The One Without Words

❀ chapter twenty | alpha females ❀

Penelope Dupont on top of a white luxury car. Jack Michel in the passenger seat of Talia's beat-up minivan. And then Eli Fuentes and Seth Borovkov in the car ahead of us, witnesses to the collision of the various versions of me.

Penelope. Her head thrown back in manic laughter, black hair surrounding her like a cape. The same as how I remembered her, even in an orange uniform in juvenile detention. She never had different versions. Never altered herself like I did to adapt to whatever circumstance. No, she forced everyone else to adapt to her.

Envy came over me like a fog, a feeling I thought I'd left behind for good in the juvie bunk we shared.

"That's her," I said to Jack beside me. "My roommate in juvie."

Jack looked at her then back at me, surely as confused as I was. I would kill to know what was going through his brain right now.

Meanwhile, Seth stepped out of his car, chest puffed up like he was the alpha of this place. He approached the crowd surrounding Penelope, even laughed and hooted to insert himself in their chaos, but no one paid him attention. Defeated, he stormed away and came to knock on my window.

I rolled it down. "This is it?"

"You ready to race with that minivan?" he snickered. "But look." He pointed out Douchebag, Pizza Tattoo Guy, and Mophead in the crowd, the three responsible for wrecking my flower shop and causing thousands of dollars in damages. "See? I kept my promise. You wanna know what happened to your flowers? Ask them."

The next minute was a blur. Far stronger than envy, rage overtook me. And before I knew it, I was walking up to them. How could they laugh at Jack like he was nothing, cornering him at that party? How dare they trash my shop?

My mouth formed words, yelling through the commotion. My hands grasped their jackets, and I shoved them with all the force I could muster—which wasn't much.

I felt Douchebag shove me back. He said something, the three of them did, something about pepper spray girl back at it again, drowned out by their mocking laughter.

"You know exactly what you did," I spat.

And what was I supposed to do about it? Murder them? Tell the police? Me, the convicted juvenile shop-lifter, thinking the police could solve this. As if.

"Wait, what are you talking about?" asked Mophead. "Guys, wait, what's going on?"

"Is this about that mute boy?" asked Douchebag.

People surrounded me, enclosed me, watched me. My impulsive decision to come had led to me in the center of a horde of fuckboys, their cars parked up and down a deserted road.

Penelope hopped down from the white car. The crowd parted to let her through. A wide grin spread through her face, like she'd never been so happy to see me. I'd sure never gotten that reaction before.

"Hold up, she's my friend," she called out. "Romy? Bitch! Is that you?"

The crowd's laughs faded into murmurs. I stared her down. Here I was, extremely unthreatening in my floral shirt, braided up-do, and pink lipstick, unrecognizable from my juvie days. And her: basketball shorts, a baggy t-shirt, and a backward baseball cap.

The blur of anger faded, and I tried to blink away my hazy vision. "Word has it you're a pageant queen again," I said. 

"Soon to be," she said, grin fading to a smirk. She stepped forward, cornering me. Reckless, reckless Penelope. Missing only Anika, her second-in-command probably still locked up as we spoke. I'd been the third wheel to their demon-summoning rituals, adjusting myself to fit what they wanted of me. Except I never really did.