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His Green Street mark is etched into his skin, the scar white and pebbled against his dark, tawny skin, because it was knifed into him.
And I believe that was entirely his idea. I immediately turn away from his ice blue eyes.
“Love the jacket,” T.C. taunts.
Farrow steps over, holding out a black, disposable cup of coffee. “Are you ready for school?”
I take the cup, about to nod, but he speaks as they all rise.
“Tomorrow, you’ll ride,” he says, walking past me. “Today, you walk.”
Out they all go, leaving the house and me behind.
“Prepare to be boarded, Pirate,” Constin says.
It’s raining.
Of course, it is.
I climb the soft incline up to the school, a cemetery covered in years of brown leaves sits to my right, and an old Victorian behind a chain-link fence with shutters over the windows to my left.
A stream of water runs down my nose and over my lip, the raindrops light but constant.
I walk. I don’t run.
Lifting my chin, I head through the parking lot as cars race past, swinging into empty spots. Students loiter between old trucks and rusty sedans, a group of three guys jumping out of an ancient Bronco that reminds me of the one in my mom’s pictures from high school. It’s even white like hers was.
People turn to watch me as I pass on my way to the front doors, and I half-expect to get hit with a tomato or a bag of dog poop, but the worst that happens is the staring. Everyone’s quiet.
Farrow stands at the top of the cement stairs, leaning on the ledge and surrounded again by Calvin, Luca, T.C., Anders, and Constin. The overhang of the roof high above shields them from the rain.
I try to breeze past, but they all turn, surrounding me as T.C. opens the door for us. Farrow pulls up to my right, and everyone else follows. I’m not sure if they think I’ll run, or if they just want attention by making a spectacle, but I don’t avoid any gazes this time. I lock eyes with a young woman hanging on her locker, and then her friend who leans against the wall, hugging her notebook and chewing gum. Then I slide my gaze to a guy sucking on a Tootsie Pop. He smiles, twirling his tongue around the candy.
I glance to Farrow, unfazed. “Is Hunter on the football team?”
“Why wouldn’t he be?”
I spot a sign on the wall, directing me to the Front Office. It’s the same way we’re going, so I stay with them.
“Why don’t you have him in tow like the rest of these guys?” I ask.
But he simply replies. “Hunter makes his own rules, wouldn’t you say?”
“And you allow that?”
We stop in front of the office doors, and I see two receptionists through the windows.
“You don’t really know him, do you?” Farrow asks instead.
I slide my hands into the pockets of my jacket, trying to make my glare feel more stern than angry.I don’t know him?I’ve spent more time with him than anyone.
“You promised me keys,” I tell Farrow, changing the subject.
The corner of his mouth quirks in a smile, because he can see he touched a nerve. Reaching into his pocket, he comes in close, staring down, and drops keys into the palm of my hand.
“And the bike?” I question.
His grin widens as he and his friends back away. “Later,” he says, leaving me. “We’ll find you at lunch.”
