Rebel at Spruce High (Spruce Texas Romance #5) - Daryl Banner Page 0,17

pongs. The loud tones and chime-filled fanfares.

It’s the Spruce Arcade, my sanctuary.

I see a small handful of others from school who came straight here as well, but they’re not my destination. I head over to my go-to pinball machine and let the stresses of the day fall straight off my shoulders as I pop in a quarter, then let the balls fly.

Minutes pass. A ravenous Ms. Pac-Man eats her way through a maze of colorful ghosts. A half hour has passed. I’m gunning down aliens with my tiny 8-bit starship. Then a whole hour. And I get busy making Sub-Zero freeze the crap out of a lightning-happy Raiden in a bloody and merciless showdown.

I achieve a new Mortal Kombat II high-score and proudly type in my arcade nick: TBOY.

And as I stare at that list of high scores, which is basically an alternating list of TBOY and JIMS (That’s Jimmy Strong), I find that no matter how many points I rack up in the arcade, it doesn’t do the usual trick of putting my mind at ease. No matter what I do, I can’t shake away the pesky thoughts of Donovan Pane.

The incident in the cafeteria isn’t even about Hoyt anymore. I couldn’t care less about those jocks. The person whose approval I truly wanted all day—the one who hooked my mind on him before I even met him face-to-face, thanks to the gossipers—was Vann. And after proving himself all heroic, he goes and shuts me down with harsh and dismissive words in the office.

Then Kelsey has the nerve to call him hot afterwards.

Yeah. Of course he’s hot. He’s gorgeous. Even if I’m a little bit afraid of him, and maybe slightly concerned for my safety in his vicinity, I can’t help but notice his striking eyes and the way they make me feel like his heart and soul must be infinitely deep.

And as I launch into another round of Mortal Kombat, watching muscled beasts and martial artists battle warriors with fireballs at their fingertips, I can’t help but imagine Vann as a character from the game. A hero to select. A warrior in black leather, complete with those cuffs on his wrists and military boots. I see Vann with his sharp, dark eyes as I select him on the character screen, then take him to battle, fighting the bad guys for me. I watch him uppercut my enemies. I slap and tap on the buttons as he launches a green, glowing energy ball like a rocket at my opponent. I watch him deliver a perfect roundhouse kick, then flex his muscles with victory as he stands over the defeated, triumphant.

Finish him!

A smile finds my face at last.

“Wait a sec,” exclaims a kid from somewhere behind me. “Are you TBOY? Are you the TBOY?”

I turn around to find a group of three preteen punks standing behind me, a group I saw walking around when I first came in, all of them staring at my high score, as if awestruck.

I shrug. “Yep. That’s me.”

“I’ve tried beating your scores all dang summer!” Despite his frustrated tone, the look of awe in his eyes is undeniable. It makes me feel, for this fleeting moment, like the most important person in all of Spruce. “Are you cheating?”

And then he goes and ruins it. “Cheating?” I blurt indignantly, my face wrinkling up as I deflate. “I don’t cheat. How can you even cheat at an arcade game?”

“I dunno.” Now it’s his turn to scowl as he crosses his arms, this eight-or-nine-year-old little punk. Why can’t I place his face? I know this kid. “Maybe you … you take advantage of a glitch. It’s called an exploit. I saw this guy do it in a YouTube video.”

“I’m not a cheater,” I assert yet again with more force.

One of his friends steps in. “C’mon, Kirkland. It isn’t worth it. Let’s get out of here. Your mom’s here to pick us up.”

The kid—Kirkland—lets out a sigh. “I’mma beat your score,” he tells me, “someday,” he adds uncertainly, then turns and leaves with his little trio of moody prepubescent gamers.

Kirkland. Wow, he’s grown a lot since the last time I saw him. He’s Kirk and Bonnie’s kid, and if I’m doing the math right, he just started third grade this year. Bonnie was a frequent customer at Lucille’s where my mom works. She used to babysit me back in the day, too, before my lovely stepfather came into the picture and cut everyone nice out of my life. If