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𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄 : 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐗𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋

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Thursday was surprising in every way.

I woke up around seven to a phone call from Blondie. School was canceled because of a valve break in the boy's bathroom. The hallway was flooded which meant we had a four day weekend on our hands. She told me to come pick her up and we'd head over to the church for an early day, but we'd start with a coffee run.

I arrived at her house just a little after eight, surprised she wanted to be up this early even when we didn't have school but she came out of her house with a fresh face and her gym bag thrown over her shoulder.

When she got in the car, the first thing she asked me was about the party.

"You are going to Bridgette's party tonight, right?"

"Why the hell is she even having one on a Thursday night?" I asked as I drove down her street and towards town. "Did she know school was going to get canceled?"

Blondie laughed. "Her parents are going out of town and they'll be back Friday afternoon, so Thursday seemed like the best option and plus we can just have a ditch day and not go to school the next day. Like, no biggie."

"Says you," I mumbled with a laugh. "You actually have your school work done. I have so many missing assignments I'm practically drowning."

"Does seem kind of unfair," she said, pointing for me to go right and towards the drive through coffee place near the grocery store, "that you're out here saving the world and you still have a french exam and an english term paper coming up." She shrugged, pulling out her wallet. "At least you get more time to finish your homework so we can go out tonight."

"You're really dead set on this party, aren't you?"

She nodded eagerly. "I heard Brent Maxwell is going to jump into the pool from the roof. Said he was going to do a backflip and everything."

"Who the hell is Brent Maxwell?"

"Bridgette's totally cute boyfriend."

"And that makes the whole party thing worth it?"

She nodded, reciting her coffee order to me so I could repeat it at the window. When she had her latte in hand, hazelnut with almond milk and a splash of vanilla, she began to tell me her reasons why we should go to the party.

"There will be boys," she offered to me first before rolling her eyes and mumbling, "Okay, so, yeah, that doesn't change anything but there's going to be freeze booze."

"There was free booze at your party and I got shot."

"You'll finally get to meet your classmates outside of me and Luke."

"I don't need to meet them. We graduate in, like, two-ish months? I don't know."

She rolled her eyes, licking the foam off her lips after she drank. "You'll get to actually forget about all your problems for once, Blaire. When was the last time you actually just forgot for a second that all of this was going to end in doom and gloom? And don't say my party because you didn't get the chance to forget but Tobias is gone, okay? He's gone and John, Ace, and whoever wouldn't think of crashing."

I sipped on my own coffee, turning right out of the lot and towards the church. It would be easy to say no and just go home later. To sleep in my bed and get some homework done, have a nice home cooked meal (just old pasta, maybe one of the cans of soup I'd found in the cabinet), and call it a night. But I needed freedom.

You need to forget, even just for one night. For an hour or two.

"Fine," I said as I pulled into the backlot of the church. It was only a swift two minute drive from the coffee shop. "We'll go but I have to be back before midnight."

"Ah," she sighed with a nod, "the package." She unbuckled and got out of the car as I did, leaning on the hood across from me to ask, "You have any ideas of what it could be?"

I shrugged. "A ghost told me it would be good for me but also it comes with some pretty hard rules, like if I don't follow the instructions that come with it, people could die."

"Okay, well..."

"Yeah, not good."

"Nope!" She said, popping the 'p' as she closed the door and walked around to my side and towards the stairs. "Maybe it'll be your knife all wrapped up for you in a cute housewarming basket because John is just so sweet."

I linked arms with her and said dreamily, "If only," because dreams were the only place that would ever occur but dreams weren't always safe. Ace made sure of that.

~

Lessons with Macabre ended around noon. Basic demon terminology I already knew but Blondie and Winker needed to learn. We had a lunch break where we were able to go home, do homework, relax, before coming back for a light workout.

We ran through a circuit of crunches, planks, body weight squats, toe touches, and mountain climbers. Twenty reps for five sets. It was not as light as it seemed for Blondie or me, who were mostly out of shape, but it was easy as pie for Winker (the ass). When we were done, we went our separate ways until the night.

