Roman himself didn't give a shit whether the fireplace should be marble or brick, or whether or not the throws were Ralph Lauren, of even if there should be any throws in the first place. Parker was the only one out of the four who seemed to give a shit, so he was usually the one who handled all the arrangements.
"Nothing," Roman responded automatically.
Parker didn't say anything; he just waited.
As predicted, Roman elaborated a moment later. "Just thinking about how that girl's faring," he admitted smugly. "The snake was genius."
"You, my friend, have a serious case of schaudenfreude." Parker motioned to the bartender, who immediately hurried over with an ice-cold soda. Unlike Roman, he didn't believe in drinking in the (early) afternoon.
Roman was so delighted that Marisa (Maria?) would be out of his sight and sufficiently punished that Parker's wry tone didn't even dampen his unusually high spirits. "So?" He downed the rest of his whiskey. "You say it like it's a bad thing." He looked around the room, finally noticing the conspicuous absence of his other friends. "Where's Carlo and Zack?"
Parker shrugged. "I'm not their babysitter, but if I had to guess, I would say Adriana's giving them an earful right now."
Roman smirked. He'd known all about Adriana's plan to scope out a suitable candidate for the challenge Saturday night; unfortunately for her, he'd already heard about the party and only pretended not to. Besides, Carlo had been oddly distracted that night and didn't put up much resistance when Roman decided to go to Stan's house.
He settled comfortably into his seat, secure in the knowledge that he was, after all, Roman Fiori, and nothing significant happened in his town without his knowledge or consent.
* * *
A week passed by—the longest, most miserable, most paranoid week I had ever endured. By the third day, I had developed an almost masochistic attitude towards the other students' abuse. I no longer went to school early, nor did I hide out in the library. I also refused to take pity from the few teachers who tried to discreetly help me.
Instead, I went about my business as best I could, even though there was never more than a five-minute break between the harassment. It happened everywhere and at any time: in the classroom, the DC, the halls, the bathroom, during school assemblies and morning announcements and even while taking tests. Just the other day, I had been accused of cheating and had gotten my math test taken away.
That had been hard to swallow. I had always prided myself on my grades, but my concentration was slipping. That wouldn't do. I suffered the abuse because it actually made me feel better for the cowardliness I'd been cocooned in the past year.
I could tell my resistance was baffling to the others, who had never had much trouble driving everyone else away.
Still, at least it was Friday afternoon, which meant there would be two days worth of reprieve until it all started again.
I bowed my head, letting the warmth of the sun wash over me even as a slight chill signaling the arrival of fall floated through the air, gentle but crisp. It was getting hard hiding everything from my parents. I hadn't told them what happened, of course—I didn't want them to worry—but despite my best efforts to clean myself up before I went home, they were getting suspicious, and my excuses were growing flimsier and less believable by the day.
Suddenly, I felt a vibration in my bag, and with a small frown, I pulled out my cell phone. An unfamiliar number flashed across the screen.
I was confused. No one ever called me except for my family and Venice. I communicated with my old friends solely through emails, Facebook, and text messages, though those had become few and far in between.
"Hello?" I asked warily.
"Hi, is this Maya?" a rather familiar voice asked.
I hesitated. "Yes?" It came out more like a question than I would've liked.
"Hey, this is James."
My eyes widened in surprise. James? The same James I'd met all that time ago? Actually, now that I thought about it, it had barely been a week.
God, Stan’s party felt like forever ago.
"Oh, hi," I said, even more confused. Why was he calling me now? "Um…how did you get my number?" I immediately wanted to take back that stupid question. Though it was a perfectly reasonable one, it also sounded kind of rude.
James, though, apparently didn't think so. "I got it from my friend who knew Venice," he admitted sheepishly. "I hope that wasn't too forward."
"No…no, it's ok." I cleared her throat. "So…" I trailed off, hoping he would indicate why, exactly, he had called.