Brenda wanted a normal school year. Instead her mom died.
Salma needed space from her sister and terrible ex. Or else she'd lose her mind.
Delilah didn't think she'd have any more problems after moving far from her hometown. That was until she becam...
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❝Listen, child—if you're at a party with a hundred people and one of them is the devil, he'll be the last one you'd suspect.❞
-Dean Koontz, Deeply Odd
🌥ZIYAN 🌥
Delilah was on a call when I woke up. The shrill of Clive was on the other end, forcing me to put my head deeper into my pillow. I couldn't stand his laughter, his brash personality, or the fact that he was around Delilah so much that he might as well count as her shadow.
"You lost so much weight," she complimented. "You're a skinny legend."
"Forget trying to be a skinny legend. I wanna be a fat myth," he hooted. "Bussy so good it gives your heart cholesterol."
They howled like a pack of hyenas at a joke I couldn't make sense of. I felt like a senior citizen, lost at the new slang the cool, hyper kids were used to using.
Groaning, I said, "I felt better not knowing about the existence of your bussy, Clive."
"Ooh, who is it that you're talking to? They know about me."
It dawned on me then that I wasn't visibly on screen from the way Delilah was holding the camera. Part of me wondered if she was doing that on purpose. I tried to not take offense at the way she was keeping me hidden, a secret she didn't want to share with her friend.
I missed half of the exchange they had between each other, drifting back to sleep until Delilah's voice ripped me back to consciousness.
"You messy bitch could never deserve that title."
"I'm not going to reply to that."
"You—"
"Can you please take this scream fest outside?"
"Who—ohmigod, Delilah, you're the messy bitch! Is that your roommate in the room with you? You're sleeping around with a roommate? I swear, that house is like an episode of the Real World every time I get a chance to keep up with you guys. Someone should really put a camera in there."
"Shut up, it's not like that trashy MTV show."
"Don't call it trashy. It's a classic."
"You call everything a classic. You'd call tinfoil vintage if given the chance."
"Tinfoil? Of all the possible picks you could've gone with, you went with a kitchen product. Be more creative."
She rolled her eyes, finally landing her gaze on me and seeing the frown that was taking form on my face. She didn't pay it much attention.
"Who is it?" Clive begged to know. "Oooh, don't tell me you actually went after him after he kissed you in the car—"
