Page 225 of Heart So Hollow

“Beasts of waste!” our team captain booms behind us.

“Beasts of desolation!” yells another, drawing our attention.

“We die alone!”

“But together—”

“Rulers of creation!” the entire team roars in unison, finishing the Dire Wolves cheer with a cacophony of howls into the night sky as we turn to jog toward the entrance to the field.

When Mason and I emerge from the gymnasium doors with the rest of the team, Evie’s making her way across the lawn. “Hey, stone cold stunner,” she laughs as she stops in front of us.

“Eh, it was closer to a leg sweep,” I give a half shrug, “but we could’ve played better.”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about. You and your sweet moves are all over social now.”

I arch my brow at her, “Already?”

There’s a snicker from Mason and he nudges my arm, holding his phone out in front of me. He lets out a howl at the point in the video when I slam into Bowen, launching him into the air. I have to admit, it’s pretty impressive from a distance.

“Shit,” I steal a glance over Evie’s head at the Canaan bus parked in front of the school, “poor Bowen.”

“Not gonna lie,” she rolls her eyes and mutters out of the corner of her mouth, “it was pretty freaking funny.” Then she reaches up and pokes me in the chest, “Hey, can we go to the outlets when I come up this weekend?”

“What makes you think I want to spend my Saturday shopping with you?”

Evie gives me a side-eye, “Because you like shopping with me.”

“Why don’t you ask Mason?” I nod to my right, “He’s been wanting to take you out for a while. He’ll buy you whatever you want.”

Mason’s brow shoots up and I watch with amusement as he opens his mouth in shock, but nothing comes out.

Evie rolls her eyes, brushing me off, “Anyway, I’ll text you when I’m heading up.” She raises her arms and I do the same, wrapping her in a tight hug before she runs back across the parking lot.

Once she’s gone, Mason furrows his brow, “What the hell, dude?” he hisses.

“I’m trying to help you out,” I lean against the column of the awning, “she would’ve said yes if you asked.”

He ignores me and shoves his phone in his bag while we continue to wait for Aiden and Alex. I’m about to toss another jab his way when I catch him staring across the grass at the sidewalk. He’s tracking four girls as they make their way past us toward the line of cars on the street. The two in front, Bryce Decker and Logan Parrish, wave and yell at someone in the distance while the other two girls lag behind them.

The one with long dirty blonde hair and olive skin, Tyler Nixon, walks slowly while digging through her bag. She surreptitiously glances up as she passes, only to avert her eyes in panic when she realizes she’s been caught. Mason looks on, biting his lip so hard it’s about to bleed, but I don’t say anything. He flinches when Aiden appears out of nowhere and plants his hand on the column next to his head.

Spotting Sydney Van Doren at Tyler’s side, Aiden cranes his neck like a cat tracking its prey and bounds down the steps, taking a few strides into the grass before he makes a show of whistling to her. But it’s not flirtatious so much as he sounds like he’s whistling for a dog. Sydney whips her head around, tossing her icy blonde hair over her shoulder as she scowls, searching for the source of the sound. But she knows it’s him. Sydney glares at Aiden for a few moments as he squares off with her, but when Tyler stops to see what’s happened, Sydney continues down the sidewalk, hurrying her along to catch up with the others.

“That poor girl…” I mutter with a half-smile.

Alex appears at my shoulder, having just arrived to witness the scene, “I can’t believe Sydney hasn’t left town yet because of you,” he chuckles at Aiden.

“She won’t,” is all Aiden says as he watches her go.

Just as the girls disappear behind a row of cars, I see Bowen standing with the rest of Canaan’s soccer team next to the bus. He’s leaning against the back bumper, staring at us with a deadass vacant look in his eye that lets me know how much I got to him. As much as Bowen wants to ignore me, he can’t. But he doesn’t try to pick a fight when I see him in Canaan or Hellbranch at parties, or at homecoming when I go as Evie’s date, or on the nights we all meet out in the corn fields to race on the desolate country roads. He acts relatively normal, and to anyone else, we might even appear to be friends.

But they would be wrong.

Instead, Bowen waits until spring and then texts me out of the blue.

BOWEN (9:26PM): Saturday. Let me see how fast that car can go.

ME (9:31PM): it’s a date sugar pie

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