Devil May Care (Boys of Preston Prep 1)

“Which is why I need to know...” I look at him carefully. “Are you really my friend?” Before he can answer, I clarify, “I mean, really my friend, not just someone who falls in line because they know I can make life harder for them if they don’t.”

“Well.” His eyebrows pull together in thought. “Yeah, I guess. If you’re really not screwing with Gwen, that is. Because I don’t want to be friends with the kind of person who’d do that. Not anymore. I’m fucking over it, Hamilton, I mean it.”

I nod in understanding. “Then you can’t tell anyone. I’m serious, not even Pippin and Melanie.”

His head tilts in confusion. “Who the fuck are Pippin and Melanie?”

I give him a long-suffering look. “Your dogs.”

“My dogs are Piper and Melon, you fuckwit.” He laughs and I can’t help the way my mouth curves into a grin.

I remember Hollis’ advice.

‘Find out who your real friends are and whether or not they’ll support you.’

This at least puts me on the path.

The best way to get to Hayden from the Devil’s tower

is to cut through the entrance to the athletic fields. I start down the path that curves around the side of the stadium, thrumming with the anticipation of getting to Gwendolyn’s dorm room. Just as I pass the gate, I hear the sounds of clatter and clinking, smell the harsh scent of chemicals in the air. The unmistakable smell of spray paint. The thing that really draws my attention, however, is the sound of muffled laughter.

I go through the gate and am greeted by the sight of Heston, holding a can of spray paint, and standing right in front of the massive wall that Gwendolyn and I have spent weeks prepping and painting. He’s got this dumb, shit-eating grin on his face, which never bodes well. My stomach drops when I see Ansel up on a ladder, a paint brush in his hand. Emory stands underneath him, a cigarette in one hand and a stack of papers in the other.

None of them see me as I walk toward them, which is probably good because there’s no fucking way I can hide the shock and building rage on my face. Are they seriously screwing up all of our hard work?

“What the fuck are you doing?” It comes out in a low growl.

“Dude,” Heston turns to me and laughs, oblivious to my anger. “You’re early. We were going to present it as a surprise, but you’ve got to see this. It’s completely epic.”

I finally get a good view of the wall and I just stand there, staring at it in disbelief, because it can’t be real.

Plastered there is a massive poster from yesterday’s performance. It features Gwendolyn’s little brother dressed in his flamboyant costume. Dozens of smaller photos surround him—programs from the show. There’s a tag overhead in hot pink paint. “Queen of the Freaks!”

I lunge at Heston and grab the spray paint, then shout to the guys, “Get the fuck down, now!”

Ansel looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, but Emory just stands there with a dumbass look on his face.

“Dude, what’s your fucking deal?” Heston says, looking like he wants to take me. I can see him measuring me up, wondering if he’d come out on top. We both know he won’t.

“What’s my deal? Are you fucking kidding me?” I take a gulping breath. “For one, I spent four Saturdays getting this wall prepped and ready. Four. Goddamned. Saturdays. And you come in here and fuck it up?” I slam my hand into Heston’s shoulder, sending him stumbling back. “For two, this is a twelve-year-old. A twelve-year-old who has fuck-all to do with you!”

Ansel, seeming entirely unconcerned, says, “But look at it? It’s absolutely hilarious. That picture of the kid? How could we not?”

Even the old Hamilton would have found this stupid. Picking on a twelve-year-old? Where is the fucking victory in that? Where is the challenge in punching down like this? What’s the fucking point? Bashing someone because they’re gay—because they’re different—that’s never been my thing.

Heston comes charging back to me, fists clenched. “We just know you had to spend all that time with Adams, and we figured this would make it worth it. Don’t you think?” His smile is cutting. “Unless, you know, you actually like hanging out with her.” His blue eyes hold mine. “Do you?”

I step up to him, nostrils flared as I challenge, “Why? You looking to steal another girl from me?”

He huffs a laugh. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t think I don’t know about Reagan. You’ve been marking her up for weeks now.”

“You were stringing her along,” he spits. “Either that or using her for a cover. Maybe you learned something from your sister—like how to stay on the downlow when you're fucking the town trash.”

Heston’s eyes dart above my shoulder and widen before I can even get my fist in the air, which seems strange enough to stop me.

I hear Ansel mutter a sharp, “Fuck.”