Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

CAN’T WE JUST go park somewhere? Or go to my house like she
suggested?
What was I thinking?
I gaze out the passenger side window, concentrating on keeping my hands
on my lap instead of fidgeting, because all of these houses remind me of that
feeling I’d been fighting since I was a kid. That there are places I don’t
belong.
Smooth roads void of any puddles or potholes. Gates and trimmed
hedges.
White houses.
White Rovers.
Lots of white people who will take one look at my last name and think
I’m here to clean, cook, or rob something.
I look over at Clay, wishing she would’ve let me drive, so I wouldn’t feel
so vulnerable right now with nothing to do; but then I catch sight of her
toned, tanned thighs peeking out of her skirt, and I exhale, remembering.
Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. I shake my head at myself.
She pulls into her driveway, and I look out at the oaks lining the circle, a
fountain spilling water in the center. I scan the windows for lights.
Everything appears dark, except for the gaslit lanterns—one on each side
of the front door and two more posted farther down the exterior to the left and
right. I can’t see the third floor from inside the car, though.
Clay parks and climbs out.
“Are your parents home?” I ask, leaving my school bag in the car and