Page 400 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

“We got this, boys,” Coach says. “Let’s finish them.”

The team piles out of the locker room, whooping and slapping each other on the back like a bunch of animals. Sean glances back and slows when he sees me so we’re walking side by side.

I ignore him, but that doesn’t stop him from grabbing my arm and keeping me back. I immediately pull out of his grip, but the feral grin on his face makes me curious enough to stop and hear him out.

“What is it?”

“A bunch of us are having some drinks and stuff at my house on Sunday. You know where I live.” He pats my shoulder. “Make a stop.”

He walks away without waiting for my reply, probably because he knows what it’ll be. I stopped hanging out with the team around the time drinking became their second favorite sport. While I don’t mind the odd glass of cognac here and there, I prefer being on a team whose players aren’t constantly hung over during practice. And while most of them stick to the rules, Sean couldn’t give a fuck if he was kicked off the team. Since his father is one of the older families in Cinderhart—as close to founders as you can get without including the First Five—it’s more probable that he’d get a slap on a wrist than a suspension.

The cheerleaders are just done waving their pom-poms around when we strut back onto the field. The girls stream past in their black and silver uniforms, those with long enough hair all sporting elaborate braids.

Eliza is at the rear of their procession, soaking up as much applause as she can before the passage leading to the locker rooms blocks her from the crowd. When she sees me, her fake grin turns genuine. I even get a wink.

Christ, what is up with her? Is this because I asked after Harper today? Can she really be that desperate for attention?

But no...that’s not it. That was more than flirting. It’s like she thinks we’re co-conspirators to some dastardly plan to take over the world.

Or it could just have been a wink.

My imagination is playing havoc with me ever since Harper moved in. I have to stop seeing conspiracies in every fucking twitch and wink and sigh.

I have a game to play...on the field and off. And both will require every ounce of my focus if I want to emerge victorious.I don’t know what I’ve set in motion today, threatening Harper like I did.

But if there’s one thing I know about her already, it’s that she doesn’t play fair.

Chapter 21

Harper

My heart is pounding so hard, it should be coming right out of my chest. I ease open my bedroom door and pad into the hallway in my socks, my sneakers dangling from my hands. I’m normally fast asleep by this time on a Sunday, but there’s so much adrenaline pumping through my veins, I’m literally vibrating. I pad down the hall and ease my way down the stairs, then head through the kitchen and stop at the back door.

The alarm panel is lit up like a damn Christmas tree.

I unlock my cellphone and open the smart home app Wayne installed on it when we moved in. I deactivate the alarm, half expecting a wailing siren to explode into the hush of the sleeping house…but after a single low beep, the panel goes dark. I pause on the doorstep to put on my sneakers before heading for the gate. The same app lets me open the manor’s gates without a remote, and I breathe another heavy sigh of relief when I’m on the road outside.

I turn back to Dearth Manor, staring at the sophisticatedly illuminated facade. I thought I’d hit my head on the way over from the hovel Mom and I had been living in when I first sawthis place. Who’d have thought I’d be sneaking out of it on a Sunday night?

Not Jude Dearth. He thinks he can control me?

I’ve been avoiding the psycho the whole weekend, which isn’t difficult when the only two rooms he ever occupies are the basement gym or his bedroom. Plus, most of Saturday Mom and I went shopping, and when we got back, Wayne had ordered pizza which Jude—surprise, surprise—took to his room.

It’s all just talk.

And I’m sick of listening.

I flip off Dearth Manor with a cheery, “Fuck you,Bro.”

“You look nervous,” Maxwell says, letting out a rough laugh as he takes the corner.

I don’t like the way this guy drives. Jude is an asshole, but at least I’ve always felt safe driving with him. And that was while he was pushing the speed limit trying to get us to school on time, and braking hard enough to snap my seatbelt tight.

Max? He drives like he’s got a terminal illness. Who the hell buys their kid a Camaro anyway? Huh. Guess his parents don’t think he has a reason to live either.

“You’re going really fast.”

“And? We got the road to ourselves. No one drives around in this shithole of a town after nine.”

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