The Revenge Playbook by Rachael Allen Page A

don’t mean to yell, but that’s kind of how it comes out. I am so angry I’m pretty sure there is steam coming out of my ears. “I can’t believe those jerks have a list! Am I on it?” I don’t give Liv a chance to answer. “Of course I’m on it. I just got dumped. I can’t believe they put me on a list.”
    â€œI don’t actually know who’s on it,” says Liv. “I didn’t get to see it.”
    â€œWell, I know how to find out. Where’s Weston?” I think I saw him watching a fight in the front yard.
    Liv catches me by the wrist. “We aren’t supposed to know. You can’t say anything to him.”
    â€œI can’t know something like this and not do something about it!” It comes out louder than I mean it to again, and this time people hear. And not just any people. Cheerleader people. Crap.
    A few of the girls flit over, all raised eyebrows and sideways glances at each other. Aubrey leads the charge, putting a hand on my arm and cocking her blonde head to the side in concern.
    â€œAre you okay, sweetie? Is it about Weston?”
    â€œHe totally sucks,” says Chloe.
    Beth nods fervently. “The whole squad hates him for what he did to you.”
    â€œI’m fine, y’all, really. I am so over him,” I say with a winning smile.
    Liv stands at my side, but they aren’t really acknowledging that she’s there. High school caste system in action. Chloe and Beth are giving me sad, hopeful looks. Sad because that’s what they’re pretending to be. Hopeful because they’re failing. They are actually prissy debutante hags who would like nothing more than to see me go “crazy train” over Weston in public.
    â€œDo you want to go somewhere and talk about it?” asks Beth.
    I think I’ve had about all the heart-to-hearts I can take for the night.
    â€œNah. I’m off to find my next victim.”
    â€œText me if you need anything,” says Aubrey, who is actually pretty great to talk to even if she can’t keep a secret to save her life.
    â€œI will. Wish me luck.” I grin at them before I walk away.
    I kind of said that stuff to get away from them, but boy-finding really was part of my plan for tonight. Plus, Weston totally deserves it since he broke up with me over a freaking list.
    The kitchen is the heart of any party, so that’s where I head first. There are not one but two kegs—the guys have really gone all out this time, and the winding beer line is where I begin my search for my next boyfriend. I have to work fast. Whoever moves on first wins.
    Being on a guy search makes me feel like I’m some kind of robot girl. I can practically see the info on each boy pop up in my view screen as I assess the candidates. There’s a guy from my health class pumping the keg.
    Terry Hanes. Blond hair. Track team. Kind of goofy. Expiration date: five months from now. Meh. I think he has horrible breath.
    The guy standing next to him with an empty cup, I’ve known since second grade. When he used to sneak behind the cubbies and eat glue. He hasn’t changed a whole lot since then. I’m kind of surprised he got an invite. And is that a faint white residue I detect on his lips? Hell. No.
    In the dining room, Big Tom tortures some rookies with forties duct-taped around their wrists.
    â€œThis is the sorriest game of Edward Fortyhands I’ve ever seen. Mason, I had no idea you were such a little bitch.”
    He pushes one guy, Mason, I guess, in the shoulder. The bottle slips out of Mason’s mouth and beer spills down his shirt.
    â€œI gotta pee,” whines Mason in a voice that makes me fear for Casey’s mom’s dining roomchairs.
    â€œWell, then I guess you better drink faster.”
    Some guy vomits in the corner, and Mason gets a reprieve.
    â€œVomiting is an immediate disqualification,” yells Big Tom.
    I stifle my own gag