The Liberator (A Dante Walker Novel) (Entangled Teen) by Victoria Scott Page B

pushed me into a bedroom covered in reds and blacks, she turns on me. “Look, I was a little messed up yesterday, so I let it go that I didn’t know who you were. But I’m not now,” she states. “Let’s start with what the hell were you doing in my sister’s room?”
    “Such salty language,” I tsk , trying to refrain from yawning, because seriously, this girl is boring me.
    Aspen steps closer in an attempt to intimidate yours truly, but that so isn’t happening.
    “I came to see you, not her,” I offer, remembering I have to befriend this girl for the sake of the assignment. “I didn’t know which room was yours.”
    “Now you do,” she says, breaking eye contact. I decide the gesture means she’s nervous, which tells me even though she’s acting all Fearless Woman, I must make her uncomfortable. And that means, my friends, that it’s time to spew lies.
    “Aspen, listen, your dad and my dad work together. I was sent over to make nice with you so that Pops will get a leg up. But I’d rather saw my own arm off than be his damn pawn. So I decided instead I’d come over and make your life hell.” I grab the cigarettes from her nightstand, pull one out, and light it. “I’ve since decided I don’t fucking care enough to do even that.”
    One corner of Aspen’s mouth quirks upward. “Such salty language.”
    I grin and offer her a cigarette from her own pack, knowing Charlie would not be pleased to see me full on smoking. But hey, she’s out partying, right? Aspen takes the cigarette. “Shouldn’t we be off to the playground?”
    “We’re out for winter break.” Aspen sits on her bed and stares out the window, taking long pulls on her cigarette. I follow her gaze and notice the mountains look larger from here. Less like titties and more like mom boobs. I plop down on a black suede chair in the corner and admire the silver studs along its curved back. It’s very Adam Levine.
    Aspen glances back at me and the small diamond in her nose catches the light. “So you hate your old man?”
    I already know Aspen despises her own dad. I mean, maybe I’m wrong, but something tells me when you flip your parent the bird, you’re kind of over them. Remembering this, I say, “If I could use him as shark chum, I would.”
    Aspen laughs hard and clean, like there’s nothing holding her back. “I feel ya.”
    Blowing a perfect ring of smoke into the air, I inspect her room closer. Part of bringing this girl in means knowing what would motivate her to live a purer lifestyle. And there’s no better place to start, I decide, than studying her natural habitat.
    Her bed is queen-sized, even though she could easily fit three kings in here. And her floor is covered in black carpet, which I’m certain she picked out. A miniature crystal chandelier hangs from the center of the ceiling, and all along the walls are splashes of red and white. Near the soaring window is an enormous black leather beanbag. Overall, the room is designed for a rock star and looks similar to a deck of playing cards.
    I can’t help thinking Charlie would like the bold red. That maybe this is the room she’d actually like to have, even though everyone would rather picture her in something pink and sparkly.
    Eyeing the area near the beanbag, I notice there are little trinkets on the window ledge. I stand from the pimp chair and move across the room. Aspen sees what I’m headed toward and leaps to her feet.
    “Those are mine,” she says, and I’m surprised at the possessiveness in her voice.
    Ignoring her, I edge closer. They’re music boxes, I realize. Well, not boxes, actually. More like just the little mechanical parts of music boxes, all silver cords and string. On the side of each device is a little crank. I want to turn one so bad, but suddenly I feel like my hands are too big. I glance at Aspen who’s standing close by, her face lined with worry. She flicks her cigarette into a chrome trash can like she never wanted it in the