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Couldn’t add two plus two in school but he knew everything about ounces, grams and things I preferred not to ask about.
Scooter caught the keys and laughed.
He dangled them around his middle finger.
“There,” Keith said. “He’ll keep an eye on the keys for me.”
“So he can give them back to you at the end of the night?”
“What the hell climbed up your ass tonight?” Keith growled. He leaned down toward me. “Do you have your period? If so, you have to tell me. I need to know what I’m walking into here.”
I had my hand ready to slap him across the face.
Just as I started to make my move, someone called out Keith’s name.
He turned and let out a loud laugh.
“Freshman swim!” Keith bellowed.
That got a bunch of cheers.
Where I stood in the hallway of the house owned by Rebecca Melone’s parents, I saw the kitchen.
A portion of the counter.
A large bowl of spiked red punch.
I also saw the starting quarterback - Denny Brushner - standing like ten feet tall with a steel-cut jaw and looks that made him appear to be freaking thirty years old and not seventeen…
He held the back of some poor freshman’s neck like a lion holding the neck of its prey.
“We got ourselves a little guppy here,” Denny said in a deep, manly voice. “He wanted to come to the party. He wanted to swim with the sharks.”
“Eat his ass!” someone called out.
That made me laugh.
Stuff like this made me swear off all jocks.
No exceptions. Ever.
Keith wasn’t a jock even though they loved him.
Everyone loved Keith though.
He was good at fitting in where he needed to.
Kind of like the bad boy in a leather jacket with a fast car who didn’t need to play sports to get respect from the jocks.
“Allow me to do the honors,” Keith yelled.
All the football jocks started to cheer Keith’s name.
He grabbed the freshman’s hair.
“This is good for you, kid,” Keith said. “You want to be a shark? Huh?”
“Yes,” the freshman said. “Yes, sir. I want to be a shark.”
