Page 11 of The Golden Boys

“He’s not to come within six feet of this house, Scar,” I reiterate. “Understood?”

She rolls her eyes again. “Yes, rat. I understand.”

“Good.” When I flash a big, toothy grin just to annoy her, she grabs the closest thing she can find from the hallway floor—a thin notebook—and throws it my way.

She misses and I rush to the back door, purse and keys in hand. The paperwork I’ll need for this morning is already filled out and waiting on the passenger seat.

“Bye, kiddo,” I tease. “Dishes.”

“You’re a dictator!” she yells. “Emphasis on the‘dick’part.”

“Keep talking and the phone’s mine ‘til Monday.”

“Okay, okay, okay! Stop being so serious all the time!” she concedes, knowing my threat is anything but empty. “Just … download the app. Please.”

She does that stupid puppy dog thing with her eyes that shouldn’t work on a big sister, but like I said, she’s more like my kid than anything.

“Fine …,” I cave, sighing as I close and lock the door behind me.

As soon as I buckle into the Cutlass, I find the app and make good on my promise. A pink and black, tiger-striped icon pops up on my screen, and I’m officially connected to this online world my sister insists I ought to be a part of.

Curious, I nearly open it, but come to my senses and toss the phone to the passenger seat instead. Scarlett willnotgoad me into following her down this rabbit hole, digging through the digital laundry hampers of the rich, the elite.

Their filth is none of my business.

With that, I resist the urge to pry and start my engine instead, pumping the pedal until she purrs. The day I do more than simply allow this app to exist on my phone to quiet my sister, will be the day hell freezes over.

* * *

@QweenPandora: Attention seniors: No pressure, but you might want to put the pedal to the metal. Orientation starts in twenty, and we all know Headmaster Harrison has a zero-tolerance policy when it comes to tardiness. To any newbs entering the lion’s den this year, good luck. You’ll need it…

Later, Peeps.

—P

* * *

Chapter 4

WEST

Summer basically ended for the team two weeks ago, the moment mandatory two-a-day practices commenced. Since then, it’s been all day in the sun, very few breaks, and zero sympathy. When we aren’t on the field, we’re in the weight room.

With varsity mostly being seniors, we were given a rare pass today for orientation. Then, it’s back to the grind at eight a.m. tomorrow morning for a Saturday make-up practice.

Sometimes I wonder why I put myself through this every year, but then remember the rush only football has ever given me.

I use the ten minutes we have before this thing starts to wipe the water droplets beading down from the mirrors after a quick run through the car wash. If the stars align, I’ll have the Chevelle road-ready soon, too. Possibly in time for Homecoming if I’m lucky.

I glance up every now and then, usually when a short skirt passes by. The girls wearing them wave once they have my attention and, already, I know it’s about to be a good year.

Dane’s in the passenger seat posing. With one foot down on the pavement, he leans until half his face is in the sunlight for a selfie. His vain ass thinks his followers are obsessed with his green eyes. Then again, with how they eat that shit up, I guess he’s right.

“I hear South Cypress High might be a problem this year,” Sterling sighs, resting against my hood.

I peer up. “How so?”

“Apparently, they just had a kid transfer in from Ohio. He’s supposed to be some kind of football phenom.”

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