PROLOGUE
Travis
Age 15
“Let’s go, Jaguars, let’s go!”
A loud rumble can be heard around the court as students and parents alike beat their hands on the tops of their thighs as the Desert Creek High cheerleaders get us ready for our first home game of the season.
The first home game I’ve ever been to.
It’s thrilling, witnessing the school spirit and the excitement. It’s something you’d see in the movies. The girls down on the court are decked out in red, black, and white, with their pompoms, short skirts, and the paint streaking their faces. Their hair is big and bouncy, tied to the top of their heads, and the bows adorning each of their ponytails would look ridiculous if they were anybody but cheerleaders.
Basketball isn’t my favorite sport in the world, but one of my friends, Dylan, is on the team, and it was an excuse to get out of the house and away from my mother’s concerned eye for a few hours.
An elbow jabs me in the side, and my eyes drag to my left to see Elliot, my best friend and the source of the jab. “Bro, do you see how hot Nia looks down there? I swear, she’s been eyeing me all night.”
A chuckle falls from my lips that I wipe away with my hand when his eyes narrow on me. He’s crushingbadon Nia Hayes, Desert Creek High School’s head cheerleader, a senior, and one of the biggest bitches I think I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting in my life. She’s also one hundred percentnotinto Elliot, much to his ignorance.
If I had to bet, I’d say her eyes were actually on Zuri Jordan, a junior, and our school’s best softball pitcher, who’s sitting a few rows behind us. I saw them making out in the alcove near the gym a few days ago, and by the looks of it, it didn’t seem like it was the first time. Of course, Elliot doesn’t know that, because it’s not my place to out somebody and it’s clearly not common knowledge.
“Yeah, man. Bet she totally wants you,” I tease, bringing my attention back to the court as the players start filing out from the locker room.
We’re playing Payton High tonight. They’re from one town over, and a pretty big rival from what Dylan has told me. The gym smells of rubber, sweat, and teen spirit, sneakers squeaking and scuffing all along the court. I don’t know how people sit through games hearing that all the time. It’s obnoxious.
The game seems to start without a hitch. Not that I have any fucking clue what’s going on. Both sides sink the ball into the hoop a few times, and we cheer. Not even halfway through, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Pulling it out, a text from my buddy, Jesse, has me swiping across the screen and unlocking it.
Jesse: Got the shit. Let me know when the game is over, and I’ll meet you in the far right corner of the student lot.
Me: Sweet. Thanks.
Leaning toward Elliot, I whisper in his ear so only he can hear me. “Got the weed for tonight.”
A straight, white grin stretches across his face, making his honey brown eyes squint. He got his braces off the summer before we started school this year, so his teeth look damn near perfect. With his fingers, he makes an ‘okay’ hand gesture before returning his attention to the court… or to the sidelines, where Nia is sitting with the rest of the squad.
Dragging my gaze around the gym, I take in how full it is in here tonight. I don’t recognize anybody in the bleachers across the court, but that isn’t unusual, since the away team’s family and friends sit over there. It’s nearly as packed as this side is. Payton High is in a wealthy town, and it shows. The parents all dressed to the nines, probably rich CEOs, lawyers, or doctors.
It’s almost comical looking between the two sides of the room. Desert Creek isn’t on the poverty line, by any means, but most households sit pretty comfortably right at middle class. Up until two years ago, my family was actually considered lower class until my mom got married to my stepdad, William Finch. He owns a string of restaurants that span across Washington and Oregon that seem to do pretty well. Moving in with him meant that my sister, Charlotte, and I could have cell phones like the rest of the kids at our school and finally afford dental insurance.
The side of the room I’m watching erupts into raucous cheer, letting me know they probably scored, and just as I’m about to divert my gaze to the court to see what’s going on, someone in the crowd catches my eye and makes my breath catch painfully in my chest.
There’s no way.
I rub my fists into my eye sockets, blinking and re-blinking to clear my vision, because there’s no way I’m seeing who I think I’m seeing. My heart rate accelerates, and suddenly, I feel ten degrees hotter, sweat lining the back of my neck, coating the hair on my nape that I keep meaning to cut.
“Hey, man. You okay?” Elliot asks, pulling my attention away from the third row of bleachers almost directly across from me.
Glancing at him, I nod. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?” His thick, dark, pierced brow arches. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I have,I want to say. But I don’t. Instead, I nod again. “Positive. I’m good.” To emphasize howgoodI am, I hold up two thumbs like an idiot, only making both brows jump this time.
“If you say so,” he mumbles before looking back at the court.
The rest of the game is spent with me stuck in my head, eyes glued across the room. Disbelief burning hot inside my gut.
When I was five, my father dipped. One random Tuesday morning, he got ready for work, per usual—showered, shaved, dressed in a suit and tie, went to the kitchen and poured his thermos of coffee—and left. Unlike every other Tuesday before, though, he never came home.
