As the starting quarterback of All Saints High, Knight’s had the dubious pleasure of playing against Scully. Rumor has it, Penn is the best in the county. Maybe even the state. Principal Prichard has tried to offer him a scholarship several times so he could join our team, but lucky for me, Penn is the loyal type.
“Knight.” My voice breaks, falling off the cliff of indifference. I’m begging. The girl in his lap shoots daggers at me with her gaze. “Vaughn could get into real shit if this goes south.”
His face morphs from bored to annoyed. He pushes the girl off his lap and hands her the remainder of his joint.
“I’m not going to break it apart because you’re being a vagina, but I’ll go downstairs to make sure these two dicks keep it clean.” He swipes his tongue over his lips, and his tongue ring pokes out.
I look back at the field, and both guys have taken off their shirts. Knight is right. Penn is a far cry from the emaciated boy who gave me the most precious thing in the world four years ago. Muscled, sinewy, and imperial, he has zero percent body fat and bulging arms. A prominent V points down to his holy grail, and by the way my fellow cheerleaders sigh beside me, they’ve noticed it, too. Vaughn is skinnier in comparison. Not that it matters. He has a feline patience you cannot help but admire, and when he’s in his element, I’ve seen him take down guys triple his size without breaking a sweat.
They circle each other, quiet and deadly and serious. Vaughn is expressionless, as per usual. Stoic and calm. Penn looks out of focus, wearing a loony smile on his lips. The glass bottle slips from between his fingers and rolls on the ground, and people burst out with laughter that echoes in my heart.
“Does he fight here often?” I ask no one in particular.
“Nope.” Gus, our football captain who sits two rows down, takes a pull of his beer. His friends beside him are passing a clipboard with names written on it between them. They’ve been placing bets on the fights all night, and this one takes the cake. Gus snatches the clipboard and pushes it into his duffel bag, balling his varsity jacket and stuffing it on top to conceal it. Guess he still thinks it’s a secret that he runs a betting ring. Rumor has it, he makes a small fortune running these bets, and Vaughn—the guy who hates money and everything it represents—gets a cut. Everyone knows what he does with it. Saving so he can open his own studio without touching a dime of his parents’ wealth.
“Penn’s not the get-drunk-and-fight type of dude, and I’ve partied with his school plenty. Something’s up.” He finishes his bottle and rubs his hands together.
Something’s up.
I need to stop this guilt-fest. I’m not responsible for his problems. A different girl—a brave girl—would have faced him by now. Not me. He knows what we did that day and how it led to his sister’s disappearance. I never asked for his forgiveness because—let’s be real—I don’t deserve it.
My breath catches deep inside my throat as the two measure each other on the dead field, their body language a perfect mirror. Vaughn is the first to throw a punch in Penn’s face. It’s a heavy blow, and Penn’s nose bursts with blood. People shriek and suck in a collective breath. Penn stumbles backward, laughing and shaking his head as if he dodged the hit. He licks the blood on the corner of his upper lip, then pounces on Vaughn in a way I’ve never seen before.
Bengal tiger.
I almost forgot how quick and graceful he was. Is. Just like his sister.
Penn jams Vaughn to the ground, locking his knees on either side of Vaughn’s torso, then rains sloppy fists down on his face. Some hit. Some miss. I want to throw up. The crowd is screaming. This hasn’t happened before. Vaughn has taken some serious beatings over the past couple of years, but he’s never been thrown to the ground. Vaughn knows better than to squirm and waste his energy. He learned jiujitsu before he was kicked out of three different classes for being disobedient.
“Spencer! Spencer! Spencer! Spencer!” All Saints High students chant from our side of the bleachers, throwing empty cans of beer to the sidelines. Students from Las Juntas, the other school, remain silent but no less intimidating. They are less prone to