“Her entire request is bullshit,” I grind out, sitting on top of one of the old picnic tables as I watch Fuller High kids pull into the drive-in across the railroad tracks. It's been a while since we visited the old grease pit, but I have to say, it feels good, sitting here surrounded by other rejects from Prescott High, like I'm exactly where I should be.

“That doesn't matter,” Vic says absently, leaning back on the table in a black wifebeater, his hair greased back like he thinks he's John Travolta or something. I'll never admit how handsome he looks like that; I'd rather die. “You know as well as anyone else that when someone calls Havoc, they set the terms, we set the price.”

Hael is sitting quietly across from us, head buried in his hands. His bloodred hair catches the light as he goes through what looks like a mourning process, like he's saying goodbye to life as he knows it. I'd ask how things could possibly get any worse than they are, but then, I know that rock-bottom is just an illusion. Fate is a cunt, and she will drill down into that stone beneath your feet and send you straight to hell first chance she gets.

What's worse than having a mentally ill mom, a murderer for a father, and a gang war on your hands?

That's right, adding a squalling infant birthed by a woman you hate.

“I've calculated the cost of her request already,” Oscar remarks, consulting his iPad like he always does. Wouldn't surprise me if he lubed up and fucked it, too. “A lifetime commitment from Hael would require a life in return; that's not something she's going to be willing to pay.”

A shiver chases over my skin as I bite into my burger, slowly licking the sauce off of my bottom lip as Aaron watches me. He does the same with his burger, and I almost smile. I mean, I would if Oscar hadn't just suggested that the price for Hael's fatherhood is murder.

“But?” Vic asks, closing his eyes against the sunshine, like he's in a world far, far away from here. Flicking my attention to Callum, I see him unloading his extra-large fry order onto a tray and dousing it in ketchup. He pauses just after he does that, staring down at the viscous red liquid like perhaps his mind is somewhere else, too. Maybe at the party, with Danny's blood staining the floor.

He notices me looking and hooks a cruel smile, flipping his hood up and hiding the golden shimmer of his blond hair. When he puts a long fry between his lips, it's not a particularly innocent move.

“It either means nothing or it means everything. We don’t have to talk about it. Just decide what it is that you want.”

I flick my attention back to Oscar.

“You assume there's a but involved,” Oscar says, smiling in a way that reminds me of cold graves and mausoleums with weeping angels. That thought soon devolves into one of us fucking in a graveyard, and I grit my teeth, wondering where the hell that came from. Another bite of my burger banishes the day-mare into oblivion.

“There's always a conjunction with you, Oscar,” Vic murmurs as I pick up my chocolate shake and take a sip.

“Well, in this case, you're right,” Oscar says, and I have to wonder if this isn't how the discussion of my price went down. “Tell her we want to own her—body, mind, and soul. She'll never accept.” I frown as I think about what Aaron and Vic told me, about how every letter of Havoc but the V wanted me gone, shipped off to Nantucket to work part-time at the ice cream parlor. My lip curls. “There is a but. We add in a condition that she have the fetus DNA tested at the earliest available opportunity. According to my research, Brittany should be about seventeen weeks along. That means conception would likely be on or around August twenty-ninth.”

Oscar pauses to look up from the iPad as all eyes turn to Hael. He's still slumped over, leaving his triple-meat burger and cheese fries cooling on the table. Nobody talks, but voices drift across the railroad tracks from the Fuller High hangout. We cut class early to have time to talk this out; guess we aren't the only ones who skipped out on sixth period today.

I watch them, in their pre-ripped department store jeans and Lululemon leggings, and wonder what life is like when you're just … normal. And no, it's not just a setting on a dryer. It's a reality. Either you blend in, or you stick out. And we, we most certainly stick out, like broken graves in a green lawn.

Hael finally lifts his head up as I glance back at him, his jaw tight, his eyes flinty.

“August twenty-ninth?” he asks, like that's not a date he wants to hear. “Fuck my life.”

“You screw her on the twenty-ninth or what?” Vic snaps, lifting his own head back up and leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees. The way he looks at Hael, well, I don't envy the guy. “Speak up. I'm not exactly thrilled with you. On top of everything else, we now have to deal with this shit. The load's getting a little heavy, Hael.”

“Don't you think I fucking know that?” he snaps back, his skin ashen as he rubs at his face again. His stubble is just starting to come through, and it's a much redder color than I expected. Just yesterday, I was admiring how clean-shaven he was. Just one day of thinking about Brittany, and he’s stopped that routine entirely. “If you're starting to wonder if I might be getting psyched about this whole 'raising a baby with Brittany thing', then you clearly don't know me for shit.” He pauses, working his jaw as his eyes flick back in the direction of the Fuller High kids. “Late August, Brittany stole the keys to her dad's lake house. We spent a weekend up there. I don't know if it was the twenty-ninth or not. Thing is, she didn’t cheat on me until after we got back from that trip. So far as I know anyway.”

Oscar checks something on his iPad and makes a hiss of disapproval.

“You were at the lake house on the twenty-ninth, most definitely,” Oscar agrees, frowning as Vic sighs and grabs his cherry soda, flipping the plastic top off and using a flask of whiskey from his pocket to spike it.

“Alright, fine, you fucked her on the twenty-ninth or thereabouts. Keep going, Oscar. I haven't heard the tail end of this but just yet.” Vic swigs his whiskey-laced soda, and then offers the cup up to me. I just glare back at him until he scowls and takes it away again. We are not friends, not today. I'm still pissed, and we have yet to actually talk about my feelings in detail.

“Did you use a condom?” Aaron asks, which, apparently, is the wrong thing to say to Hael right now. He stands up and grabs his own milkshake, throwing it as hard as he can against the side of an old train car. It sits in the grass nearby, all its wheels missing save for one that's being eaten by rust. The side is covered in graffiti and now, strawberry milkshake.

It doesn’t need explaining that the graffiti tagged on that car says HAVOC.

“Of course I used a condom!” Hael roars, and I'm surprised to see so much emotion from him. Gone is the cocky swagger, and the cocksure smirk. He looks like any other member of Havoc now, just a tortured, tattooed asshole with a chip on his shoulder. “Keep going, let's just roll through the possibilities.” He snaps his fingers to get Oscar to keep going.

Oscar sits there with the iPad on his lap and gives Hael such a withering look that he finally sits down again, lifting a hand in an indication that Oscar should continue.

“We give her what she wants on the stipulation that she takes a DNA test at the earliest opportunity, and we require her honesty beforehand, to see if there's any other possible father.”