27 | Kidnapped By Bradshaw

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Homecoming went on, and in the process, the crowds filtered in and out with new attendees. More of the soccer girls came through, left, and settled on the outskirts of the partying in favor of resting their feet. It wasn't long before the cafeteria became warm, humid with the sweat of dancing people, and so Rosalie went out into the hallway for the water fountain.

In the midst of cooling off, she walked down to her locker across the building. The wings were all gated off, though, and so she stood staring down the hallway until she heard two familiar voices heading in her direction. She looked down the hall, not seeing anyone until none other than Blake Miles and Joanna Spencer rounded the corner.

"Speak of the devil," Blake said cheerfully.

"Are you talking about me or her?" Rosalie said, pointing to Joanna.

"She calls me The Devil," Joanna explained to Blake, smug as ever. She perched her hands on her hips and grinned at Rosalie. "Right, Killer?"

"I love your pet names for each other," Blake said.

All the heat from the dance swelled back into Rosalie's face. So much for a break to cool off. "They—! They aren't pet names! She's the actual Devil," Rosalie cried, thrusting her hands in Joanna's direction. "Did you completely miss what she did in the auditorium?"

"I have to admit, I was a bit distracted," Blake confessed, gasping in remembrance. He produced his phone from his pocket and tsked under his breath. "My boys found out where I am," he explained.

"Yikes," Joanna hissed. "Keep 'em off our property, man."

"They're a bit protective, you know how it is," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "Though, I doubt they'd set foot in the Bradshaw building. They'll just loiter in the parking lot."

"Yeah, and last time they loitered in our parking lot, Lennie's Maserati was spray painted red," Rosalie said.

Just then, Blake's phone buzzed, and they all gathered around to see what Lucas Birchmeir had to say for himself. "Oh my," Blake hummed, disappointed. "It seems... they've gotten ahold of the football team."

"Jesus Christ," Joanna said under her breath. "If they tear up the parking lot—"

"We should tell the teachers. They can get the police in the parking lot," Rosalie suggested.

They started for the foyer where they knew teachers were posted to keep watch over people entering and exiting. There was a security line to ensure students didn't bring alcohol or drugs into the dance, and Rosalie strode past it to speak to one of her old teachers from sophomore year.

She didn't get far before they heard voices rising up down the hallway. The draft from the open foyer door caused her to pull her arms around her chest, warding off the cold. Joanna frowned, looking out at where a group of people seemed to be flocking out of the cafeteria.

"What's happening?" the teacher asked, alarmed.

"It looks like—" Rosalie started, only to have her voice shrivel up and die. It was the football team. Shouting like they were getting ready for a game chant.

"This is bad, isn't it?" Blake said, voice pitched high with worry. "I don't deal well with conflict," he said, fanning himself with his phone.

"That's what I'm here for," Joanna said, raising her fists.

Rosalie slapped her fists down. "You're terrible at dealing with conflict," Rosalie countered.

Blake's phone buzzed again, and he looked damn near close passing out. He swooned a little, and so Joanna caught him. He draped a forearm against his head and cried, "They think I've been kidnapped!"

"You've got to be shitting me," Rosalie said. He had his phone held off to the side, the derpy anime keychain attached to it clattering against the case. She took the phone.

________

BLAKE: Bradshaw isn't so bad guys.

Could you calm down?

LUCAS: THIS DOESN'T SOUND LIKE YOU I'M TAKING EXECUTIVE ACTION
WHOEVER TOOK YOUR PHONE, PREPARE TO BE VANQUISHED

________

"What the Hell?" Rosalie said over the commotion of the football guys barreling past them and to the door.

"Hurry! We have to go after them!" Joanna cried, shoving Blake back to his feet. "Talk some sense into them!" she ordered, pushing him towards the door. Rosalie hurried out after them, taking the phone with her.

It was dark out in the parking lot, all except for the street lights and the stream of headlights swinging into the parking lot and circling around Bradshaw student vehicles. As Rosalie and Joanna dragged Blake out onto the steps, Rosalie threw her hands up to her hair and cried, "Oh no! We're too late!"

The Knights football team flooded the stairs, hollering up a storm. They were chanting a Knights cheer, fists in the air, marching past the Bradshaw statue with grim purpose. It felt as though they were living through the mob scene in Beauty and the Beast. Soon, several teachers had gathered behind the three of them as an Adams student vehicle pulled up beside the curb.

The driver's door opened.

Lucas Birchmier—the same one who had streaked a football game—stepped out with... a water gun.

The capsule that held the water did not look transparent, either.

Joanna was still trying to hold Blake up when Lucas, dressed head-to-toe in a ninja black outfit, pointed his gun at the steps. Rosalie squeaked in alarm when she realized he was address them.

"Unhand our leader, Spencer! I know you've been tainting his mind!" Lucas shouted. He drew the gun back and pumped it, stepping around the hood of his car. The passenger's seat and the two back doors flung open, and Adams soccer players filed out, screaming, targeting their guns at the Knights. The teachers at the doors started shouting, but it was too late—everyone was screaming at that point because in a matter of seconds, the Bradshaw steps were drenched in blood red paint.

