Mitch pushes Kali off his lap and rises to his feet, his pale face already tight with anger.

“You touched my fucking car?” he growls out, and Victor laughs.

“Touched? Nah, I wouldn’t say that.” He pauses dead center in the bubble of space, his dark eyes glittering with the thrill of the hunt. “We had a feeling you wouldn’t wait until Halloween night to take us up on our offer, so we’re intercepting you with a new challenge.”

“We’re not afraid of you, Vic,” Mitch says, shaking, his nostrils flared as his boys stand up to join him. Billie, Kali, and Ivy stand in the back, tossing their hair and smirking. They won’t be, not after they see the damage we did to their cars. They just aren’t getting it yet. But as soon as they find themselves without a ride home, they will. “Havoc is old news. You built yourselves up on a rep you just can’t maintain anymore.” Mitch is smiling now as he strides forward, seemingly forgetting that earlier today, Vic incapacitated him in a split-second. “You thought you’d come here and what, beat the crap out of us?”

“That was the plan,” Vic says with a shrug. “I mean, for starters. Have you checked your stash lately?”

“You think we didn’t move our stash after you took that photo?” Mitch asks with a laugh, reaching up to rub at his buzz cut. He has tats all over his neck, but they don’t blend into a seamless piece of art the way Oscar’s do. No, they’re too small and scattered, like stickers stuck to his thick neck.

“You think we don’t know where you moved it?” Vic asks, cocking his head to one side and glancing back at Oscar. He pushes his glasses up his nose with a middle finger, and then makes a phone call.

“Blow it to kingdom come,” Oscar says, and then hangs up. “I hope you have enough cash left to pay your supplier for all the coke we just blew to hell. I’m sure they’d do awful, awful things to you if you couldn’t pay them back.”

“They’re bluffing,” Kyler says, standing at Mitch’s side with a smirk on his thin lips. His face is still recovering from that epic beatdown he got at Billie’s trailer. The bruises are yellow now instead of purple, but I bet they still hurt.

I glance back as Hael makes his way toward us, his face tight and angry. He clearly did not enjoy his party time, whatever he did with it. I almost open my mouth to ask, but now is not the time and place.

“You haven’t beat their asses yet?” Hael asks, coming up to stand between Aaron and Vic. “Let’s get it done, so we can go the fuck home. I’m finished here. This party is lame as fuck.”

My eyes meet Kali’s across the cracked pavement, and I feel that same hurt and frustration that I did back in sophomore year, when she set out to destroy me. Why? Why did I deserve that? She knew all the shit that’d been heaped on me over the years, and yet, she chose to grind me further into the dirt.

“Hey, uh,” Mitch starts, grinning as he takes another step closer to Vic. “You should say hi to our friends first. I mean, before we really get into it.” He pauses and glances over to the right, nodding briefly in our direction.

The crowd parts, their phones raised to film the scene, as the entire Fuller High varsity football team appears.

“Fuck,” Aaron murmurs, swiping his tattooed hand over his mouth.

“Unexpected development,” Oscar agrees, watching as the group in front of us goes from eight … to nineteen. And here we are, just the six of us. We are so screwed. I shake my jacket out and wonder if I should prep for an ass kicking. This was not supposed to happen when I hired Havoc, all of this nonsense. They’re supposed to rule Prescott High, not be constantly fighting for their thrones.

I grit my teeth.

“Hey Prima,” the leader says, his face dotted with three separate bandages from the coffee incident at the café. “Thanks to you, I had to sit out the game last week. Oh yeah, and my goddamn face is probably scarred for life.” He sneers, eyes locked on Callum. “I’m going to enjoy beating your ballerina ass.”

All eleven of those letterman jacket wearing assholes starts to come for us from the left while Mitch and his guys move forward from the front.

“Sorry, but that’s not happening,” Oscar says, pulling out his revolver and cocking the hammer. Most of the students gasp and recoil, some even take off running. “We don’t let Fuller High football brats interfere in Prescott High matters. Take your friends and go before I get trigger happy.”

“You wouldn’t shoot me, in front of all these people,” Quarterback Guy says, laughing.

“I wouldn’t?” Oscar asks, and I lick my lower lip as déjà vu washes over me. Been here, done this before. “Move forward another six feet and see what happens. You can still play football with a burned face. Maybe not so much if I shoot you right in the balls?”

The Fuller High team looks undecided on what to do. That is, until Vic sighs and nods his chin at Callum. The ‘Prima Ballerina’ pulls out a weapon of his own, this black semi-auto that looks wicked as hell clutched in his hand. His blue eyes are dark as he levels the weapon in Mitch’s direction.

“You can rush us, but how eager are you to get shot?” Vic asks, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Make your choice. Either way, Mitch, you should’ve just accepted your beating.” He turns his attention from the quarterback to Mitch. “Prescott High isn’t Fuller’s bitch. Siccing a bunch of preppy football players on us doesn’t make you look good, Mitch Charter.” Vic shakes his head and steps back, nodding at the rest of us. “Let’s go.”

“Using guns because you’re scared to take an ass kicking like a real man?!” Mitch shouts, and Vic pauses, snapping his fingers. A good dozen boys appear out of the crowd, ready to fight.

“Havoc is bigger than just the five letters in its name,” Vic says, but Mitch goes for him anyway, drawing the rest of his buddies and the Fuller High guys with him. But before our group can clash with theirs, a sharp sound rings out, like a car backfiring.

Only … I know a gunshot when I hear it. Pretty much everyone at Prescott does.

Blood explodes from Mitch’s shoulder in a crimson spray, splattering Kali, Billie, and Ivy in red mist. His body collapses into a boneless heap on the pavement and for a minute there, I think he might be dead. Everything is silent but for the echoing ring of the gunshot, and I notice a boy in a black hoodie tuck a gun into his sweatshirt and disappear.

One of Havoc’s lackeys, I suppose. Smart. It’d be damn near impossible to identify him, even with everyone using their phones to film the encounter.

That’s when Mitch starts to scream and students scatter.

“Call the cops!” QB Dude is shouting, but the look Vic turns on him is pure, gleeful hell.

“Go for it. But remember: Prescott High doesn’t like a snitch. Dial the police up, and you’re digging your own grave. Peace.” Victor waves his hand, turns, and heads for the back steps of the building.

Like the naughty little Havoc Girl I am, I follow after.

Mitch might’ve thought he was being clever, but he just dug his crew’s grave by inviting Fuller High to fight for him. Nobody at Prescott likes the Fuller High football team. In fact, Havoc has always acted like the school’s anti-heroes, taking up turf wars on their own time and giving the underdogs some wins that none of us get elsewhere in life.