I stood in front of my mirror, my hair still drying from my long shower as I applied makeup. A darker eye, the best eyeliner I could do with eye shadow because I wasn't talented with a pen or pencil, and applied a heavy dose of mascara. I wanted to at least look somewhat alive compared to my normal fresh faced look. I also just wanted the excuse to wear makeup and cover up the bags under my eyes.

I ran my lipgloss over my lips, rubbing them together before puckering to see the slight sheen in the light. I crossed back into my room, picking up my jeans and black long sleeve, dressing quickly. It was going to be colder tonight and I figured why not just wear all black, it hid blood the best but this wasn't me planning on being shot again tonight or even stabbed.

No, of course not.

The white scar on my stomach left in place from the knife didn't bother me at all and it definitely didn't send a little fear through my chest whenever I thought about it long enough. No...that'd be crazy.

Just as I was sliding into my shoes, my phone rang.

"I have no clue what to wear!" cried Blondie on the other end when I answered. "I've gone through my entire closet and nothing. What are you wearing? What are the vibes for tonight?"

"Uh, jeans?" I offered as I held the phone between my ear and shoulder as I stuffed a water bottle in my purse as well as one of the homemade demon blades. I was not going to forget one of those again, not in this lifetime.

"God," she breathed, probably rolling her eyes, "I should not be calling you, I should be–" She cut herself off with a startled gasp before a nervous laugh escaped her. "Oh, wow, I was going to say Gretchen."

I stopped what I was doing, holding a vodka bottle over a gatorade to murmur, "Want me to come over?"

"Please."

I arrived at her house twenty minutes later, taking the route that was steadily becoming so familiar I could drive with my eyes closed. She met me at the front door, yanking it open with a gust of wind and a loud sigh. Half her makeup was done and she looked annoyed.

"Spent the last hour looking for a skirt I thought I had but turns out I'd given it away last year!" she spat as she closed the door behind me. She pointed to my bag and groaned, "Please tell me you got something with alcohol in there, I need something, anything."

I dug around in my bag for my bottle, handing it over where she took a large gulp and gagged.

"This is awful."

"I know."

"Who taught you this?"

"Who do you think?"

Blondie smiled, almost knowingly. "No wonder she was always so drunk at parties."

"Pandora knew how to have fun."

Blondie took another gulp from the gatorade bottle before passing it back to me. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and motioned for me to follow her up the stairs to her bedroom. Her room was not what I expected from the queen bee of Wooden High. Her walls were a soft shade of blue and she had posters of famous celebrities from the nineties and eighties. She had a photo-wall near her vanity and I was also so absorbed looking through the pictures until a new voice startled me from my snooping.

"Oh! You must be Blaire."

Mrs. Blake was gorgeous and an exact replica of Blondie. The same blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and charming smile that read I know I'm beautiful. She was wearing a floury apron, dusted with white. She had been sitting on Blondie's bed, looking through the shirts she had laid out earlier, from my guess.

"It's so good to finally meet you," said Mrs. Blake, approaching me. I thought she would shake my hand but instead, she pulled me into a tight embrace. She smelled like honey and cinnamon. "Cassie's told me so much about you that I was beginning to think you weren't real."

"Mom."

"What? It's true!"

Blondie rolled her eyes and held up one of the shirts her mom had put out. It was navy blue. She tossed it aside and glared at her mom, with a hand on her hip. "Aren't you supposed to be making dinner, anyway?"

"God, no," said her mom with a laugh. "Your father's doing it when he gets home, I'm tryin' out that pie recipe."

Blondie smiled, snapping her fingers. "The apple pecan!"

"That's the one." Her mom looked at me and said with a smile that nearly shook me off my feet, "You're welcome to stay for dinner."

"Oh–"

Mrs. Blake gave me a comforting look. "I mean it, honey, we're making pot roast."

"With carrots, potatoes, and an insane amount of gravy," added Blondie. "Come on, not like we're going to go out right away, anyway."

It gave me the chance to look at my phone and I laughed gently. "You're right, it's only five-thirty."

"Why the hell are you dressed so early, by the way?"

"I got nervous!"

"Nervous? For what?"

"I don't know!"

Blondie grinned and Mrs. Blake muttered, "Girls..." before heading towards the door when the front door opened and closed. Blondie continued to go through her clothes and it took me a moment to realize why I was so struck by her home.