Joanna dragged Blake Miles over to the edge of the steps and pushed him down. She slapped him in the face once, twice, three times to get his attention and said, "Get ahold of yourself, man."

"SHE HAS HIS PHONE!" an Adams football player screamed.

Joanna jolted up, looked back at the football players now targeting their sights on Rosalie. Rosalie screamed in terror, Blake's anime-stickered, anime-key chained phone still in her hand. They started up the stairs in a wave, fake-blood spraying in a shower of red.

Joanna lunged for Rosalie, shoving her back towards the open school doors. Rosalie had her foot on the threshold when something cold and wet slapped across her bare shoulder blades. She turned and got a face-full of it.

Horrified, she stood, arms out with Joanna in front of her, equally drenched in red paint. Beside her, Blake had lunged to his feet, one arm stuck out in front of Joanna to no avail. His appearance was no better.

Rosalie scraped the paint out of her eyes, smearing black mascara with it. It glopped on her eyelashes in clumps, and it didn't take long for her to realize that her dress was far worse off. No... she moaned internally, looking down at the damage. The paint turned pink around her heels.

She was too distracted to realize that Blake was about as angry as she would ever witness. His stone-cold scowl had the Adams boys staggering, weapons raised in surrender. The guy who nailed Blake across the face with paint stammered out a weak apology before Blake marched down and grabbed the super soaker.

Blake chucked it at the steps and stomped on it. His heel broke through the water capsule and sent a cascade of red down the steps. "Don't."

"I- I'm sorry, boss—" the kid stammered, horrified.

Joanna turned back to Rosalie, who was stuck on the fact that Jamie's mother's dress was now drenched in paint. Her hands started to turn numb as all the heat in her body swelled in her chest, constricting her air supply where her throat twisted into a knot. She sniffed, but that was only the start of it.

"J- Jamie's mom made this dress for m- me," she said, lip quivering. Tears collected on her lashes, clumping together with all the paint and mascara.

She looked up and met Joanna's concern with tearful eyes. Joanna's eyes were wide, and whenever that happened, Rosalie realized she was dealing with someone who didn't know how to handle a cryer. Shit.

Rosalie started to apologize for turning into a mess, but at that exact moment, she heard Ashton screaming over the sound of police cars, "GOOSE!"

Dozens of students from the cafeteria were starting to crowd around the foyer windows now splattered with red. Hysterical and sniffly, Rosalie looked to where Ashton pointed off into the parking lot where, stilled beneath the perfect circle of a street light, sat a perfectly content wild goose.

As the Adams boys all lowered their red paint water guns, the Bradshaw boys started screaming up a storm. The door behind Rosalie burst open, and more guys burst through. Rosalie shrieked, staggering out of the way as Joanna cursed them out, a hand flung out to block Rosalie from the rampage.

Bradshaw boys cut through the parking lot, hopping over the car hoods of Adams cars flocking all the empty spaces on the asphalt. In the mob of screaming guys, the goose waddled hesitantly away, and then started running the instant it realized they were all after it. It honked at them like mad, shrieking and flapping its wings as Michael Lancaster came at it for a Round Two in the ring. Michael was still patched up with a bandage over his cheek and forearm—evidence of his last run with the goose.

Rosalie gasped, hands over her mouth when Michael lunged for the goose again. He vanished from sight, dropped behind the throng of Bradshaw guys all chanting. Flashing red and blue lights entered the parking lot, headlights turning on Michael as he climbed to his feet and hoisted a goose over his head, red paint soaking his hands and dripping down his shoulders and hair.

"I WIN THE POT!" Michael Lancaster screamed, and the boys all joined in until the squad car pulled up directly beside them.

Michael lowered the flapping goose. The goose thrashed and flung its beak into Michael's neck.

Screeching, he dropped the goose. The cop car door opened, and the woman who emerged got a face full of feathers as the goose took off for the sky. She cried out, eyes wide as she steadied herself against the door of the car. Michael still had his arms out, fake blood staining his fingers cherry red.

"Uh..." he started, frozen on the spot. "There is... a perfectly good explanation for this."

"I'm sure there is," the officer said, crossing her arms. "I'd like to hear it from your chaperones first, if you will. From the top."


_________________________


When Rosalie came home with Sami, Isaiah, Joanna, and Jamie-Lee in tow, they arrived to the sound of wine glasses clinking at the countertop, and her mother's laughter. She heard Aunt Bee gasp in excitement, saying, "Oh, that must be them—Hey kids! How was the—"

Aunt Bee stopped at the foyer hallway, glass in one hand. She stared at the sight of Rosalie and Joanna covered head to toe in red. It was difficult to see beyond that, especially when their other three friends were perfectly clean from the fight against Adams.

Rosalie rubbed a hand over her forehead—likely worsening the discoloration of her skin. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, Joanna pitched in with a, "My time of the month isn't usually this bloody."

"Jesus Christ," Sami muttered, hand to his face.

Jamie was so surprised he burst out laughing. Rosalie stared at her in horror, too shocked to feel embarrassed when her mother came to investigate the damage.

