“My phone, man!”
Rolling my eyes, I throw it at the guy. He yelps as it clatters to the ground. I don’t give a shit if the screen cracked. Not my fucking problem.
“Now, Lucas! I’m serious.”
“Okay, I’m coming,” I grumble as I follow them.
We make our way to the football field. There’s a crowd of onlookers gathered around the sidelines blocking our way. Normally a handful of people watch our practice from the bleachers, but this is at least twice as many people.
I rub my brow as I push through to get to the field. Coach is fuming, stomping back and forth, waving his arms in big arcs with his clipboard clutched in one hand. The team stands around with dumbfounded expressions. He throws the clipboard down on the ground, his face red and his eyes bugging when they land on me.
The magnitude of the ire he directs at me makes me fall back a step in confusion.
“Saint!” Coach screams.
I have no idea what’s going on until I scratch the back of my head and glance away from him. Then I see it and my blood runs cold.
I found my missing Jeep.
What. The. Fuck.
My stomach flips over, relief mixing with an anxious squirm.
My Jeep sits on the football field in the middle of the torn up grass, deep tire tracks arcing in uneven donuts. The damage from the joyride stretches at least thirty yards.
I take a few steps toward it, drawn by disbelief.
My number is painted in black on the hood. The giant number 14 suddenly makes my usual saying seem stupid. Nothing about this scene can be described as lucky twice.
On the windshield there’s a message painted in huge block letters. It reads: King Midas of Ridgeview, beautiful destroyer.
I lace my fingers behind my head and force out a brittle exhale. My stomach feels like a nest of snakes coiling, writhing, and twining in a constantly moving mass.
“Saint, what the hell were you thinking?” Coach grabs me by the back of my collar as he yells. “Destroying school property—we’ll be lucky if we can fix this before the game this weekend. Do you think this prank is funny?”
The cloud of confused discomfort lifts enough for me to take in the way everyone’s looking at me. They really—?
I can’t hold back the sharp laugh that punches out of my lungs. Everyone thinks I did this myself. They know me even less than I thought, seeing only the persona I wear like a knight’s armor around these people.
Why would I do this? It’s stupid. Too easy to get caught. Pranks are only worth it when you can get away with it.
Of course the school’s golden Saint would be cocky enough to proclaim himself King Midas.
I cut a glance to Devlin and Bishop, hovering with the mix of people watching. A few people have their phones up, likely recording it all. Devlin raises his eyebrows and gives me a little shake of his head.
He doesn’t know how it happened or who did it.
“I can’t believe that you would do something so stupid and reckless—this could end our season early! The championship!” Coach rants in my ear, his spittle flying. He jabs a finger at the car. “Get that off my goddamn football field or you’ll be off the team!”
The vein throbbing on Coach’s temple stands out against his purpling face. I’m worried about his blood pressure if I don’t get this under control fast.
Holding up my palms, I plaster on a sheepish expression. “I’ll take care of it. I’m sorry this happened.”
Hopefully the school won’t press charges for any damages. Dad would take care of it, he’s pretty friendly with the police force. He’ll use lawyer-speak to spin it like the harmless havoc of youth. He won’t be happy with me, though. Not if it means ending my football career early.
I kind of wish that could happen, minus the blame for this bullshit prank.
My day gets worse when I can’t find my keys in my backpack. I shove my hand into every pocket, eyes narrowing by the second.