Page 35 of The Golden Boys
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Chapter 11
BLUE
“Did you hear?”
I can barely make out Scarlett’s words as she inhales another handful of fries.
Jules peers up from her burger. “Hear what?”
“Blue’s NewGirl! The one Pandora thinks has a thing going with KingMidas!”
It stings particularly bad hearing the excitement in my sister’s voice. She lives for the idea of climbing the social ladder, and to her, being with West sounds like a dream come true.
Shane’s ears perk up, but he continues to hover over his spaghetti, actively pretending he’s uninterested.
“And to think, the only updateIgot this week is that you joined the Journalism Club,” Jules points out, turning to face me.
Taking a sip of my water gives me time to think of a suitable response. “Ididjoin journalism club. And I’ll have you know it’s very fulfilling,” I lie.
Actually, Mr. Dansk kind of blows and it only makes my time there suck even harder that I’ve been tasked to handle the sports segments. Which means I’ll get to spend evenmoretime with West and Co.
Fun times ahead, right?
“Cut the crap. Is this true?” Jules practically sings. “You been holding out on me?”
“It’s not like that,” is the best response I can come up with.
Her brows shoot up, which means she’s not buying it. “Clearly, we have one heck of a heart-to-heart in our future,” she decides.
We seriously don’t, though. Not unless I suddenly decide to share with her that, for my first full week at Cypress Prep, I’ve been bullied by their gang of elites. But that’ll never happen because I know Jules, just like I know Ricky. I purposely keep both in the dark about what really goes down at CPA. Protective as they are, they’d never stand for it. First chance either got, they’d call out West and the others, resulting in the world crumbling right on top of me. Not the ones who actually deserve it.
No thanks.
Putting up with their shit is not only embarrassing, but it isn’t like me. On my side of town, the last name Riley is synonymous with having a short fuse, taking on whoever stupidly gets in our way. I’m a fighter by nature. To the point that it nearly cost me admission to CPA. But the difference is, I know what’s at stake now. It’s the reason I keep my head down andtryto mind my business.
Only, that doesn’t really fly with West.
This week alone—in addition to the poster thing—I’d been shoved in the halls by randos I’d never seen before, locked inside a bathroom stall, and I had my backpack disappear from my locker during gym, only toreappearon top of the basketball rim.
Mostly, it’s amateur shit, but still annoying as hell.
I peer up at Uncle Dusty when he hovers over our booth, whistling the tune to whatever oldie is playing through the sound system. He’s exhausted from being on his feet cooking all day, but still managed to prepare each of our favorite meals for dinner. Mine was in a bag beside Scar so I could enjoy it later. If I started in on it now, I’d have to finish my shift in a food coma. Nobody wants that.
“You guys have enough?” he asks.
Shane belches into his fist before answering, “I’m stuffed.” Afterward, he leans back and places a hand on his stomach, looking so much like Ricky it’s scary.
“That’s what I like to hear,” my uncle adds, checking his watch before his eyes lock with mine again. “I’m gonna need you back on your section, sweetheart. You know we get a little bit of a rush around this time. Plus, BeccaandJoanne called in tonight.”
“I’m on it,” I answer, sliding out of the booth.
Scar, Jules, and Shane follow, collecting their phones from the table. When Scar scoops up the bag with my dinner inside, I nod toward it.
“Donotlet Mike eat my sandwich,” I warn.
“And if he does, let me know,” Uncle Dusty chimes in. “It’d give me a good reason to kick his ass. Been almost a decade since I had the chance.”