Starlee's Turn (The Wayward Sons 2)

“It’s been a long week. Definitely a little fish-out-of-water, but seeing everyone join together in school harmony—it helps me feel a little more like I belong.”

We keep the affection to a minimum at school, or as much as we can, but Dexter’s mouth is warm next to my ear. “Wherever we are, Starlee, you belong. Don’t forget that.”

The bell rings and he touches my hip before walking off to his class. It takes everything in me not to run after him, drag him into the nearest quiet corner and show him how much his words mean to me.

The best part of sitting at the lunch table with the Wayward Sons isn’t just the company of four super-hot boys. It’s getting to share the leftovers from the coffee shop. Today it’s an apple crumble sitting in the middle of the circular table in a metal tin. George lunges for the pie but Charlie snatches it away.

“Dude!” George scowls, holding his plastic fork in his hand like a weapon.

“You know the new rule. Starlee gets to go first—before you dive in face first and inhale the whole thing.”

I smile gratefully at Charlie, laying it on a little thick for his brother. “Thank you, Charlie.”

“You’re welcome.” He offers me the tin and I take a heaping scoop out. It’s so sweet, that it’s all I really can eat. A moment later he pushes the pie back to the center of the table and all four of them attack.

Jake doesn’t even use a fork. He just grabs a piece with his hands and starts eating. Dexter scoops his onto a small container in his lunch bag and the twins alternate taking big bites from a shared fork.

Brothers.

“It’s like a pack of wolves over here,” a voice says and we all look up. Margaret is standing nearby in a light blue and gray sweater with a matching scarf around her neck. She looks like she stepped out of Hogwarts.

“Want some?” George asks, holding up the nearly empty plate.

“Gross. No. I don’t want your germs.” She holds up a sheet of paper and hands it to me. “Here’s the list of clubs you asked for, Starlee.”

“Oh, thanks,” I say, after I swallow my bite. I skim the sheet and see there are about fifteen groups on the list. There’s a Quidditch Club. I don’t think I can get Charlie to join that. I push the sheet to him.

“What’s going on?” George asks.

“Well, you guys are all involved in after school activities, I figured I should join a club too. Charlie said he’d do it with me.” I don’t mention our deal about him being allowed to play video games in the empty cabins in return.

“Huh,” George says, watching his brother closely.

“Can I suggest one?” Margaret asks.

“Sure.”

“I’m president of the Sierra Academy Helping Hands club. Basically, we do charity work throughout the community. Food drives in the fall. Toys for children at the holidays. Clothing in the winter. Emergency collections and that kind of thing.”

“That sounds really nice,” I say, thinking this may be a better fit for the two of us than Pep Club. I look at Charlie. “What do you think?”

“How often do you meet?” he asks. Dexter shakes his head at his time frugality.

“Every Thursday for an hour to plan and work on our current project, but there will be some extra days where we deliver goods or supplies.”

“I think we can totally help with that,” I say for the both of us. “We’ll be at the meeting next week.”

“Great. It’s in Mr. Ross’ room.”

Margaret walks off and I face the table. There are three inquisitive faces looking back at me. Charlie focuses on cleaning the pie tin. “I want to really embrace this whole high school thing. I get one year to do all the stuff I missed out on.” There’s a commotion across the room with squeals from the cheerleaders’ table. I jerk my thumb in their direction. “It’s not like I tried out for the squad.”

I expect them to laugh. Or agree. Or something. Instead, awkward expressions fill their faces and they look anywhere but at me. “Oh my god. You have cheerleader fantasies.”

“No,” Dexter says, grabbing the tin and his trash and heading to the garbage area.

I raise my eyebrow at the others.

“It’s not exactly a cheerleader fantasy,” George replies in a low voice. “It’s more of a ’how hot would Starlee look in a tiny skirt’ fantasy.”