When Perfect Meets Crazy

Chapter 12: 12 - Pull up a chair, Lucifer and take notes from a pro

I liked school. How could I not? I had the best grades in my year. Teachers loved me. I never got in

trouble and although I was freakishly smart, I still sat at the top of the social pyramid. I was an all-

rounder like I was raised to be. There was little to not like. On days like today, however, I found myself

nursing a strong dislike for the establishment that forced me to know the walking headache that was

Claire Evans. Royal pain in the ass did not come close to embodying her.

Under normal circumstances, I could tolerate her. I had learned to. Our friendship circles overlapped

enough to ensure that and unlike most people, I knew she wasn’t all hearts-and-flowers like she

pretended to be. I had experienced it first-hand but confronting her would’ve been dirty and ugly. She

would’ve painted herself as the helpless victim while I would come off as the wicked stepsister who

didn’t want her at the ball. It was just easier to do the right thing; pretend to put our grievances behind

me.

“I’m just saying, we should totally...”

She flashed a wide all-encompassing smile that had me immediately tuning her out. My gaze wandered

about the coffee shop and I found myself wondering just how I had gotten stuck in prom committee.

Ah... yes, the awards.

I sighed.

Claire Anne High had a tradition of hosting an award ceremony before prom. It was supposed to take

the edge off. The stress. The expectations. The finality. Like most schools, we give the normal

yearbook awards but unlike most schools, Claire Anne High makes a big deal of it. The fact that there

was a semi-formal ceremony dedicated to handing out fancy trophies to the title holders said it all. It

was all in good fun though. The only problem was, almost every year, the prom committee would create

a new award for someone who had been outstanding in remarkable way that just didn’t fit into any of

the pre-established categories.

Last year, we had only one new category; Best Supporting Actress. She was pretty and funny with

shiny voluminous hair that everyone envied. Claire claimed it was thanks to her Iranian heritage. Cue

my eye roll. She also happened to be best friends with the girl who won Most Admirable. The reason

she got Best Supporting Actress was because of that and because she was everybody’s friend. She

was the approachable kind of person everyone got along with but also knew to never mess with. Like

an eccentric aunt with the scathing tongue of a hardened sailor. Personally, I liked her. It also helped

that she couldn’t stand Claire.

This year unfortunately, I qualified for the unknown category. The nicknames the rest of the school had

for me but thought I didn’t know of alone made it very clear; Have-it-all Avy, The Fixer, Madam

President, Romanoff. Claire already bagged Most Admirable which meant I had no contenders. No one

to distract them with. Every other person fit in a category in ways that I didn’t. That was the reason I

signed up to be part of the committee. So I could shut down any talk of honoring me, nip it in the

proverbial bud seeing as my mom was definitely not going to approve of an award for something

entirely non-academically oriented. Being at the top of the social pyramid was fine but getting awarded

for it was unacceptable.

“...so really, that’s why we shouldn’t have a band,” she concluded, sitting back like she just delivered an

all-important lecture.

Cue one of my infamous eye rolls. Choosing a DJ over a band did not, by any stretch of imagination,

warrant this emergency meeting nor her five-minute monologue. Definitely not when every other person

had already agreed on band.

“So what do you suggest we have instead, Claire?” the Chair of the committee, Louise, asked.

“I’m just saying.” She shrugged her dainty shoulders, utilizing the full force of her wide innocent looking

eyes. “We’ve been doing the same thing for years. We should switch it up. Get innovative.”

I’d die first before admitting defeat to Claire Evans so I pasted a smile on my face and pretended I

wasn’t fantasizing about slapping her so hard her teeth would come loose.

“You’ve said that already,” I pointed out. “We heard you the first time. The question is do you have any

actual ideas?”

It was only for a fraction of a second but her eyes narrowed in irritation.

“A few, yes but I don’t think I should make the choice for everyone. You should all get to air your views

too,” she replied, smiling with all the innocence of a week old baby.

It was all I could do not to scoff. Pull up a chair, Lucifer. Takes notes from a real pro. This was really all

just because we made the decision without her. Never mind that it wasn’t our fault she was out sick the

day we voted. It was just one vote anyway and the votes for band had been almost unanimous. We

were having a DJ for prom anyways, so it was only fair.

