“You can go sit with Ms. Chandler, who will also be making announcements.”
I glance over to the front row of the bleachers. Juliette sits with her legs crossed and a stack of forms next to her.
I leave Ozzy and walk over to sit with her.
“Hi,” she says. We haven’t spoken much since the night she saved me from her mom.
“Hey. Can I sit here??
?
She sees me coming and picks up the papers.
The room vibrates around us, our classmates loud and excited to not be in class. Mr. Russell moves to the center of the room and adjusts the microphone.
I look at Juliette. “How are you?”
She looks tired. Sad. She lost her mom, and she knows the truth about her dad, even if no one else wants to acknowledge it.
“It’s been a long fucking year.”
“Almost over, right?”
She laughs, and it’s contagious, with both of us tied together in a strange way.
“True,” she replies. “Also, something awesome is about to happen.”
“Yeah?”
She holds the flyers to her chest and smiles. “It’s a surprise, but I think you’re going to like it. We deserve it.”
I have no idea what Juliette has up her sleeve, but she’s right, we do deserve something awesome. I can’t wait to find out what it is.
2
Ezra
I promise I’m not a pervert.
For real.
I’m an eighteen-year-old healthy male completely smitten with the girl at the front of the room. I’m obsessed with nearly everything about her; her scent, her skin, her hair, her ridiculous need to always wear too-baggy hoodies. I fight a constant hard-on being around her—and again, not just because I’m a pervert, but because this girl has trained my body to react like that. You never know when she’ll willingly go beneath the bleachers, or storage closet, or back seat of a car and rock my world. And not because she’s a slut. God, no. She’s just fun. Amazing. Perfect.
I’m almost glad she got pulled away to go sit somewhere else.
My mind and body needed a fucking break.
Not that we have a lot of time together. My dad, who I assumed would lose interest in me once we won the state title, doubled-down on his parenting efforts. Sure, he still leaves town, like the conference he’s at right now, but he monitors me closely; tracking my phone, my bank account, and my grades. I had more freedom during the six months I wore an ankle monitor on probation.
I focus back on Mr. Russell, who stands at center court, explaining how we have until the end of the semester to turn in our dues, and when our financial aid paperwork is due, and the final day to order a cap and gown.
“Kenley Keene now has an announcement on deadlines from the yearbook staff.”
Kenley walks across the wood floors, blonde ponytail bouncing. Ozzy and Finn flank me, shifting discreetly on the bleachers, and at least I know I’m not alone. They’re as love-struck as I am.
“Hi guys,” she says, hand gripped around the microphone. Jesus. “Like Mr. Russell said, we do have a few deadlines. We’re in the final stages of formatting and the clock is ticking. Senior ads are due next week. Your parents should have seen the form in the weekly newsletter, but you may want to remind them. Quotes are also due. Also, this is the centennial issue. If you have any history, photos, or information you’d like to share, don’t forget to turn it in.” She looks over at Mr. Russell. “I think that’s it.”
“Thank you, Kenley.” He nods over to the bleachers. “Your SGA president has an announcement for you.”