My boy Devlin only has his head half in the game. I’ve pulled him up on it as captain once, but he keeps watching the girls track team. More specifically, the school’s charity case sitting nearby like she’s being subtle. Devlin got her kicked off the team because she pissed him off. Those two are bound to be fucking by the end of the year if they aren’t yet.
“Dev!” I shout, dribbling the ball while avoiding two mid-fielders. “You better quit making moon eyes at Davis when I make this pass.”
I check my periphery for him. One guy playing against us tries to break my footwork, but Devlin appears out of nowhere, like the lightning-quick devil I know, and picks up the pass I send him.
Satisfied laughter bubbles from my chest as Devlin’s attack turns merciless, whipping past the other team’s defenders and punting the ball with insane speed. It’s how he got his nickname, the dark devil of Silver Lake. Together we’re an unstoppable pair. The ball becomes a blur, cutting through the air and sailing past their goalie’s outstretched hands as he dives for the save.
Devlin turns back to me, a sharp, wicked smirk in place. He jogs to my side at a lazy pace. I shake my head, grinning at my best friend. He’s an asshole, but I love him. We get each other in a way the rest of the superficial idiots at this school don’t.
“We could’ve cinched that goal faster if you hadn’t been all goo-goo eyes for Davis. I told you last year, bro, you’ve got to just do her already, get your obsession out of your system.” I hook an arm around Devlin’s neck and rub my knuckles into his scalp. “Watching you two eye-fuck at lunch is not on my agenda for a second year in a row.”
“Fuck off.” Devlin shrugs my arm off. “I wouldn’t touch Davis’ cunt if it were the last one in the world.”
I bark out another laugh. “Even you don’t have that much self control. Pussy is pussy. You’d cave eventually.”
Devlin rolls his eyes. “Whatever, prick. If you’re so sure, you go fuck her.”
“Nah. You called dibs last year.” I hold up three fingers in a Boy Scout salute and solemnly intone, “Bro code is sacred.”
I get smacked upside the head for being a good friend. Dick.
“All right, guys,” I call. Sticking my fingers in my mouth, I whistle for the team to circle up on center field. They hustle over, wiping sweat from their brows with their practice jerseys. “Trent, you need to dig harder when the ball comes to our backs. Don’t slack because it’s practice, you lazy shit. Bad habits in practice make for bad habits in real games.”
Trent snorts and flips me off while Sean, our other center-back, shoves him with a smirk.
“First official game of the season on Friday. No partying the night before. I don’t want to hear any excuses—if I can manage, so can you.” I point at a few of the guys who are hard-up to get through the week without getting wild. A few murmurs of assent filter through the team. “Aight. Go shower off the stink, you disgusting fuckers.”
The team trickles toward the locker room entrance at the back of the school. Our coach waits for me to check in with him by the sidelines. He lets me run things since I made varsity captain last year, but offers insightful pointers I can’t see when I’m playing the game.
Devlin hangs around, fiddling with his phone while I finish up going over the schedule with the coach. Something distracted him today. Whatever it is, it’s been bugging him since yesterday. Maybe longer. He was weird over the weekend—weirder than usual. I’m used to most of his quirky shit after years of friendship, like his penchant for reading boring ass psychology books.
It was easier to weather Devlin’s brooding moods when his older cousin was around. Lucas Saint was king of this school last year, a grade ahead of us and this town’s golden boy with a golden arm. Too bad he pissed all that talent away to go to art school with his girlfriend.
With Lucas at college, Silver Lake High School belongs to Devlin and me. It’s our senior year. He’s our Devil Boy with his black hair, mischievous smile, and a wily streak the size of Texas. We’re the perfect match of deviants.
“What time does it start tonight?” Devlin asks.
The corner of my mouth lifts. The Ridgeview police chief’s son, Holden Landry, is organizing a fight ring. Because I have a copy of a positive drug test that would end Landry’s football dreams along with footage of him getting blitzed at a boat party over the summer, Devlin and I are getting a thirty percent cut of tonight’s winnings.
This is how things operate with us in charge.
“He’s taking bets until seven. Pick me up at nine?” I grab the bag of soccer balls and sling it over my shoulder as we walk to the locker rooms. Devlin is distracted by his phone again, obsessively checking his messages. “I’ll be at the usual spot down the block.”
“You’re like a junior high chick, the way you sneak out,” Devlin says absently.
“You know what my mom is like. Most of the time I wish someone would see me sneak out and run a story in the gossip column.” I gesture with my hands to highlight a headline. “I can s
ee it now, Chairwoman Bishop’s re-election campaign overshadowed by delinquent son.” A wistful sigh blows past my lips and I elbow Devlin. “It would solve so many of my problems.”
“At least she’s around.”
I bite back a reply. Devlin’s parents duck out on him pretty often. I haven’t seen them in three or four years.
Clapping my hand around his shoulder, I squeeze him closer in a half-hug. “Whatever. Tonight’s going to be awesome.”
The black shadow that passed over Devlin’s features clears, replaced by a devious gleam in his dark gaze.
The scent of weed and beer tinges the night air. It’s cooler than it was earlier now that the sun has gone down. September is still warm as hell during the day, but as soon as it’s nightfall the mountain air turns frigid.