It was her family. Her beautiful mom, her dad coming home from work to cook dinner. It was the calm, the normalcy, the perfection of it all. I knew, obviously, that no family was perfect but the way they spoke and interacted, it left something to be so deeply desired.

"When's the last time you had, like, a real home cooked meal?" Blondie asked after a beat, lowering the shirt she had in her hands to meet my gaze.

I shrugged because did I even know? Even after Cage died, we only really ate takeout and food right out of the microwave since it was easier. It was easier than going into the dining room, uncovering the clothed table, seeing the seat across from Louise. "Does the meal I made Crow count?"

There was a small laugh that escaped her as she shook her head.

"Then, well, it's been a really long time."

Blondie continued to pick through her clothes and I know she was only doing so to keep the conversation from drowning into despair as she asked another question. "Did your dad cook or...?"

"God, no," I said with a laugh. "He burnt nearly everything he made." I could've sworn a chill ran up my arms. "My mom, she, uh, she had all those cook books from like the sixties, her mom's original book, even the ones from the cooking shows."

"Did she have a specialty?"

"Thanksgiving."

Blondie smiled, as if knowingly. "My dad's is mostly red meat but Thanksgiving always goes hard here. Mom goes all out with her pies, she made about," she laughed harder, "twelve last year?" She nodded, as if confirming it to herself. "She had to give them out to neighbors because we had around five different apple pies." She folded her shirts, placing them down on the bed and murmured in a more gentle tone, "I know, um, that things probably won't turn out the way we want them too and we'll all be god knows where by the end of the school year but once the holidays come around..." She met my eyes. "You're always welcome here, you know that, right?"

I nodded, coming to stand by the bed to fold the shirts she didn't like. "Yeah," I murmured back. "Don't worry, I know."

I just didn't think I'd be alive by the time the winter holidays came around.

I didn't even think I'd be alive to see next week.

~

Dinner was so good I was afraid to drink even a sip of the Vodka I brought in case I'd throw it up. Blondie's father, Mark, was loud as he was funny and her mom was just the same. They had a matching energy that was charismatic and energetic through the room. It was hard even getting up from the table to help clean dishes because you wanted to stay in the room for so long. Her mom gave me the leftovers and I thanked everything and everyone that it would be cold enough out tonight that they wouldn't instantly perish in my car. The pie was tart and sweet and made my mouth water just from the smell and sight and the pot roast was unlike anything I'd eaten in years.

It was hard leaving the family all together.

I drove Blondie and I out to the party hours after the sun had gone down, meeting Winker there. He said he'd be waiting for us in his car and he was saving us a spot but I didn't know what that meant until we turned into the neighborhood.

Bridgette's neighborhood was full of houses three stories high. They were what I'd thought movie stars lived in when I was a child. All big, rich, brightly lit, with huge driveways and gated fences.

"Holy shit," I whispered, turning down the music. "You didn't tell me she was this fucking rich."

"It's why her parties are legendary," purred Blondie, already tipsy. "The rich old folk throw major events so the police are, like, never called if the music gets too loud. It's all masked by the galas or whatever they are."

She was right. There were over dozens of cars lining the street and I wasn't sure which home they belonged to. Was this something that people did frequently? Or was it just the time of year? The promise of warm weather, that might never come but regardless, did it draw people out of the woodworks?

I saw Winker's car and the spot he'd saved for us. I parallel parked, which I wasn't sure I could do but somehow did as if the magic of the coming summer was driving us all home here. Blondie got out of the car before I'd even stopped, running and giggling into Winker's arms. The six pack he had in one hand seemed to be half open. I had a lot to do to catch up.

I pulled my gatorade bottle out of my bag and unscrewed the cap. Tipping it back, I saw flashes of Pandora in my mirror as I chugged. How we'd done the same on the sidewalk before John's party, drinking gatorade and cheap vodka. It didn't feel the same, how that was recently but also a thousand years ago in a past I could hardly keep my hands on.

"Blaire, you coming or what?!"

I nodded, mouth full. I swallowed, ignoring the burn as I got out of the car and followed my friends up the sidewalk and through the grass.

