Devil May Care (Boys of Preston Prep 1)

I shake my head. “Michaela is a gossip.”

“We’re just worried about you.” He tosses me a glance, eyes tight. “Everyone knows things have been tough the last few months. Especially after what happened that day, with you getting kicked, it seems like it’s getting worse. Even the twins have noticed things are bad.”

I inwardly wince. Sharing a campus with the twins makes it really difficult to hide the fact that I’m a social leper. “Well, things are fine. Swim, classes, all that stuff. It’s fine.”

“So, no one is messing with you?” Out of all my siblings, he knows the most about my ostracization. He knows exactly how the Devils work.

“No more than usual.”

He gives me a dark look. “And no one is hurting you?”

“What happened that day in the hall was a one-off. Nothing like that’s happened since.” I huff in frustration, because it’d just figure when things started looking up, everyone would look at me like a silly victim. “Honestly, things have actually been a little better. Hamilton—” I snap my mouth closed around his name, afraid I’ve said too much.

He glances over, eyes narrowed. “Hamilton what?”

I exhale, explaining, “Look, we’re co-captains now, and I have to give him credit. He’s really stepped up. He’s just…” I pause, unable to really explain the change in him without admitting things I have to keep hidden.

Brayden gives me a complicated look—something full of dread and anger. “Please tell me you’re not involved with Hamilton Bates, Gwen.”

“What? Why would you say that?” But my ears are flaming, and I may be sweating through my shirt. “We’re co-captains. The school made it very clear they wanted us to cooperate.” I reluctantly try testing the waters with, “But if you want to know the truth, we are friendlier now. Actually, I think calling us friends wouldn’t even be wildly inaccurate.”

“I saw the car that dropped you off last night,” he says, and my breath gets trapped in my chest, like a frightened bird. He looks like he’s giving me the chance to fess up before he finally says, “It looked a lot like Hamilton’s BMW.”

I work my mouth around a reply but find that I can’t.

He places the orange on the coffee table and wipes his fingers on his jeans. “And don’t think I can’t see that mark on your neck.”

My hand shoots up to cover it, eyes averted.

He sighs. “Do you know why I quit the football team?”

I think back, and come up blank, shaking my head. “No, not really.”

“It was fine until my senior year. The guys and I had grown up together. They knew me—trusted me. Sure, I may have been a little different, an Adams, but most of them were willing to overlook that since I was a steady, reliable player, and plus, I’d been their friend for so long already. They were weird about it, but they still liked me.” He shifts, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. His voice is quiet and bitter. “And then Hamilton stepped in. Even though he doesn’t play football, the other Devils do, and you know how it goes. You know how they’re all his little puppets. He made a lot of comments about the team’s standards, and how I was only good because my father probably came from the projects or something. He twisted everything and turned the younger players against me. They complained so much, the older guys told me I was too much of a distraction to have on the team. They wanted unity. I was an outsider. It was best for the team if I quit.”

My stomach twists uncomfortably. There’s no reason to doubt what he’s saying. It sounds exactly like Hamilton.

At least, the old Hamilton.

My brother continues. “Hamilton is a player, Gwen. He knows how to get what he wants, from who he wants, all the time. I know you think he’s just an asshole, but it’s more than that. He’s really skilled at being an asshole. Manipulating people is his superpower. He comes by it honestly, from a long line of snobby-assed rich dudes who get off on the oppression of others. And no matter what he says, he will never see you, or any of us, as anything other than freaks.”

I chew on my lip as I sit there with a heavy, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Don’t you think it’s possible for people to change? To grow and become better people?”

His eyes are filled with disbelief, and I know that he sees right through me. “Do I think that?! What I think doesn’t matter! You’re the one who refused to come to dinner last night wi

th our moms. You’re the one who’s made it very clear that you don’t think people are capable of change. You’re the one who says they don’t deserve second chances. If you can’t give your mother that benefit, does someone like Hamilton fucking Bates deserve it?”

I stand up and walk away, the truth of his words stinging more than they should. Comparing Hamilton to my mother isn’t fair. Yes, Hamilton has been awful to me—to my family—for years. But what is Hamilton to me? He’s no one. He didn’t bring me into this world. He didn’t choose to abandon an inherent responsibility to me.

He stepped up, revealed himself, and he even showed some self-awareness. He grew. He changed. He defended me. My mother never did any of those things.

And that’s the difference.

Micha, on stage, is a force.

The dance performance is a modern version of The Nutcracker. Part ballet, part hip-hop, and a heavy dose of artistic license. It’s clever and filled with bright, vivid colors. Roles are gender-bent, and Micha has the lead as Clara. Or rather, in this version, Clarence.

His costume is elegantly androgynous. He was right—he did need more gloss. It perfectly matches the glitter on his tutu. The fight with Brayden fades away as I sink into the performance. Seeing Micha do something he loves—truly loves—is magnificent. And the thing is, he’s so utterly good at it. He moves like something fluid and wind-driven, yet also so amazingly strong and solid. He is a true performer, and I can tell from being part of the audience that he has them all in the palm of his hands. It’s not just because he’s adorable and charismatic, either. He’s incredibly skilled, technically-speaking, and it’s obvious by the way he moves that he’s put in the work training, that this is so much more than some childhood whim of his. It’s something he was born to do.