Just terrified.
My chest locks tight as we tear toward the maze.
Please don’t let us be too late.
FOURTEEN
WATCH OUT
COLE
Where the hell is Drew?
I’ve already hauled five loads of pumpkins from the field to the games area, and he’s nowhere in sight. No jokes. No commentary. No dumb grin. Just me, the tractor, and my rapidly deteriorating sinuses.
I sneeze again, sharp enough that my eyes water. My head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton and thick syrup. My sinuses are waging war on my skull, and I’m losing. I probably deserve it after the stunt I pulled on Principal Parker this week, but still. Allergies plus manual labor equals a personal hell.
Chemistry is kicking my ass.Again.
And Parker made sure I knew it.
I’d barely sat down in his office before he launched into it. The disappointment speech. Theyour parents expect morespeech. Theno college worth a damn will want youspeech. Like he had a laminated checklist taped to his desk drawer.
He talked about real jobs. About how people who mess up get fired and replaced. Like I was already obsolete at seventeen.
I’d heard it all before. Usually I tune him out. Stare at the motivational cat poster on the wall. Count the cracks in the ceiling. Wait it out.
But this time something snapped.
My leg bounced against the chair, fast and uncontrollable. Adrenaline burned through me while his voice just kept going, pounding against my ears like it wanted inside my skull.
Screw him.
Screw the system that decides you’re worthless before you even get a chance to be anything else.
Another sneeze rips out of me, violent enough to bend me forward.
God, this sucks.
I’ve been trying. Actually trying. Late nights hunched over notes. Flashcards spread across my bed. Cramming until the sky starts to lighten and my brain feels like mush. I worked my ass off just to get a shaky grip on formulas that refuse to make sense. Chemistry and I don’t speak the same language, and no amount of caffeine is fixing that.
Screw anyone who thinks I don’t give a shit.
I give all the shits.
So yeah. That night, after Parker’s office and his voice drilling holes in my skull, I went home and did what any rational, sleep-deprived teenager with a bruised ego would do.
I planned revenge.
A grin tugs at my mouth as I remember it. Principal Parker’s shrill voice echoing across the student parking lot, his face turning the exact shade of those cinnamon Red Hots candies.
“Mr. Trotta! Get your ass over here. NOW!”
Still perfect. Every detail.
He stormed across the lot, huffing like a busted engine, arms flung wide when he saw his office. Or rather, saw that it lookedexactlythe same as he’d left it the night before. Desk. Chair.Filing cabinet. Even the pencil sprawled across his blotter hadn’t moved an inch.
Right in the middle of the parking lot.
