Chapter Two

James

The television screen goes live once more, and the mere sight of the prairie dog’s face has the freshman boys rolling off their chairs in laughter. My heart pumps as a sweet, almost intoxicating feeling swirls through me while I listen to them howl. No one will forget this. Last year I fumbled with the opening prank. Paying off the assistant chef to hide plastic severed fingers in the tray of sliced roast beef sounded like a good gag but ended up pretty disgusting. Roast beef may never be palatable again.

A flash of blond catches my eye. Edel sweeps her long, straight blond hair so it’s only hanging over one shoulder while she sits up in a nearly perfect posture. Impressive. I doubt I could have pulled off an entrance that way and rocked my image like that if those were my first steps into Brockmore. And it’s impossible to ignore how her posture only accentuates the curves God gave her.

Dad never mentioned that about Edelweiss Lee.

I glance down at my phone, reading Dad’s last text. Ambassador Lee said you weren’t on campus. Where were you? You promised to show Edelweiss and her family the campus.

Well, technically I just showed Edelweiss the secret passageway in Brockmore Hall. I’d say that more than makes up for a campus tour. Hell, I even helped her out so Creighton didn’t zero in on her on the first day.

We’ve met. I text back. Don’t worry. I gave her a good tour.

A wad of napkin hits me between the eyes. “How are you doing this?” Jordan, a junior, asks from the neighboring table.

“Doing what?” My little shrug with a smirk gives him all the info he needs. Of course I’m behind the prairie-dog stunt. I am behind every prank in this school.

But this is my last hurrah. Well, until the senior prank, but that’ll have to be harmless like this video. With it being my senior year, it’s too close to graduation to pull anything worthy of expulsion, especially after Dad laid into me this summer.

I gaze down at my phone and tap the screen, sending off a message for the prairie dog to go live again in twenty-eight seconds. The delay is key in not getting caught. I tuck my hands behind my head and glance at Creighton.

Her eyes narrow, studying every move I make. Even my grin won’t soften her, a true rarity considering our unique relationship. I open my eyes wide. Seriously, Creighton? It’s only a pair of prairie dogs.

That shitty jazz music fills the banquet hall again, resulting in a cacophony of giggles from the nearby table of girls. This prank is golden. I laugh and give Mason a firm slap on the shoulder for good measure.

“Come on, James.” Mason’s face is so red from laughing he looks like a fire engine. “How’d you pull this one off? First sneaking in with the hot new girl and then this?”

“You’re the king, man.” Jordan raises his glass. “To James!”

My phone buzzes while I shrug. “Fate brought me the girl, and this?” I nod to the now-dark screens. “This is out of my hands.”

Proctor narrows his eyes at my cell, which is buzzing in my palm. “Who are you texting?”

“My sister.”

“I thought it was just you and your dad.”

“Nope. There’s another person out there running rampant with a linked genetic code.”

“God save us,” Proctor groans. “Older or younger?”

“Do you honestly think I’d let you date my sister?” Never in a million years would that pairing work out. She’d rip his head off, and I can’t lose my starting quarterback.

“Whatever. Anyway, Creighton better pull herself together soon and finish this speech so we can eat. Smells like tacos. Hey, I didn’t see your dad this afternoon. Who did you come back to school with?”

“He couldn’t leave base. Not a big deal. We’ve had hundreds of good-byes before.” My fingers fly over the phone to request a prairie-dog activation in forty-eight seconds.

“Dude, if it wasn’t for your dad’s photo as the background on your phone, I’m pretty sure I’d suspect you were making him up.”

“It’s the life of a colonel. Touring my dorm room again and saying good-bye here on campus wouldn’t be any different than the three other times we’ve done it.”

“You wouldn’t want to see him?” Mason asks.

What a stupid question. Of course I’d like to see him. He’s my father. “I can’t, so why whine about it? Plus, I don’t feel the need to torture him into watching me make my bed and attending that dull parent meeting. A Skype call is much easier.”

“Well, is he coming to senior night?” Mason leans back, his chair creaking a protest under his weight.

“Nope.” I press my palm flat on the table, trying to cover the void his intricate schedule has made in my gut. School drop-off—he can miss that. But being the only football player without family in the end zone during the ceremony will suck balls.

At least I won’t have to field the team’s teasing over the difference in our skin color. Proctor still doesn’t believe that I’m the biological son of my white, freckled, redheaded father.

My phone vibrates. Ha. Speaking of the colonel. James, whatever you are doing, stop it now! Julie reached out to me and this needs to end.

His message zaps my mouth dry. Oh no.

What is Julie thinking? She knows Dad was one step away from yanking me out of school after the prank I pulled in May. How could she tell him about something so harmless?

I glance over at Creighton, who’s staring me down with a magnitude of fury I’ve never seen before.

Well, here’s to royally screwing up. I send out a quick text, End it. Six seconds later the black screens turn on, but instead of the prairie dog we all get the pleasure of staring at the tired navy-blue slide that says Welcome to Brockmore Academy in a handwritten, colonial font.

The math teacher, Ms. Jennison, picks up the microphone from the podium and leads the prayer before the meal, a tradition that Creighton’s never forgone.

Come on. A frickin’ prairie dog, and she acts like I kicked her in the balls.

“Bon appétit!” The servers lift the silver covers off the serving dishes like a synchronized dance along the serving table. They whisk in a basket of warm honey-oat bread, butter, and a pitcher of sparkling water to each table. Tradition dictates that the senior guys eat last, which is a cruel sort of torture considering we’re all always hungry enough to devour a bear.

And that’s why I have the pizza. I pull the pizza box out from under the tablecloth with my tennis shoes.

