Page 82 of The Risk

“What’s wrong with T-Swift?” she protests. “We love T-Swift.”

“No, we don’t love T-Swift,” he reminds her. “We loveTitanic. We love the Kardashians. We loveSolange. But we sure as hell don’t love T-Swift—”

He’s interrupted by the arrival of Jesse and Katie. Jesse’s in his hockey jacket, and Katie is wearing a spring coat, so I assume they’re coming over to say good night. Instead, Jesse address Nate in an outraged tone. “Come outside. Right now.”

I’m instantly on guard. You don’t usually hear the younger guys barking orders at their team captain.

“Everything okay?” Summer asks in concern.

“No. Come see this.” Without another word, Wilkes spins around and stomps toward the door.

I glance at Katie. “What’s going on?”

She simply sighs and says, “You don’t mess with a boy’s car.”

Uh-oh.

When our group steps outside, Jesse is already ten yards away, his black-and-silver jacket flapping in the evening breeze. Even if I didn’t have him as a point of reference, I’d still be able to pick out his car.

It’s the one that looks like a fluffy, white marshmallow square.

“Oh boy,” Summer murmurs.

Jesse’s car used to be a black Honda Pilot. Now it’s completely white, thanks to the shaving cream. Or maybe it’s whipped cream? When we reach the car, I dip my pinkie into the white substance and bring it up to my nose. Smells sweet. I pop the finger in my mouth and confirm that we’re dealing with whipped cream.

“Those Harvard fuckers did this,” Jesse announces, his features creased with anger. “And we can’t let them get away with it. I’m driving out there.”

“Absolutely not,” Nate commands.

The sophomore’s eyes flash. “Why not? They can’t mess with my property!”

“It’s a stupid prank, Wilkes. If you drive out to Cambridge and throw a tantrum, or worse, if you retaliate with a dumb prank of your own, then we’re stooping to their level. And we’re better than that. We’re grown men.”

Jesse’s face is tomato-red. He doesn’t resemble a grown man right now. He’s a nineteen-year-old-kid whose car was vandalized. I get it. It sucks. But Nate is right. Retaliation is never the answer.

“How do you know it was Harvard?” I can’t help but ask.

Jesse thrusts a piece of lined paper into my hand. “This was sticking out of the windshield wipers.”

Summer peers over my shoulder as I unfold the note. I suppress a sigh, because the message couldn’t be any clearer.

Can’t wait to cream you in the finals!

20

BRENNA

PING PING PING.

I ignore the rain beating against my bedroom window. I don’t remember when it started, but it was sometime after I got home from Malone’s. I’ve been focused on my assignment since then, but now the noise is starting to annoy me. On the bright side, the rain will wash away the whipped cream on Jesse Wilkes’s car and maybe he’ll quit crying over it.

Ping ping.

Then my phone buzzes.

JAKE:Please tell me I’m not throwing rocks at Chad Jensen’s bedroom window.

I fly up into a sitting position. What the hell is he talking about?

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