Get Even (Don’t Get Mad)

FIVE HOURS LATER, KITTY SAT PATIENTLY ON AN UNFINISHED table in her uncle’s furniture warehouse. She took a deep breath. The smell of wood shavings and linseed oil reminded her of childhood, when she’d spent hours playing in the dark recesses of the work space while her mom helped out in the office. She always felt safe here, which is probably why she’d chosen it as the secret meeting place for DGM.

A chair creaked as Margot checked her watch for the fifth time in the last twenty minutes. She sighed heavily, as if Olivia’s lateness was somehow unexpected. “She’s never this late.”

“She’s always this late,” Bree corrected.

“She’ll be here.” Inside, Kitty was as jittery as Margot, but she tried to keep her voice calm. She was their leader. She had to act like it.

A knock echoed through the warehouse. One rap, a pause, then three more knocks, hollow and deep.

“Finally,” Margot muttered.

Kitty threw a steel bolt on the heavy metal door, and cracked it just enough for someone to slip inside.

“Sorry!” Olivia skittered across the concrete floor, teetering on her sky-high heels. “My bus was late.”

“Your bus is always late,” Bree said.

Olivia flounced into an open chair and cast a sidelong glance at Bree. “Not all of us get to drive Daddy’s brand-new Lexus,” she said, her tone icy.

“Cut it out, you guys,” Kitty said. “That’s not why we’re here.” Olivia and Bree got along about as well as toothpaste and orange juice, and sometimes Kitty felt like she spent the majority of their meetings keeping them in their respective fight corners.

“Why are we here?” Bree asked. She tipped her chair back and propped her boots on the table. “Another target? Please tell me we’re going after Amber Stevens.”

“No!” The word practically exploded from Margot’s mouth.

Bree swung around, clearly taken aback. “Why not? Amber’s the biggest cowbag at school. If anyone could use a massive bitch slap, it’s her.”

“Not yet,” Margot said, a tremor in her voice. “I’ll tell you when it’s time to go after Amber.”

Bree opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it and turned her attention to her fingers, chipping off flecks of blue nail polish.

Olivia raised her hand. “So why did you call the meeting, Kitty?”

“I didn’t.” Kitty nodded toward Margot. “She did.”

Without a word, Margot placed her laptop on the table. The thinnest notebook Kitty had ever seen, it fired up in an instant, and Margot opened a browser window without connecting to a wireless signal.

“Damn,” Bree said. “Where did you get that, the CIA?”

“Department of Defense, actually,” Margot said. “My parents’ new prototype. Three-terabyte solid-state disk, thumbprint identification, bulletproof casing, and a Core i13 processor that won’t hit the general marketplace for at least another two years.”

Olivia gaped. “That is so hot.”

Margot stepped aside so they could see the screen. “Behold, our next target.”

Kitty, Bree, and Olivia all leaned in to get a good look at the guy on Margot’s computer. He was lanky and blond, and wore an Abercrombie and Fitch sweatshirt and a backward Arizona Cardinals cap. His face was heavily dotted with acne, his smile wide and angular.

“Who is he?” Olivia asked.

“Ronny DeStefano.”

Olivia shook her head. “Never heard of him.”

“I saw him at school yesterday,” Bree said. “In a ’Maine Men shirt. Looked like a new recruit.”

“He is,” Margot said. “Just transferred.”

Kitty glanced up at Margot, suddenly on guard. “How can he already be on our hit list if he just got here?”

Margot toggled to a video player. “Does she look familiar?”

The jostling video clip started up as Margot hit the space bar, revealing a face so close to the screen you could see the crocodile pattern of his skin. It pulled away and revealed Ronny, smiling ear to ear. He talked to the camera in a raspy whisper. “Dudes, you’re not going to believe this fucking hot chick in my bed.”

He stepped aside to reveal a half-naked girl in the bed behind him. She lay on her back wearing only a pair of jeans, the dark skin of her breasts bare to the camera. Her eyes were half-open, mascara and liner smudged to full-scale raccoonage.

All the warmth drained out of Kitty’s body. “Oh my God,” she whispered, her throat constricting as if it didn’t want to say her name. “It’s Mika.”

“Mika?” Ronny asked, his voice slimy. “Do you want to make out with me?”

Mika nodded, reaching up for him. “Mm-hm.”

“What’s that?” he asked. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I want,” Mika panted. “Make out.”

Ronny pushed his lips to hers, planting a sloppy kiss all over her face.

Totally fucked up as she was, Mika kissed him back and pulled his body down on top of her. After a second, Ronny pushed himself up, and Kitty half-hoped he was going to do something decent, like cover her up and take her home.

Instead, he turned to the camera and gave an exaggerated thumbs-up while Mika began to paw at his shirt. “And that, gentlemen, is a wrap. You said I couldn’t bag a Cali girl within three months of getting here and I totally faced you. The bet is won. I believe you owe me a hundred dollars each, payable in cash. Suckas!”

Then he switched off the camera and the screen went blank.