Bad Nymph by Jackie Sexton

Chapter One
    When we were in seventh
grade Trent and I swore on our graves, our parents’ graves, and whatever other
graves you’re suppose to swear on that if we ever got into a fight that lasted
more than a few days, one of us would have to make silly noises at the other
until they relented. It was our thirteen-year-old friendship insurance.
    Stupid, I know, but I
couldn’t help but think about it as we sat in the hotel room in an awkward
silence, both of us staring at the television screen without seeing anything. I
had this overwhelming urge to turn to him and blow a raspberry. But I had
another overwhelming urge to go dig a hole and die in it.
    Both of those urges managed
to cancel each other out so that I just stared at the football match on the
screen and tried to force it to compute in my brain as entertainment.
    “Touch down!” Martin yelled,
jumping up off the creaky bed with his fists pumped up in the air. On one hand,
I was grateful that Brandon knew what it took to cheer Martin up—or at
least distract him from his anger. But on the other hand, I wasn’t sure how
much longer I could pretend that this was a veritable distraction for me.
Everyone knew I hardly understood the difference between a football and a
basketball. I could tell by the glances I caught Brandon giving me in the
corner of my eye that he knew what I was thinking about.
    Because he had walked in on
us, after all.
    ‘ God, how embarrassing ,’ I thought, my face turning red at just the
memory of it. I wasn’t the kind of girl that went around giving out blowjobs in
the back of dingy, beat-up vans. Or at least, that’s what I had thought. But
considering I never knew that it was an option for me before, how could I have
really known?
    I dropped my eyes down to
the cash still clenched between my fingers. Two-hundred dollars. It all seemed
so surreal.
    “You’re a very good singer,
Bailey,” Brandon said, cutting through the loud, incomprehensible noise of the
TV. I met his gaze, a tender smile on his face. Well, at least he wasn’t
mocking me.
    “Thanks,” I muttered. I
leaned over and put the money on the nightstand next to my phone, embarrassed
that I had held onto it for so long. My cell buzzed against the chipboard, and
I picked it up to look at it, seeing my second missed text from Aamir .
    “Everything OK? U guys still
coming?”
    I shut down my phone, a lump
stuck in my throat as I thought about Aamir’s sweet
face, and how easily he had played me for a fool.
    “Who’s that?” Brandon asked.
    “Uh…just Sierra. She said
she’s excited to see everyone tomorrow.”
    Nick shifted in his bed,
looking up from the book he was reading. “She’s meeting us in Atlanta?”
    “Where have you been?”
Brandon laughed, leaning over from our bed to tug at one of Nick’s dark dreads.
    “I dunno ,”
he mumbled, dropping his gaze back down to the book. “No one do anything rash.
I don’t feel like explaining this to another innocent.”
    “Is that what you call us?”
I couldn’t help but let out a small giggle. Nick just grunted but Brandon
nodded vigorously with a wide toothy grin.
    “I know, it’s totally
ridiculous.”
    I had an urge to ask who
made up these weird terms, but I bit my lip and stopped myself. Martin was
finally in a good mood, and I didn’t need to create any more tension between
myself and Trent. I settled into the pillow on the bed, and, taking a note from
Nick, picked my book out of the backpack I had settled on the floor by my feet.
Still, I could hardly get into it. The leading lady just got hit by a car.
Great. I was a ten feet away from a demon and I just slept with my best friend
who just so happens to be a werewolf.
    Really, hard to one up that.
    I heard the door slam and I
looked around to see that Trent was missing from his place beside Nick.
    “Where did he—”
    “He…had to go take care of
something,” Nick said quietly, his eyes trained on his book.
    “Oh,” I said lamely,