Page 49 of Puck Your Friend

I lean back on my hands. “Sour belts. But only the green apple ones. I don’t like eating sweet stuff in front of people.”

She pops a peach ring in her mouth, chews, and swallows. “Why not?”

I glance at her, then away. “Makes me feel guilty.”

Her brows knit together. “Guilty? Did you make a promise to your dentist or something?”

I snort and toy with my water bottle, picking at the corner of the label, so I don’t have to look her in the eye. “The few times I’m home during the year, my parents get on me about it. Candy, snacks, soda, any of it. Like it says something about who I am and it disappoints them that I want to be a simpleton.”

Frankie stills.

“I know they won’t know if I eat it here. But every time I still feel guilty. So I limit it to potato chips and a Coke sometimes.”

Frankie nudges the bag of peach rings toward me. “You shouldn’t feel guilty for enjoying life, Lo. Getting to eat candy without guilt is the best part of being young. Or so my mom says.”

Taking one, I pinch it between my fingers. The sugar grits against my skin. I pop it into my mouth. Sweet, chewy.

I hum. “It’s good.” A wide grin spreads across her face in the moonlight and my heart hammers at the sight of it. I really love making her happy.

She watches me chew the last bit of the ring, then leans back on her palms. Her gaze lifts toward the stars. “Every time my dadcomes home after months of being away, he brings me peach rings and Hot Cheetos. He’s probably single-handedly funded the Snack Shack’s inventory with how much he insists I treat myself when he’s not around.”

Her gaze looks out over the trees, and a sad glint enters her eyes. “He works out of state almost all year. I don’t get to see him much. All so he can pay to send me here during the summer because he knows how happy it makes me.”

She sighs. “Here, with you guys, I feel like I belong, and he knows that. But each year it gets harder to accept going here. It’s so much money. I might not come next summer. I don’t want him working himself into an early grave over me.”

I glance over. Her not being here next year fills me with dread.

Her head shakes. “I tried to get a scholarship for our second year, but they said I didn’t qualify.”

She sets the peach rings aside and turns the bag of Cheetos in her hands. “I didn’t want to ask him to do it again.”

Her fingers tighten slightly. “But he did it, anyway. Said it was the first thing he’s seen me passionate about in a long time.”

She picks out a Cheetos and breaks it in half without eating it. “Maybe he’ll let me get a job this year, with me turning sixteen in two weeks. I can take some of the burden off him.”

Her voice lowers. “So I’m not a selfish brat.”

I shift closer until our knees touch. “You’re not a brat. This place crafts pro-players. I’m sure he wants you to have the career in basketball that you’ve been working toward. It’s going to happen. You’ll be an Alpha in the AWNBA one day and all his hard work will have paid off.”

Her shoulders rise, then fall. “I know. I have my eyes locked on the target. I don’t want to make him feel like it wasn’t worth it.”

I nod and swallow hard. She’s been so open with me. “My parents don’t want me at home. That’s why I’m here.” The words leave before I can stop them.

“I’m at a Alpha-creating boarding school most of the year, but they don’t do all-year boarding, so they put up with me for Christmas and in the summer I’m sent here for eight weeks.”

I run my hand through my hair. “My school doesn’t have three months of summer, so I basically go from here to there. The last thing they want is for me to get into sports. I might do it just to stick it to them. Go pro in something. Probably hockey. I like that best.”

She shifts, gaze flicking toward mine.

“They enrolled me the second I turned eight into an all-boy school that claims they only turn out boys who will present as Alphas. I’ve seen a few Betas leave, but they hide those.”

Her brow furrows. “That sounds awful.”

I pick at a loose thread on my hoodie, my breath tight in my chest. It’s hard to share this with someone. “Some of them present as early as sixteen. They walk around like they’re kings and own the place. My dad will have a stroke if I’m anything other than an Alpha. I don’t care. Maybe if I wind up as an Omega, they’ll disown me and I can be free of them.”

Her shoulder brushes mine.

“I’m sorry your parents make you feel that way.” Her hand finds mine, and she knits our fingers together. “We can be your family. You don’t need blood to have a family. That’s what my dad says, anyway. He has several friends who he treats like brothers.”

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