Page 57 of Collide
ICUT OFF the power.
It isn’t often that I find myself in our cold dingy basement, but desperate times call for desperate measures. After I showed up at Summer’s dorm a few days ago, I thought things were back to normal, but that was a heavily misguided conclusion. She hasn’t texted, called, or even emailed. Nothing. Kian is the only one who sees her during class, and he’s become mute. His loyalties have clearly shifted. Asshole.
Last practice, I was desperate enough to ask Tyler Sampson about her. He smashed me into the boards. Clearly, her feelings are anything but positive.
So, what do you do when the girl you can’t stop thinking about ices you out? You power down an entire house.
With the house plunged in darkness, screams sound upstairs. I make my way back up, innocent as ever. There’s no other way to get this many Dalton students out of our house and to Summer’s carnival.
“Sorry, power’s out, guys.” My words are followed by drunk grumbles. “But there’s an event on campus tonight. Everyone can head over there.” Kian comes into view, lit by the flashlight on his phone. I gesture towards the door and he gives me a thumbs up.
“Everyone follow me,” he says. “I’m bringing the booze!”
The crowd cheers, and people spill out of the house behind Kian.
A flashlight shines on me, and I squint.
“We have a generator,” Cole says, buzzed and skeptical.
I shrug. But he’s right, I’m lucky it hasn’t kicked in. Behind him, Eli shoots me a wink before he heads out.
“You sure are going above and beyond for thisproject,” Dylan says when he finds me outside.
“I don’t like to do anything half-assed.”
“Sure, Barbie,” he snorts.
I don’t bother correcting him. Since I came back from Summer’s with a bright purple Band-Aid on my face they’ve been ripping into me.
Turning into the west wing parking lot that's cleared for the event, I can tell from the attendees' reactions that Summer’s event is a hit.
“Dylan!” A girl squeals and runs into his arms.
He mouthsWho is this?over her shoulder. Shaking my head, I walk to where Kian struggles to throw a baseball at a target. He’s trying for the stuffed animals, one of them being a tiny cow that somehow looks like it’s begging you to take it home.
“This has to be rigged,” he complains.
A girl in line gives Kian a sweet smile. “I can teach you the trick.”
He perks up. “Just a heads up, I’m a hands-on learner.”
“Yeah? I’m a hands-on teacher,” she says.
Taking that as my cue to leave, I go over to Eli, who’s talking to Kayce Howard. “Finally took a day off?” he asks when he sees me approach.
“Gotta give the opposition a head start, or else it gets boring.”
He laughs. “It’s looking like a Frozen Four between Dalton and Yale. You think you’ll choke?”
My jaw tightens, and Eli clears his throat. “We’ll win like every other year. You, on the other hand, barely got into the final four. Hopefully, you don’t trip.”
During the final four competition last year, Kayce missed a free throw when he tripped at the last second. He’s proved himself since, but we’ve been dogging him over it for months.
I bite back a smile at his pointed words because Eli never chirps, on or off the ice, but he always has my back. He gives a bitter laugh, brushing off the remark. It’s an unspoken rule that no one steps to Elias Westbrook.
“Your girl did a good job,” says Kayce.
My girl.
