Beautiful Elixir (Beautiful Oblivion #3) by Addison Moore Page B

but their visceral response, Mother Nature’s polygraph, has long since ratted them out. They have all seen my quivering thighs, that disgusting wanton look on my face that screamed for Caleb while Keith was deep inside of me. Keith was a cheater in the flesh, but I suppose so was I where it really counted—in the heart.
    A pretty girl in front raises her hand, Carmen Getty, whose nickname is you guessed it, Come and Getty It. Honestly, I don’t know what the hell her parents were thinking.
    “Yes, Carmen,” I say it even in my best teacher voice. I often felt like more than a mentor to these girls, I feel like faculty.
    “I think your campaign is going real well. I mean all of the ideas we put together were delivered flawlessly. The magazines, the Craigslist ads, the box of dildos sent to those brats.”
    “His sisters are angels. That was a regrettable error on my part.” My eyes track across the blank vapid faces staring back at me for evidence of a twitch, a wink given by the true perpetrator. Someone in this room has taken to being my personal renegade savior, but who would have the balls to step out of bounds? At the very least, they’re arming Keith with the ammo to take me down. All these witnesses? Of course, the finger would point back to me. It’s brilliant, really. If I wasn’t so pissed at him, I’d congratulate him for putting his brain to use. “Now, it’s time for round two. The rules are the same. In no way shape or form are any of you allowed to initiate any of these tactics on my behalf. Understand?” Their heads bounce up and down like a box full of bobble-heads. “There will be legal consequences if any of you cross this line. I’m already up to my eyeballs in litigation hell. I’d hate to drag you along for the ride.” Lie. There is nothing I would love more than to drag the preppy princess who saw fit to initiate our drunken midnight musings and make them my reality—Keith’s nightmare. My eyes close a brief moment as I process the thought. It’s becoming harder to lie to myself by the minute. “I don’t simply hate Keith. I care enough to see that he gets the right dose of revenge. And you girls are here to help me think up ways to dish it.”
    “So”—Mel gives a thunderous clap—“let’s brainstorm and really get Keith Stearns’ blood boiling.” She rubs her hands together as if relishing the idea of sawing off Keith’s proverbial balls.
    The think tank begins to stir, and, before we know it, the girls are churning out one vitriolic idea after another. Glue his keyhole shut. Sink enough sugar in his gas tank until cotton candy shoots from his tailpipe. Keith drives a Maserati so that will be particularly painful. But the rest of the ideas sort of fizzle in comparison to what’s already been done—to what he’s done.
    Cut up his clothes? Hire a male stripper to regale him with his package? Send him a positive pregnancy test (purchased from eBay of course.) All of these scream seventh grade caliber, ridiculous, slimy like I-have-to-take-a-long-hot-shower-when-I-get-home kind of feel.
    Charlie raises her hand and bucks on her bottom like she’s about to piss her pants. “You can write Keith Stearns is an asshole across the student lawn in shaving cream.”
    “No, stupid.” Mel rolls her eyes. I hate it when she puts down the other girls like that. It’s one thing to have a thought, but I’ve always been consciously aware of how I treat my sisters, and calling them names is never something I would do. I glower at Mel as she flips her thick strands of straggly hair. “She should do it with gasoline.” The room fills with oohs and ahhs. “Then set it on fire.”
    Applause breaks out over her genius.
    “Interesting,” I say, negating to mention the fact the university would most likely frown upon that, right before they issue me a big fat expulsion.
    “I have another one.” Charlie sits with her spine straight as a pin, cutting a dark glare to Mel. For