"Oh, dear..." her mother started, hurrying over. "Joanna, use the bathroom there. Don't step on the carpet, girls. Rosalie, take off your shoes when you go upstairs. Boys?"

"We weren't casualties," Isaiah reassured, arms raised in surrender.

Joanna wandered past them and to the restroom down the hall. The lock clicked behind her. As Rosalie toed off her heels and used a towel to clean the bottoms of her feet, Aunt Bee stepped down the foyer hallway, smile growing. She realized then that Aunt Bee hadn't met Isaiah yet.

"I recognize you from Sami's portraits," she said, pointing to Isaiah. She stretched her hand out to shake his. "You can call me Bee. I'm Sami's mom."

"Oh," Isaiah said. He grimaced a little—not exactly the enthusiastic way to meet your boyfriend's mother. He cleared his throat awkwardly and shook her hand. "Nice to meet you," he said.

"We were just gonna drive Jamie home," Sami said, looking pointedly at Jamie. Thankfully, Jamie's sharp wit was enough to pick up on the dilemma. Jamie was their excuse to skedaddle.

"Yup, totally. My curfew's eleven," Jamie said.

"Could you apologize to your mom for me? For ruining her dress?" Rosalie asked. She tucked her thumb nail between her teeth to keep from worrying her bottom lip any further.

"Rosalie, it's fine, honestly," Jamie said, shaking his head. "I'll ask my mom if there's anything to get the paint out. Don't even worry about it."

She didn't believe him, but she nodded like she did. Jamie nudged her in the arm where there wasn't quite as much paint before letting Sami all but drag him and Isaiah towards the door, apologizing for having to leave so soon, but oh, geez, look at the time! Tante Bee looked like she was two seconds from tearing up after seeing Sami and Isaiah together and as happy as they could be given the circumstances. Before they could completely vanish, Aunt Bee hurried to the door and called out after them, "Isaiah, you're welcome to stay the night! We're making hot cocoa and apple cider!"

"Thanks Bee!" Isaiah said.

"He'll think about it!" Sami interjected, pushing Isaiah to the passenger's seat. "Bye Mom!"

The instant Sami had Isaiah safely behind his car door, he rushed around the hood and hopped into the driver's seat. Jamie rolled down the back window to wave to Tante Bee. Tante Bee waved back, stepping out onto the porch to watch after them. Sami tore out of the driveway and towards the Maple Grove gates. His headlights cut around hedge-lined yards and yellowing maple trees before disappearing out of view on the boulevard.

Tante Bee turned to head back inside, and likewise, Rosalie wandered back in. Her mother was in a fuss. "Get cleaned up already! You're tracking red everywhere!" her mother cried.

"It isn't everywhere," Rosalie muttered, scuffing her foot on the carpet. She winced. Sure enough, there she left a streak. "Okay, sorry—I'm moving."

"Wait—put these on," her mother demanded, thrusting two plastic baggies into her hands. She groaned and grudgingly put them on her feet.

When Rosalie finished washing up, she slipped into a pair of Adidas sweatpants and a Knights sweatshirt. Her hair was still stiff with hairspray, and the ruined tiara sat at the edge of the sink. The dress Miss Berry laid crumpled on the floor. She picked it up and took the tiara with her down the stairs.

The foyer light was on for Sami and Isaiah. She stopped at the bottom of the railing and listened to the sound of Tante Bee's laughter from the kitchen. She picked up on Joanna's voice, relaying the events of the dance as the sink ran in the kitchen. When Rosalie approached the kitchen archway, she found her mother at the sink with a toothbrush, scrubbing the paint from Joanna's crown.

Rosalie shuffled over and laid her tiara in the sink. Her mother looked up at her, and Rosalie went on frowning. The dress was in one hand.

"Let's... bag it up for now," her mother suggested, ducking down to fetch a garbage bag from beneath the sink.

From between them, Joanna snatched the bag up and shook out the opening. Rosalie rolled up the dress and stuffed it inside. In the process, Khoshekh came to help by leaping up onto the counter, much to her mother's dismay. Miss Mason gasped and started swatting a dish towel at Khoshekh.

"Off! Off!" she cried, chasing Khoshekh down. Khoshekh leapt onto the seat beside Tante Bee, tail flicking irritably. Khoshekh stared at them from across the counter, third eye ominous as ever.

"Your cat still freaks me out," Joanna said.

"I imagine it's because you've never had a cat," Rosalie said.

Joanna narrowed her eyes at Rosalie as she tied the garbage bag shut. "Touché..." she said, and walked away to set the bag near the porch door.

Tante Bee reached over the seat to scratch Khoshekh's head. Khoshekh purred like Rosalie's mother wasn't giving him the stink eye.


n/a: Y'all remember Baskin Robins when Juliana and Ray were explaining the Goose Bet to Rosalie XD AS IF I'D DROP THAT !!!

Dudes I need more names. GIVE ME AWESOME NAME IDEAS (ya don't have to include the last name if ya don't want to) 

And if you have any gender neutral names ;) drop em here! (A very special guest will be arriving at Regionals)


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