles his nose at the cherry-red lettering with flourishes and flowery adornments. "What the fuck is an amaretto?" He doesn't wait for an explanation, mind made up. "I hate girly-flavored booze."

"And I hate sexist pigs," Camille volleys, though with little heat. It's like the van again. Practiced banter and in-jokes I don't understand.

"This will go perfectly with the Cherry Coke," Delaney says, taking the bottle from Camille's hands and adding it to the stash. "What luck that someone left this behind."

"The last group here definitely threw a party." Liam appears with a bonus bonanza of Solo cups.

"Sweet!" Declan sweeps into the kitchen and plucks a cup from the top of the stack, then jams it against the refrigerator's built-in ice maker.

Eden arrives last.

"Oh, you're still here?" The sneer identifies me as the subject. "Everybody better watch their drinks!"

No one calls her on the irony, but it's the worst I face from the group for the moment. My continued presence is permitted, if barely tolerated. Soon we're corralled around the U-shaped couch, waiting for our ringmaster to commence the evening's entertainment.

Eden produces a small navy package and hoists it high above her head.

"Let's see who is the most twisted here."

I squint to read the words on the side of the box: Oh, the Humanity! How apropos for this group. They're a disaster waiting to happen.

"How do you play?" Wyatt's eyes glitter at the prospect of a game.

Eden skims the instructions on the box and then summarizes for the group. "Someone starts off as card captain and lays down a navy card. Everyone else has to submit a white card in response, and the captain chooses the winner, who then leads the next round. Hilarity ensues." Eden looks up from the box. "It literally says that. I'm not that cheesy."

"So it's like Apples to Apples?" Willa asks, and Delaney immediately scoffs.

"That's a game for babies, Willa."

"These cards are a lot more…grown-up," Eden says, then grins. "But you have a point. What do you think about upping the stakes?" She cracks open the deck, spilling a mass of navy and white cards onto the table. "In our game, card captain chooses a winner and a loser each round, and the worst card has to remove an item of clothing. Sound good?"

"Sounds fantastic !" Declan whoops.

Willa looks whiter than the snow falling outside, but true to her word, she joins the semicircle.

"You've gotta be kidding me," I grumble.

"Coming, Pipes?" Camille smiles all too sweetly, shuffling the cards in her hands.

Willa's warning rings in my ears. Play along or risk becoming everyone's target.

Game on, then.