“What position do you play on the Devils?” I ask.
He raises an eyebrow as if he didn’t expect me to ask that question. “Wide receiver.”
“What about Sebastian?”
“Quarterback.”
“Are you hoping to get drafted into the NFL?”
“What’s with all these depressing questions first thing in the morning? You never gave two shits about us before.”
“Oh.”
I’m the head cheerleader so I figured both our teams were one. After all, the cheerleading squad exists for the sake of the football team, no?
“I’m sorry.” I meet Owen’s brown gaze.
He stops in his tracks, and I’m forced to stop, too. “What did you just say?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t care before.”
He points a finger at me. “Who are you and what have you done with my bitchy Rei-Rei?”
Before I can answer that, a group of beautiful girls in cheerleading uniforms storm in our direction with Bree at the front. They pluck me away from Owen and surround me in one shallow hug after another.
They say things like they missed me and the team isn’t the same without me. However, just like when the other students greeted me, I can sense a wicked undertone. If I’m being honest, some of the girls even appear sad I’ve returned.
Ouch. That stings.
At this rate, I’ll end up with figurative needles all over my heart.
“Oh my Gosh, Reina”—Bree points at my shoes—“where did you get those vintage flats? Aren’t they like five years out of fashion?”
I stare down at them, frowning. They’re kind of cute. I mean, even the resident asshole, Asher, looked at them with amusement.
“They’re back in style. Keep up, Bee,” a girl on my right says in a bored tone.
She’s wearing the cheerleading uniform and black-framed glasses that hide her Asian eyes. Black strands fall on either side of her face in slick lines like some anime character or a cosplay.
Now that I think about it, she’s the only one who didn’t hug me just now.
“It’s Bree, not Bee,” my supposed best friend bites out. “As if you’d ever know anything about fashion, Naomi.”
The girl, Naomi, glares back. “I kind of do since my mom owns a fashion house and all that.”
“Whatever.” Bree brings out her phone and spends several minutes trying to fit everyone in a selfie frame.
I lean closer to Naomi and murmur, “Thanks.”
“I didn’t do it for you.” She retrieves a tablet from her bag. “Bree is a bitch, but so are you.”
She walks in the opposite direction before I can respond while Bree continues fussing with her phone.
“Never mind Naomi.” A girl with a cute, goofy smile inches toward me. “She shouldn’t even be with us. Dean George shoved her down our throats because her mom wouldn’t give a generous donation to Blackwood College if her daughter isn’t part of the cheerleading squad.”
“Stop smiling like an idiot, Lucy,” Bree snaps without looking back.
Lucy, the girl who was speaking to me, clamps her lips shut and slowly retreats.