We owned that school, Kyle and I. The star quarterback and the cheer captain, a match made in romance heaven. Jealousy and desire followed us like a cloud. The haters and the wannabes couldn’t keep our names out of their mouths. Every day was another rush of drama, an ego-feeding frenzy as the kids who had it all lorded it over those who didn’t.

It wasn’t as if I was unaware of it. I could look at myself in the mirror and point out every point of toxicity I carried, laugh about it, and carry on. Why care? Why change? I had everything I was supposed to want.

But our heavenly romance could swiftly descend into hell. When the King and Queen squabbled, pawns were sacrificed.

Not this time. It had to be different this time.

I took a slow drive past Manson’s parents’ house first, scanning the junk-covered yard for a glimpse of his lifted Bronco. I was glad not to see it there. If warning him meant walking up to that big dilapidated house and seeing one of his parents, I didn’t think I could do it. His dad gave me the creeps.

I hoped my next destination would be correct. My tires crunched in the weeds as I pulled over beside the vacant lot, located at the end of a dirt road hidden by trees. The house that had once occupied the land had burned down years ago, leaving behind only a charred framework and a concrete foundation. Hope mingled with anxiety in my chest when I spotted two vehicles parked there: a dirty gray Ford Bronco on massive tires, and a midnight black El Camino.

I took a long, slow breath. The Bronco meant Manson was here, which was a relief. But the El Camino meant Lucas was with him, which probably meant Vincent and Jason were here too.

A whole gang of freaks, and me. The girl who had purposefully tormented them throughout every year of high school thus far.

I rummaged in my purse until I found a stick of bubblegum and chewed it viciously. Maybe it would help control my tongue when I went up there. I wasn’t on good terms with any of these boys. It was simple — they hated me, and I despised them. That was the hierarchy. Yes, I’d made out with Manson, and I’d had some very close encounters with the rest of them. But that didn’t mean we got along.

It also didn’t mean I wanted Manson to walk straight into the ambush that would be waiting for him tomorrow.

I slammed the car door and shoved my hands into the pockets of my hoodie as I traipsed through the overgrown lot toward the back of the house’s burned frame. The night air smelled like bonfire smoke and sour marijuana. The clatter of skateboards hitting concrete landed sharply in my ears as I rounded the house and laid eyes on the empty pool the boys liked to skate in. The concrete sides were covered in graffiti, and the area was illuminated only by the fires that had been lit in two large metal drums.