“Going home. See ya.”
“Leave the hoodie.”
I stopped in my tracks, my smile fading a touch as I turned back around. “What? Why?”
He started ripping the tape off his leg. “You don’t need it anymore. No uniform. You won.”
My nails dug into the worn and faded fabric, my mind racing. “Technically, the uniform you provided is buried under two feet of dirt in the garden.”
“Exactly. So give me that one.”
My teeth clenched, and no matter how much I tried to talk my fingers into releasing the hoodie, they wouldn’t budge. I stood there, fighting with myself for so long that Dominic stopped what he was doing to quirk an eyebrow at me.
Then he got up, kicked the pillow to the side, and walked up to me with his hand outstretched. We locked eyes, an undercurrent of something somber and dense passing between us.
I let go.
Turned around.
Walked away without another word.
14
Eight yearsago
“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.You guys!” Nat slammed her tray down so hard that half her salad hopped off its plate. She slid into her saved seat at the table and leaned forward, the checkered tie of her uniform grazing the jumbled mess of chopped vegetables.
Rachel and I exchanged quick smirks.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved the girl to bits, but Nat was the queen of overhype and underdeliver. This entire production happened at least twice a month, and rarely did the gossip live up to the juiciness her excitement promised.
“Let me guess,” Rach teased as I hid my smile behind a bite of risotto. “Rumors that the aioli they served us last week with the ahi tartine was made with white truffle oil instead of paste have reached the PA, and now they’re launching a full investigation into what disgusting, impermissible garbage their children are being fed.”
“No—I mean, yes, that too—but that’s not what I’m talking about.” She inched closer, her soft brown eyes shimmering withexhilaration and glee. “It’s finally happening,” she hissed with the widest grin I’d ever seen on her. “The soccer team’s made their picks for prom.”
My smile waned. My lungs froze.
Rachel straightened beside me. “What? How do you know?”
Nat, who was now vibrating with excitement, reached into her Polène tote and retrieved her new prized possession—a midnight-blue hoodie. “Because I got one!” she squealed, clutching it to her chest.
Nausea slammed into my stomach. I blinked, frantically trying to make out the name and jersey number with her arm in the way.
Sixty-seven.
Jaxton Kim.
My shoulders relaxed a touch.
“Holy crap,” Ellie breathed from somewhere down the table.
“I know! I can’t believe it. Or, like, I guess I can, because let’s face it.” Nat gestured at her own face as the sole explanation. “But still! I’m so excited!!”
The murmurs of congratulations around the table were dry and laced with palpable jealousy. She preened, reveling in it.
In a school filled with the heirs and heiresses of some of the most powerful families in the world, the soccer team was pure royalty. Partly because they had a former FIFA world champion as their head coach, and partly because of their ever-so-talented captain, elected valedictorian, teenage heartthrob, and voted most likely to rule the world in ten years: Dominic Crawford.
“Who… who else has gotten one?” Rachel asked. She tossed another glance in my direction, but I wasn’t able to catch it in time. “Do you know?”
