“Not yet,” I remind him. “One more semester.”
It’s a miracle my GPA hasn’t suffered with all the ridiculous errands and stunts Prescott has assigned me.
“But it’ll happen,” he replies, his smile several degrees warmer than his frosty blue eyes. “You’re a smart guy. Here on scholarship, right?”
The silent implication: how else could I afford Kerrington? It’s true. My dad is retired military and my stepmother is a teacher. I wasn’t raised with the luxuries these guys took for granted growing up.
But I will have them. Unlike these spoiled brats, I’ll earn them.
All of this runs through my head while Prescott and I stare at one another, neither showing our hands or our thoughts. Bent said Prescott “knows” about Banner, which can’t be good. I’m waiting to hear what this last rite of passage is, and it better not have anything to do with her. She’d laugh in my face if she knew the idiotic shit I’ve been doing to get into some secret society that will supposedly pave my way in the future. Banner doesn’t do shortcuts and doesn’t look for fast tracks. She is a fast track. The girl’s certified Mensa, for God’s sake.
Her brain was the first thing about her that turned me on. We faced off once in our Debate & Public Speaking class. Needless to say, she shredded my every argument and ripped apart each of my rebuttals.
I could barely walk back to my seat my dick was so hard.
“Are you ready for the final rite?” Prescott asks, reminding me that unfortunately I’m still here.
“Sure.”
I’ve found saying less is always better with Prescott. He’s like a parasite leeching any word he can exploit or drain.
“You’ve met and exceeded every challenge so far,” Prescott says. “For your final rite, you will fuck a fat girl.”
A stunned silence spreads around his words like spilled milk. Really, that’s not entirely accurate since I’m the only one who seems stunned. Every other face around the table reflects excitement, discomfort, curiosity, or some mixture of all three. Even Bent watches me impassively, waiting for my response.
They don’t have long to wait.
“What the hell?” A scowl breaks out over my face like a rash. “You want me to fuck some random fat girl? I don’t understand what—”
“Not random,” Prescott interrupts. “Banner Morales.”
Fury sets a small blaze at my feet, licks up over my legs and the rest of my body. My heart is a lump of coal catching fire in my chest and burning until it hurts. So I’m basically a chimney with no chute.
“Repeat that.” My voice drops to a deceptive quiet that doesn’t bely the emotions roaring inside of me.
“I said you have to fuck a fat girl,” Prescott reiterates, his face an unreadable mask, but his eyes telling; vibrant, cruel blue. “Banner Morales.”
I’d appreciate the irony of this final challenge being something I fully intended to do anyway if it wasn’t so insulting to one of the few people I not only tolerate but really like. If it wasn’t intended to hurt her.