The Class of 2005 is excited to attend the Monte Clara High ten-year reunion, which has been billed as the party of the decade. But at an event perfect for rekindling lifelong friendships and reminiscing over the teenage years, one former classmate has plotted something way more sinister.
Everyone’s curiosity is piqued when a mystery person masquerades as their high school mascot and posts strange videos on social media. Attendance numbers swell to record levels in anticipation of the big reveal: Who is Blue Devil?
Before the night is over, someone will cheat with an old flame… someone will reveal a dark secret… and someone just might die.
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“Omigod, you again? First my sister, now you? That’s twice this week!” The number blew up Yara’s cell phone, one she knew all too well. “Sorry, not anymore. We are done.” Yara placed the phone back in her purse. She stuffed her mouth with trail mix, mumbling, “And, sis, I’ll be with you in a bit. I have a show to watch.”
Yara turned back to the potential crime scene unfolding before her. Marcus was the star of a one-man Improv, marching up and down the steps that led to her now former apartment.
“Yara! Why the f*** did you do this to me? Why?” He disappeared back up the steps, his third time. “You ruined my life!”
“Stupid man. Just like the rest of his species.” Yara shook her head, munching from the bag of trail mix while enjoying the free show. Marcus had a porous brain no bigger than the thimble d*** curled up behind the zipper of his Hertz Rent-a-Car khaki pants. Like any other fool with a penis and no forethought, he wore his work clothes and nametag to the party.
Although Yara had rolled up the car windows, she could still hear the bass in Marcus’s thumps against the apartment door. Again, he hightailed it back downstairs and stood underneath a window with no curtains, a hand cupped over his eyes, staring, as if Yara would pull a David Copperfield and appear from behind the glass. Little did he know Yara was watching the public meltdown from her driver’s seat while parked next to a mega-sized truck that slightly concealed her Kia Optima. With the last of her belongings in the trunk and back seat, Yara was ready to drive off and head back to her old area code for good.
But once she caught Marcus barreling up and down the stairs toward her empty apartment, forward progress paused for a moment. It had been months since she last saw him. How he found her address, she had no idea. It didn’t matter; Yara didn’t live there anymore. If he had showed up five minutes earlier, though, Yara probably would’ve become an unwilling participant in his ratchet reality show.
“Yara!” he cried. “You hear me calling you?” An average idiot could surmise that no one occupied apartment 212 anymore. Since her parking spot was empty, too, that should have told him something. Yara had already moved most of her stuff back to Monte Clara, her home city.
Yara glanced at Philip’s picture dangling from the rearview mirror. Her husband stood fearless in his camouflage uniform, holding a rifle with the hard gaze of a warrior accustomed to blood on his hands.
“Looks like I got him, babe,” she said. “I’m pretty sure his wife wasn’t happy.”
“I’m gonna f***ing kill you!” Marcus cried, now bawling. “You hear me?” He picked up a rock, then hurled it at Yara’s old bedroom window, cracking it.
“Mmmm,” she uttered, trying not to explode in laughter. If she somehow found it in her heart to give a damn, she could muster some sympathy for poor Marcus, considering the pain she apparently caused him.
He deserved it, though. His married ass shouldn’t have pursued her in the first place. It’s no wonder men make rash decisions from below the belt instead of the heart and head. Marcus obviously used neither heart nor head, still trying to act like he wasn’t married—when anyone could see the faded circular imprint on his finger. He thought since he wined and dined Yara for close to a month, even lucky enough to come up in her a few times, some kind of love connection had formed. Drunk in love, Marcus even slipped out the L word once, as if a shot of her potent goodies made him more in touch with his emotions.
The fool had said, “I think I’m falling in love with you. I can’t explain it.”
Yara had heard that before. She’d possessed a kind of hypnotic power over grown men as far back as middle school. Yara had put on an Oscar performance for Marcus, but she could never truly reciprocate. The gates to her heart had locked down long ago, reserved for Philip, her high school sweetheart. But Philip was dead.
Right on cue, a black and white rolled up. Two doors swung open at the same time.
Yara whispered, “Geez, finally.”
“Get on the ground, now!” one of the police officers yelled. With two tasers drawn on him, Marcus regained his senses, then dropped to the ground, arms and legs spread. Yara noticed a few nosy heads staring out the windows, probably enjoying the uncensored reality show, too. One cop still locked a taser on Marcus while the other cuffed his wrists behind his back, a knee on his shoulder blades.
Yara dropped the trail mix bag in the passenger seat and started the car. As she eased forward, Marcus spotted her. Snatches of grass pasted to his forehead and lips, he looked like a clown. She smiled and waved at him while his two new friends buried his face in the dirt. Driving off toward the main road, the scene now behind her, Yara thought about the weeks ahead. One particular night stood out.
“I hope I have this kind of fun at the reunion. I’m sure Marcus won’t be the last one.”
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