room to mimic our game-winning throw from last Friday. We spend a few minutes cleaning up, running the cleaning wipes over the equipment, heeding the big lecture we’d gotten from the trainer on the first day about MRSA and other such plagues.
I can’t stop thinking about Vandy as we walk into the locker room. Is this my fault, too? Or would her brother and parents still have been this vigilant, regardless? She’d always been a little sheltered, truthfully, and Emory is right. Vandy doesn’t have a hardness about her, never has. Back when we were kids, it used to be an almost fun trait to play with. Teasing her. Coaxing her. Getting her to cover for us, because she was such an honest face and an easy mark. When Vandy lied, butter couldn’t fucking melt.
But the accident had to have made it worse. It’s a question that nags at me, this sense that I have one more sin to add to my pile. Of course, Vandy is bored out of her mind, and why wouldn’t she be? She’s living in the land of gluttony at Preston. Everyone else is off partying, getting laid, spending mommy and daddy’s money, making memories, and leaving a mark in that long corridor of glass trophy cases. And here Vandy Hall just wants to write some dumb fucking article—that’s her pinnacle of significance here—and she can’t even do that.
Instead, she wants to shut Emory’s whole plan down.
I already know I can’t talk Emory out of it—not if he’s doing it for her. At the same time, I know I can't talk her out of getting in the way—not if she’s doing it for him.
Goddamn siblings, man.
I thank God for making me an only child, but something begins brewing in my mind—some connecting factor. Emory needs the Devils. Vandy needs a project. I need to stop getting caught between it.
Maybe, if I handle this exactly right, all three of us can get what we need out of Preston Prep.
You’d think it would be easier to talk to the girl next door, but no dice. It’s not exactly like I can go over, knock on the door, and ask her out for a chat. I don’t have her cell number, and she hasn’t touched the closed curtains on her bedroom window once. She has a couple social media profiles, but they’re sparse enough that I figure she doesn’t bother with them much.
At a loss for anything better, I do what all guys do when trying to catch a girl’s attention; pretend to be doing something else, while lying in wait.
My chance comes after dinner. For me, that means a sad cheese pizza from whatever joint the HOA allows through their gate. And if the smells wafting from next door are any indication, then for Vandy, that means an actual home-cooked meal. The scent of it makes my stomach churn in longing as I take my empty, greasy pizza box to the trash can just outside the garage.
Cat.
The cat is clearly stalking something, crouched low to the ground in front of the bushes. Its fluffy tail flicks to the left and right, ears pointed forward as it listens intently.
“So we meet again,” I tell Firefly, interrupting the cat’s focus. “Come here, kitty-kitty.” I bend down, fully expecting it to either hesitate or book it. It is a cat after all—they’re suspicious as hell—but instead, it strolls right over and rubs a whiskered cheek across my outstretched hand. “What’cha doing out here, huh? Stalking chipmunks?”
The cat purrs greedily and stretches its front paws out, giving me space to scratch under its chin. Firefly is so pleased by the affection that it doesn’t move when its owner comes outside.
“Firefly,” Vandy coos. “Where’s my sweet boy?”
“Over here,” is my soft reply, knowing that I’m breaking all the rules by engaging her like this. School rules, house rules, best friend rules. At least what happened at school wasn’t my fault. This is something else altogether, and it makes me antsy, nervous.
I hear the sound of her stilted footfalls before I see her. Vandy eventually appears around Emory’s massive truck, and crouched as I am, the first thing I see is the creamy skin revealed by a pair of lounging shorts.
“Oh,” she says, sounding vaguely startled.
I can’t help the way my eyes slide up her calves, skitter over her delicate knees, and land on the pale expanse of her smooth thighs. I tear my gaze away to look up at her, jaw flexing.