“Well, since you’re so concerned about our opinions I feel like I should remind you that we already

made a choice. Band.” My voice was liberally coated with saccharine.

I was in no mood for her ploys.

Her smile wobbled as she surreptitiously bared her teeth at me. If she wasn’t absolutely serious about

becoming a surgeon, I’d have recommended she try a career in acting. She was that good.

“Okay, Claire. Do you have a DJ in mind?” Louise stepped in placatively. Her gaze met mine in silent

communication over Claire’s shoulder. She was tired and at her wits end, it said. “One that is within our

price range.”

I couldn’t help but snicker. Claire came from money. A lot of it and she never let us forget it. Ever. I had

nothing against her parents’ wealth but there was a limit to how much name dropping you could do

before it started to get annoying. Everyone at Claire Anne was wealthy by normal standards but, of

course, there would always be the much wealthier ones.

It was time to step in. The meeting had gone on for long enough and I had a party to prepare for. While

Claire could run circles around Louise with her double-edged words and innocent smile, she couldn’t

around me.

“Claire,” I began. I clasped my hands on the table top and met her gaze. “We voted on this already. You

weren’t there to vote. We understand that so you get till midnight to come up with an option. Like

Louise said, one that’s within the budget. You’re going to Greg’s party, right? You can tell Emily and

Louise by then,” I proffered. Avy to the rescue, as always. “Whoever you come up with though, keep in

mind that we’ll still have to vote.”

Louise flashed me a look of gratitude. She had to pick her brother up from his ballet class and she was

already running late thanks to the Claire’s antics.

Claire nodded amicably, pasting the most angelic of smiles on her face. She didn’t look like someone

who could hurt even an insect. On the inside however, I knew she was most likely murdering me in the

most gruesome way possible. The girl deserved a Grammy.

The party soon disbanded, everyone heading off in separate directions. To be honest, I knew how

Claire’s tantrum was going to end. We all did. She was going to get her way. She was Claire Evans

after all, master manipulator. I was just happy to be done with her for the day. I had a lot on my plate

and band versus DJ just wasn’t of any importance to me. My very embarrassing crying bout, on the

other hand, was. Masked Idiot conveniently hadn’t shown up since that night. At first, I thought it was a

blessing but I was starting to realize that the more time passed, the more awkward it was going to be Content (C) Nôv/elDra/ma.Org.

whenever we finally meet. Ugh. Why did I have to cry that day?

I slowed the car to a halt, waiting for the light to change. In the meantime, I mentally ran through outfit

options for the party. I settled on a sleeveless top and high waist shorts that made my butt and legs

look great. I shifted gears from neutral just as the lights changed to green but before the car began

moving, a sleek bike shot across the road, running the light that had to have changed on that side. A

sleek bike I recognized. A bike I wished I had never seen before and would never see again. Masked

Idiot.

Before I fully processed what I was doing, I flicked on my turn signal and went after him. Two could play

the stalking game. I needed blackmail material if I was going to get rid of him fast enough and thanks to

my most recent blunder, I wasn’t even sure I could face him ever again. He had seen me with swollen,

red, puffy eyes. No. Just no.

His bike was easy to track. It was the shiniest and there was only one other bike on the road. The fact

that the rider seemed to be wearing a suit however, had me second guessing myself because where

exactly would a criminal wear a suit to? I recognized the helmet too though. It couldn’t be a

coincidence. It had to be him. Where is he going? Apart from Calthorpe hotel -the most expensive hotel

in town- which he definitely couldn’t be going to, the only other things on the street he was headed

towards were office buildings and restaurants. Was he meeting his lawyer maybe?

I wasn’t aware of any law firms in the area but to be fair, I only knew big name law firms. Competitors of

my mom’s firm.

I eased my foot off the pedal as we pulled onto the street. There weren’t as many cars and I didn’t want

him to spot me before I found something useful.

What the...?

I slowed to a stop along the curb as he pulled up at Calthorpe and handed his keys to a valet. Without

the helmet on, I could see his face clearly otherwise I would’ve believed I had followed the wrong

person. The suit he was wearing now made sense but how was he going to get in? Calthorpe was

famous for being ultra-snobby.

