Chapter 1
Before
I’m waiting on the bleachers, watching Nate’s football practice because I have nothing better to do, and he told me we’d get Burger King after.
It’s hot.
And there are bugs.
I’m starting to think fast food isn’t worth this torture.
My earbuds have stopped staying in because of the sweat on my ears, and I haven’t read a single word of my book in half an hour because it’s too hot to concentrate on anything.
So I’m stuck watching practice.
Nate’s running them through some sort of drill, and watching them, I’ve never been more glad that I didn’t let Nate talk me into playing football.
I’m not looking at anyone in particular when I notice him.
Number seventeen is looking right at me.
I look away immediately, the way you do when you accidentally make eye contact with someone you don’t know. Nobody on that field has any reason to look at me. I’m just the coach’s little brother.
But my curiosity gets the better of me.
I look back.
He’s still looking.
Jason Barnett. I know who he is because I know everybody in Rosehill. He’s about to be a senior. His family moved here a couple of years ago. He’s good at football. That’s all. Surface level.
But right now, he’s looking at me weirdly.
I look down at my book, busying myself with putting it in my backpack while my heart does something I’ve never acknowledged out loud.
It doesn’t stop.
And he’s still looking at me.
Now
“It’s really starting to freak me out,” I pant out through deep breaths, staring up at the ceiling, doing my eighth rep on the bench press.
“What is?” Ryan asks from behind me, hovering in case I need him. “The roommate thing?”
I push through the burn in my arms, but decide in that moment that I’ve had enough for today, racking the bar before sitting up. “I swear he took my hoodie.”
“You sure you didn’t lose it?”
“How? The room ain’t that big. And I know it was hanging on my chair.” I grab my reusable water bottle for something to do, other than get worked up over mystalker.
Like I haven’t already dealt with enough to last alifetime.
“The notebook I could write off,” I continue, even though I needed that notebook. Dude stole it right before an exam worth twenty-five percent of my grade.
And for what?
“The pencils, whatever. Maybe he ran out. But it’s been five things now, and we don’t even wear the same size. What would he want withmyhoodie?”
