Page 65 of The Golden Boys
Chapter 21
Blue
“I hate everything about this school. Literally,” I add, just to make sure Jules gets the point.
“You have a thing going with one of the hottest boys at Cypress Prep,” she reasons on the other end. “How bad can it really be?”
“You have no idea.”
Her view on my experience here is incredibly distorted, due to a number of factors. Starting with Pandora getting the rumor going about me and West. Then, he only made things worse when he stopped by uninvited during the block party. No one knows what he actually puts me through.
“And to add insult to injury,” I go on complaining, “I’m stuck doing this stupid journalism crap, which I havezerointerest in, by the way. So, my day is even longer on the afternoons we meet.”
“Well, at least you don’t have to double-down by working at the diner, too, right?”
I know she means well, but I’m not in the mood for her upbeat outlook on life today. So, “I guess,” is my only response.
The halls are completely empty as I turn the corner to my locker and grab my backpack. All I want to do is go home, eat something, then crash.
“You still there?” Jules asks as I push through the metal door that leads to the parking lot.
“Barely,” I say with an exhausted laugh, fishing my keys from the pocket of my jeans.
“Things won’t always be so bad,” she assures me, and it’s exactly the reminder I need. But, as I get halfway to my parking space, a sizable cluster of football players surrounding my car makes my anxiety spike.
“Jules, I’ll call you back,” I say in a rush, hanging up as I pick up speed.
The fatigue I felt a second ago evaporates as adrenaline replaces it. My feet thud against the pavement as I full-on sprint now, hearing laughter coming from the guys. It isn’t until I’m within a few feet that I see what they find so funny.
Several of them back off, and Austin raises his hands in the air. “Hey, wasn’t us,” he says in surrender. “You and Golden get into it or something?”
I don’t bother answering as I stare at my car—a hand-me-down from Uncle Dusty, and the only thing in this life that’s completely mine. It’s sitting on bricks, and to make sure I know he’s proving a point, and that thisisn’tsome criminal act, all four tires are stacked neatly on the trunk. Beside them, the lug nuts rest neatly in a pile. The bastard even left me a jack and a four-way lug wrench to reassemble it all myself.
Heat sweeps up my chest and neck, finally reaching my face. I’m seeing red as I take it all in, consider the time and energy that dick put into this stunt. After football practice, at that.
“Where … is he?” I ask through gritted teeth.
Five of the players standing by point toward the field house, but not Dane and Sterling. Instead, Sterling sprints to step into my path when I start toward the building to kill their brother. He towers over me like West, and he even stares down on me with those same green eyes like him. It only infuriates me more that he looks so much like him.
We’re out of earshot now, so no one can hear me snap at him.
“Move.”
“Just thought you should know it’s a bad idea for you to go in there,” he warns with a smirk. His voice drags over the words, unhurried, making light of my car sitting on freakin’ bricks right now.
It’s so clear he doesn’t care, has no idea how exhausted I am. I worked nearly every day after school last week, on days I didn’t have Journalism Club, that is. Then, on top of it all, I had to be at another game this past Friday to get pics for the paper. Add to that the two double shifts I worked Saturday and Sunday, and I feel like I haven’t had a break in forever.
I glare at him when his massive hands land on my shoulders, holding me in place.
“If you’re fond of your nuts not rolling across this parking lot like tumbleweed, I suggest you get your hands off me and get out of the way,” I hiss.
His brow quirks in that smug way West’s does, and I want to do him bodily harm. But he does let go, so I don’t make good on my threat just yet.
“I’m looking out for you,” he insists. “Not sure if you’ve figured out how things work around here yet, but the more you screw with West, the worse you make things for yourself.”
“Your brother isn’t some sort of god,” I remind him. “He doesn’t scare me.”
I pray he bought that, because some days I’m not so sure it’s completely true.