I watched, my shock level rising, as a small girl in a white tuxedo eagerly waved him over. The fact that

she had a bodyguard trying and failing to blend in behind her was even more disconcerting. Criminal? I

instantly found myself wondering. A friend from the darker side? She didn’t look like a criminal. She

barely looked ten years old. What the hell was going on? My assessment of him did indicate he was a

rich kid. It was the only thing I was sure of with regards to Masked Idiot but no matter how I looked at it,

a rich kid who engaged in that particular type of illegal activity just didn’t check out. A criminal who

could afford Calthorpe didn’t either. It wasn’t just any hotel. It was the snobbiest of snobby rich people

hotels. What was I missing?

The bodyguard didn’t so much as react as Masked Idiot strolled over to the girl, bestowing on her a

fond smile. Was she a friend? A relative? Were they part of the same country club or whatever other

rich people haunt? Calthorpe was respectable hotel. They wouldn’t house a criminal. Right?

Huffing out a sigh, I fished out my phone and made a beeline for them. It was now or never. I needed

answers and if they went into the hotel, I would lose them. I wouldn’t get past the front desk. Not

without a valid reason. As soon as I was close enough to hear the subject of their conversation, the

bodyguard made a move for his gun.

“...and the auction starts in a little while. We need one more girl to complete our line-up. Or we won’t

raise enough money,” the girl was saying. “We need to make enough money, Ian. We need to auction

more girls.”

The bodyguard held up a hand to warn me off while his other hand found a resting place on the handle

of his gun. It was unnecessary because I was already frozen to the spot. My body had effectively

stopped taking commands.

Auction girls? As in human trafficking? Human freaking trafficking? Fuck. My. Fucking. Life. The last

thing I needed was to be in another compromising situation with Masked Idiot. To witness more of his

illegal activities. To give him more reason to be a pain in my ass. That was if I even managed to make it

out alive because the gun the bodyguard was pulling out made it very clear that my chances were

underwhelming. I downgraded him from bodyguard to armed muscle and possible gang member.

If Masked Idiot was truly just a criminal, one involved in human trafficking, it would explain how he

could afford those watches. The name sneakers. The designer clothes. It would explain why he reeked

of money. It wouldn’t explain his manners but I could pin that down to a strong, possibly religious,

maternal figure in his life. A grandmother perhaps.

Dread washed over me.

That would mean the little girl was a human trafficking kingpin. Why is life being so shitty to me for

heaven’s sake? What normal person randomly walks into a human trafficking conversation in broad

daylight? Human trafficking for heaven’s sake. Real life human trafficking. In our suburban town. It was

even worse than dealing drugs. In some ways, worse than murder.

I sighed in despair. There’s no other explanation. I was clearly cursed.

I was dead if this got out of hand. If Masked Idiot didn’t kill me himself, the bodyguard would and if the

bodyguard somehow didn’t, my parents would definitely do the honors. I was a dead man walking. I

was living on borrowed time. My hourglass of life was clearly going to run out very soon. Illegal fighting

syndicate was bad enough. Human trafficking, however, was a whole new level. The universe was

undeniably out to get me. There was no other explanation. Karma wanted to drive me insane. Not just

regular insane but insane insane. The one where they dose you up on so much drugs all you can do is

breath but they still keep your hands in constraints because you’re just that far gone.

The sound of the safety lock of the gun trained on my chest being taken off brought me back to reality.

Reality had never looked bleaker. Well, not until the bodyguard drew their attention my way. Masked

Idiot, the deceitfully innocent looking child and another paid armed muscle I hadn’t noticed before all

turned to me. I now had two guns trained on my chest area. Nothing to panic about.

Hilarious.

Cue instant tachycardia, sweaty palms and fear choking breathlessness. Two loaded guns pointed at

your heart and the knowledge that you had stumbled on something that could warrant death -or witness

protection if you got lucky- could do that to a girl.

Running was likely to only get me shot if they were powerful enough to not care about an open street

shooting or tackled to the ground if they weren’t. A glance at my above-the-knee skirt informed me that

my outfit wasn’t offering enough protection to risk being tackled on rough hard tar. That and even if, by

some miracle, I managed to escape, Masked Idiot knew my address. I had no choice. I had to face this

come what may.

So I said the only thing I could say, “Fancy running into you here.”