“This is going to take forever.” Mason presses his head against the table.

“Don’t I always have you guys covered?” I pick out a slice, a little cold but still promising to be damn tasty. “Pre-dinner dinner, anyone?”

Proctor’s eyes widen, and he starts drooling before he even reaches for the slice. “You’re a saint, you know that, right?”

I hand out the remaining five slices to the guys at my table. “They got a little messed up, but they’re still edible.”

“You’re not having any?”

“Nah. I ate a piece outside.” Twenty minutes pass while we watch everyone else in the room grab food.

“James Parson.” Creighton’s stern voice rattles my spine. The tone is one I’ve heard only once before and that was when she almost expelled me as a first-year student after I stole Madison High School’s mascot. Upon reflection, letting the mule loose in the dining hall wasn’t my most brilliant move, but it did receive the attention of the senior football players, who put me in front of the head coach. When I became the first freshman to make varsity in twenty-eight years, they were excited to have me, making the prank worth every Saturday that Creighton kept me in the stables to serve detention.

I now consider myself a professional at mucking out stalls.

“James, first thing in the morning, you will join me in my office. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I slip my phone into my pocket, thankful my associate thought to go through another party for our coding. The last thing I need is for Creighton to snoop around my apps and texts, which—thanks to Dad—she’s been granted full authority over.

She is my aunt, after all.

“Six a.m., before football practice.” Her finger waggles in my face a little too long before she finally pulls it back. “Feel free to go on up to the buffet now, boys.”

We press our lips together, keeping silent as she retreats from our table. Once cleared, we collect our plates and head over to the massive spread of food.

“You didn’t even make it an hour, James.” Mason punches my shoulder. “Remember you’re our captain this year. Coach Davvy will be pissed if Creighton benches you for the first game.”

“Or the rest of the season,” Proctor mumbles.

They don’t know the headmistress is my aunt. No one does, and for that I am still in debt to her. “Don’t worry so much.”

Maybe I did go too far with this one. I’ll swing by her place before curfew and apologize. Straighten this up before Dad wigs out and my entire world gets yanked out from under my feet.

I may complain about Brockmore a lot, but between my bed in Room 321 and the bedroom I have at Julie’s, this place is more of a home than I’ve known most of my life.

Leaving Brockmore before graduation would devastate me.

“James, you’re holding up the line.” A high-pitched giggle floats over my shoulder.

“Emma.” I press my lips together as I pile steak into my tortilla.

“What? No ‘hi’? No ‘how was your summer?’” She steps in front of Proctor with her plate so she can be right next to me. Her floral perfume somehow masks the scent of the steak.

A true crime.

“You can’t still be giving me the silent treatment.”

“You cheated on me.” I reach over her arm to grab a scoop of guacamole.

“I can’t believe you’re still mad about that. It was four months ago, and I apologized.” She leans in, her fingers feathering out to touch mine.

I step away from her. “Not mad anymore. I’m over it, but I’m not dumb.”

Her lower lip juts out, and she pushes out her chest, stepping close.

Last year, I would have glanced down to check her out.

Last year, my knees would have become noodles.

But this year, I swore to myself that I was done with girls like Emma. For two years, we had our little dance, and for two years my life was filled with nothing but drama. I hadn’t realized it until our summer apart. But God, it’s nice not to have to constantly navigate the complex emotions of that girl and just do my own thing.

Freedom. That’s what my senior year is all about.

“I’ve changed.” Her voice is steady and soft. She reaches out, touching my arm. “You have, too. You’re stronger.”

“Go squeeze Proctor’s arm. He spent the entire summer in the gym. I’m sure he’d appreciate the compliment.” With a quick turn, I face her toward Proctor.

It does nothing, though. Instead she pouts and looks back at me over her shoulder. “I’ll leave my window unlocked tonight, James. Why fight the inevitable?”

She’s like a rock in the bottom of my shoe during box jumps. It’s like she practices the words of every high school guy’s fantasies. Her pull is toxic, but not for me, not after walking into Matt Turner’s room last May and finding her on top of him, naked. The experience eradicated every cell in my body that used to find her attractive.

So she’s right: I have changed. I’m completely over her.

I peel her fingers off my arm again. “I won’t be climbing out or in any windows this year, so don’t wait up. Enjoy your meal.”

Five minutes later, Victoria turns her chair around and joins our table. “So are you and Emma for real over?” Her brow arches while she plucks a grape off my plate, popping it into her mouth.

My hand hovers over my plate, protecting my food. When will girls realize that taking food from a guy is not cute? “We’re through.”

Her curls brush against my arm as she leans in. “Maybe we can hang out sometime?”

“Remind me, who’s your co-captain for the cheerleading squad, Victoria?” The fallout of Emma snagging a co-captain position for this year—as only a junior—rocked the top of school drama for about a week last May. Victoria was livid about sharing her spotlight.

She laughs. “There’s nothing wrong with a little competition.”

“Did she send you over here?”

“Like I’d listen to her.” Victoria draws her finger along her jawline, tempting me.

Nope, nope, nope. I focus on the edge of the tablecloth. I will not be that type of guy anymore. Not after what Dad said to me last May. Get serious, he said. Or else you can kiss Brockmore good-bye.

She strums her fingers on the table. “Emma hates me. My jumps will always be better than hers.”

“I’d like to see you jump, Vickie.” Mason leans back in his chair with a grin. “I’ll hang out.”

She feigns a gag. “In your dreams, Mason.”

“Every night, baby.”

“Excuse me.” I pluck my half-full plate off the table and duck out the back door to the patio. Outside there’s a group of sophomore girls whose eyes glue to me while I take a seat on the bench to finish my frickin’ burrito.

God help me.