Riot Rules by Callie Hart

Author:Callie Hart [Hart, Callie]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2020-12-31T00:00:00+00:00

25

CARRIE

I’ve never seen so many people walking down the mountain before. It’s twilight—the sun dipped below the tree line a good twenty minutes ago—but the last rays of light are clinging on, eking over the mountains to the west, making the horizon glow an angry orange. There’s a buzz of excitement in the air. The last time I felt like this, I was seven and my mom was walking me to the governor’s gardens at Ebony Briar to watch the Fourth of July fireworks. The fireworks were always a big deal in Grove Hill, and she never wanted to go, but this particular year, she relented for some reason and took me.

I was boiling over with excitement. Our entire street headed over at the same time, and everyone was laughing and chattering. People were smiling. Ahead of us, someone had a saxophone and was playing as he walked at the head of our little procession. Excitement fluttered in my belly at the thought of the small fair the governor hosted on the grounds of his home. There were games and hot dogs. Cotton candy and cherry slushies. This was before Jason, mind you. My mother used to laugh all the time. She and I used to do things together. When she met him, everything changed. Just after my nineth birthday, my memories go from vibrant, vivid snapshots of my happy experiences with her, to greyed out, dim, black and white still frames full of pain.

Tonight, everything is as vibrant as when I was seven. Presley walks beside me, anxiously chewing on the inside of her cheek. Mara’s been trying to be a better friend to the both of us of late; she showed up at my door around six and announced that she was getting ready with us, which she hasn’t done in forever. She got out her stupidly expensive collection of makeup and went to town on Pres, applying a smoky black eye shadow with a slash of metallic green right across the center of her lid, and the effect is mesmerizing. I styled Pres’ hair for her into a sea of auburn waves. The dress she picked out for herself—a short black number with panels cut out of the sides, exposing a good amount of skin. She looks phenomenal.

Mara’s dress is all-black lace. It covers her arms down to her wrists and rises up her neck so that it almost reaches her chin. It’s short as hell, though, and practically see-through. She’s wearing a tiny slip underneath it that barely covers her tits and ass.

It goes against everything I stand for, but I’m head-to-heel in black, too. The girls begged me to steer away from my bright colors, just this once, so that we’d all match, and I could hardly say no. It felt good to be hanging out again, the three of us, prancing around and giggling like we used to when we first arrived at the academy. I’m wearing a skin-tight black camisole, high waisted black

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