Page 14 of The Devils They Are
Wearing black shorts and a white shirt with the Willowbrook crest on his pec, part of me wonders if it was custom made for him since it fits him so well. His muscles cut through the white material, and I take a moment to breathe a sigh of relief that they opted for black as the bottom half of their uniform. I can only imagine the chaos that would ensue with white shorts if it rained. No one wants to see wet sausage flinging around.
"Well then, prepare to have every day ruined, Spencer,” he grins, unfazed by my intruding eyes.
Before I can respond, the coach summons everyone over. I whip around, giving Rylan a view of my back.
He laughs quietly behind me. "You seem to be missing your shorts."
I bite my tongue, ignoring the comment.
"Alright, folks. Let's begin," the coach says. "Cedar Heights students, you can place your bags by the seats next to the track. Then come back here and we’ll start splitting you into groups to start warmup laps."
Chapter six
Bexley
Warmuplaps,myass.
Coach Carter is almost as brutal as our coach from Cedar. For a second, I was taken aback by his appearance. Easily in his prime, he's tall and buff, with light hazel eyes and a bald head. But unlike some men, he pulls it offvery well. He reminds me of Arnold Vosloo inThe Mummy—the first movie I ever watched that made me question my sanity when I fell in love with a villain.
Except, just like a villain, he made me run. I feel sick. Send help.
Next to me, Sophia is hunched over, groaning. "Someone kill me. Put me out of my misery."
"Hang in there," I laugh while panting, patting her back. "The endorphins will hit soon. And we will feelso good."
"Not likely," she grumbles. "I'm glad I didn't eat much for breakfast, otherwise I'd be painting the grass and reenacting the vomit scene fromThe Exorcism."
When the two of us finally catch our breath, we start making our way toward the locker room, detouring to the pile of bags by the seats.
The cheerleaders finished just before us, a few making snide remarks and comments as we ran past, but thankfully, they all disappeared from the locker room before laps were complete.
Standing over the pile of bags, I do a double take. I remember exactly where I left my backpack—so why isn’t it here?
"What's wrong?" Sophia asks when I stay frozen.
"My bag is gone," I hiss quietly.
"What?" She looks around. "Are you sure?"
"Positive."
A wolf whistle catches my attention, the two of us spotting Rylan as he walks past with a group of guys, grinning at me. You can't even tell he just ran several laps of the track, his slicked-back sweaty hair the only indication. I hate him for that. Fuck him and his damn cardio stamina.
"Might want to invest in some new shorts, Spencer," he calls out. "We could see your ass starting to hang out." His friends all make crude remarks and cat calls but I just flip him the bird and turn around.
"Fucking cheerleaders."
Sophia doesn't even try to offer a possible alternative explanation, doing a check of the field to see if they are gone. "Want me to help you look? Mrs. Camerons usually doesn't care if I'm a little late to American Lit."
"Nah, you're fine," I say, waving her off. "I'll see you later no doubt."
Despite just running and near dying, I find my second wind and take off in a jog toward the main building. That bag has all my stuff in it—clothes, cell, textbooks. I swear if they have touched anything, I'm going to lose it.
People are casually strolling through the halls when I enter, my eyes scanning the crowd of people for either wolves in cheerleader costumes or familiar blue faces.
A tall body walks out of a classroom, and I sag in relief, pushing past people to head over.
"Arch!"