The house we approached was big with a large circle driveway and a fountain in the middle of the patch of grass in the center. The home had a balcony on the second floor, large enough for guests to come and stand outside. In the dark, the home looked gray but I knew in the sunlight it would be white and clean. I expected us to walk up the wide staircase and enter through the glass doors but they took me down the side.

Blondie opened the metal gate, the fence encasing the backyard. I could hear the music and the people even before seeing them. The swimming pool was lit in blues and purples and pinks from lights inside the water. There was a hot tub connected, bubbling and steaming. There were girls walking past in bikinis and boys stripping to their underwear to get in the water with large drinks and girls on either arm.

"Whatever you thought you knew about parties from John is wrong," said Winker with a chuckle. "This is a real party."

There was a game of beer pong happening on the back patio, a crowd gathered around cheering and slamming down cups, unknown liquids splashing. I could feel the music pounding in my chest and I wondered how someone could afford a sound system like this but as I looked around, it wasn't as hard to imagine anymore. This place was unlike any home I'd been in and I doubted I'd ever return. I wasn't upper class, I was a comfortable middle class and this world I'd stepped in made my friends seem at home. It was weird, seeing the differences like this so stark against the night.

Blondie grabbed my arm, jolting me from my thoughts as she bounded up and down in giddiness. "He's gonna do it! Oh my god, we made it just in time! Look! Look!"

I followed her arm as she pointed up. Standing on the roof, looking like a triumphant god, was who I guessed to be Brent Maxwell. He was not tall, not like Winker or John. He had big arms and legs, chalked full of muscle and alcohol. He had a dark complexion and a full head of dark curling hair. He walked to the ledge and threw his hands in the air.

"Brent! Brent! Brent!"

He jumped up and down, taking in this moment of him being king of the world before taking his shirt off. He threw it down towards a group of girls where one reached out to grab it before it hit the ground. I assumed that to be Bridgette. She looked familiar, someone I'd only seen in passing in the hallways. She was beautiful. Thick head of light brown hair, high cheekbones, tan skin that glowed under the lights. She blew her boyfriend a kiss and he caught it in his fist dramatically.

He turned slowly on the edge, his heels hanging off as he balanced on his toes. He bent his knees a few times before he was airborne and soaring backwards. He propelled backwards, his body flipping into a perfect backflip which made me wonder how he got good at this. Was he a diver? A swimmer? The cheering crowd held their breath until he hit the water, smoothly, and came up for a gasping laugh of air.

He cheered, spitting pool water and splashing. A handful of people around the pool jumped in with him, roaring with laughter and I stood there and watched. It was so hard to be watching this when I knew what my own reality was.

Was that cruel of myself? To dive into my own hatred? My own truth rather than throw my clothes aside and jump in and forget?

No. Not really. Maybe, a little.

I tipped my bottle back and drank heartily, feeling it spill past my lip and down my chin. I would never be drunk enough to forget all the things I've seen and will have to see soon. These people, jumping and cheering and lost in their bacchanal, had never seen the horrors I had. This is what a normal life is supposed to be like.

I drank more until my bottle was empty and my stomach full and hot. I could feel the alcohol trying to work its magic as Brent Maxwell left the pool and was handed a towel to dry his hair and shorts. He padded barefoot across the patio and into the house with Bridgette on his arm. I motioned to Blondie that I'd be going inside to get another drink and she nodded, already in Winker's lap near the pool. This was their night to be free, their night to forget and I wished I could do the same.

But I still had to drive home. I couldn't black out, I couldn't go too hard as much as I desired a simple hour to forget but that was for my dreams later. It was only a little after ten forty-five and I had a curfew of midnight. I could get slightly more drunk now and not have another drink for the rest of the night to be okay enough to get home. I didn't need a cop pulling me over and handing me right over to John. I still wasn't sure who he had in the police department and I should've asked Ronaldo but that would've been a long list of names and faces even he hadn't been sure about.

I headed inside the beautiful home. It reminded me of Blondie's basement, pretty white and clean, but there was a rich wood bar with dark panels covering the floors. Leather couch, large television, bookcases of family pictures and precious artifacts from a whole and intact family. I went to the bar, grabbed a red cup and filled it a fourth of the way with the clearest liquor and poured a mixer the rest of the way. I swirled the contents together before taking a big gulp. It burned far worse than the gatorade.

"Oh my god, Blaire, hey!"

The voice made me turn and I spluttered on my drink as Bridgette came bounding forward. I swallowed whatever was left in my mouth, wiping my lips with the back of my hand before saying, "Hey!"

"I didn't think you'd show," she said truthfully and I gave her a confused look. She clarified quickly with, "Cass said you weren't gonna come out! Told me she was going to drag you out." She laughed and I forced a smile because it sounded exactly what Blondie had intended on doing if I'd said no. "We haven't seen you out for a while since, well..." She sighed and shook her head. The words unspoken were easy to decipher. The name was left off her tongue, left out of a lot of people's mouths. Pandora. Always Pandora. "I'm glad you're here. Have you met...?"

Bridgette looked over her shoulder and let out a laugh, grabbing her boyfriend by the arm and dragging him forward. "This is Brent, the life of the party."

"Hi, I'm Blaire," I said, introducing myself and Brent smiled.

"I know who you are."

I frowned, my head was already feeling lighter than it had earlier and my frown fell into a smile. "Huh?"

"Cass doesn't shut up about you," muttered Bridgette.

"Your face was on the news, too," said Brent, "back when all the Gretchen shit went down." He shook his head and wiped a hand over his brows. He looked clammy under the dimmed basement lights. "Insane that all happened, my god."

"Were you all close?" I asked the pair.

Bridgette nodded. "All the shit that's gone down this year, it's good to see everyone out tonight, you know?" She touched my arm gently with a little smile. "It's good to see you. I thought I saw you at Cass's party but that night was pretty much a blur."

Brent wrapped an arm over her shoulders. "I'm pretty sure I was blacked the minute we finished flip cup."

"Which was ten minutes in."

Brent chuckled and looked down at my drink. "Whatcha got?" I held it out and he helped himself to a sip. When he pulled the cup away he made a face, laughing. "Fuck, that's bad."

I took the cup back with a smile as I rolled my eyes. "Good enough to get down!"

He nodded in agreement and motioned to Bridgette to head over to the bar. "I'll see you later, Blaire, glad to see you out!"

I nodded back and watched him leave with his girlfriend. It seemed I was not an anonymous face here as I thought. I was known in these people's eyes and somehow, that made me feel sick. Nausea rippled over my skin and I forced my way through the crowd and outside where the fresh air coated my skin in cold. Another life would be stripped away from them, another face from class.

I breathed in deeply, discarding my cup in the grass. I dug deeply within my bag and pulled out my cigarettes. I was quick to light one, dragging deeply until all I could feel was the tight burn in my lungs. A dangerous calm settled over my skin and I bent down, grabbing my cup and downing the rest of the burn. It was enough to make me gag but I kept it down and tracked my way back inside.

It was only a little past eleven. I had to be home before midnight and I knew I'd feel drunk in minutes once the alcohol rumbled to life. But I needed to pee. I followed the hallways until I found the line headed to the bathroom. I leaned against the wall, feeling farther and farther away from the loud music and the restless bodies. The hallway was dark save for string lights taped to the wall above our heads. There were at least three people ahead of me and because there didn't seem to be any other bathrooms, I stayed put and waited.

The line moved through one person in seven minutes, which felt more like a lifetime. I was beginning to feel tired, my eyes blinking to keep myself focused. It'd been a long day, an even longer week. I don't think I'd had one night of true unbroken sleep in the past few months alone.

When the line moved again, I felt a shiver run up my neck. It was so subtle I nearly didn't feel it. It happened again, like I was standing underneath a vent and I turned. When I spun around, the world fell and shifted, gray splattering the walls and my vision.

Standing amongst the gray and the frozen people was a familiar face. He looked around, brows furrowed deeply and his lips pressed into a thin lined frown. When his eyes shifted over the people and found mine, it sent him back a step in shock when I blinked and opened my mouth.

"Blaire?" whispered Brent Maxwell. "What's–what's going on?"

some shorter chaps here until we get to my favorite arc <333 aka the package arrival!!!!!!! any guesses as to what's gonna happen w brent / the package / the end in general? bc the end is coming.......

blaire seeing brent // brent seeing blaire:

pls pls vote / comment !!!!! xoxo