The Charlotte Chronicles (Jackson Boys 1)

“Spoilsport,” she mouths.

Shaking my head, I brush by all three of them. I want to get home and see Charlotte. Behind me I hear murmurs and then two sets of footsteps. Christ, I hope Nick isn’t bringing Abby home with us. Spinning around, I open my mouth to confront him only to see Nick and Sinclair. There’s a worried look on her face, and since she mentioned Charlotte, I figure I better find out what it is.

“Did you have something you wanted me to tell Charlotte?” I ask.

Sinclair grimaces and blurts out, “It’s all over school that she’s pregnant and doesn’t have cancer at all.”

Nick and I exchange looks filled with equal parts anger and alarm.

“She’s not. And the assholes that say she doesn’t have cancer are sick in their heads.” Other words, ones that are more profane, sit on the tip of my tongue. The rumor mill at North Prep is crazy. From Charlotte and I having sex to her being pregnant and faking cancer in under three hours? That must be some kind of fucked-up record.

“I just thought . . .” she trails off.

“Yeah?” Nick prompts, not so visibly angry like me. Sinclair melts under the heat of his smile, so before she turns into go, I snap my fingers. They both jerk to attention.

“What?” I bark. This flusters her again, and Nick glares at me. I gesture for him to take over.

“He’s more bark than bite,” Nick tells her in soothing tones. “But we all care about Charlotte. What’s going on?”

“I know Charlotte would never lie about anything like this, but some girls are jealous of how protective of her you are. How both of you are so careful with her and that maybe now that everyone is older she’s worried she’s losing you, so she made up this story to tighten her hold.” She barely takes a breath through the whole . . . what. Confession? Warning?

“Her hold?” I stare at her incredulously. This conversation is over. Behind me, Nick is thanking Sinclair and telling her that everyone will get their turn with him. That makes me laugh.

“That’s pretty fucking strange,” Nick comments as he catches up with me. “You telling Charlotte, or am I doing it?”

“I’m not telling her jack.” I shake my head. There’s no reason for Charlotte to ever find out about this crap.

Nick frowns. “If we don’t tell her, she’ll hear it from someone else and it’s going to be even more distorted.”

I hit the locks, and we both climb into the Audi that is designated for our use. Dad has told me a hundred times this isn’t my car. He thinks we’re going to end up completely worthless if we are given everything, but since we’re the only ones that drive this car, it seems like an empty lesson. But I get it and I want to do it all myself, have an identity separate from my dad’s.

Ever since I was a sophomore people have been asking me where I’m going to college, but a degree in business has never held any interest for me. There’s a way for me to live up to my dad’s expectations, but it doesn’t involve more school when I graduate.

“No.” I’m emphatic. “She’s got three more weeks here. By the time she gets back from Switzerland, they’ll have moved on to something else. I want her to be able to enjoy her last years at North Prep without this hanging over her head.”

Nick screws up his face but while he might disagree with me, we’re a unit. He’ll back me one hundred percent. “I’ll keep my ears open. If anything changes . . .”

“Agreed. If something changes, then we tell her.”

At home, Nick starts in on his homework and I open my emails.

I’ve made contact with your local recruiter. He’s expecting a call from you. Appreciate it if you’d let your parents know. Don’t like keeping this from your old man.

GP

I send a quick response.

Thanks! I’ll call ASAP. Situation with Charlotte tense. She leaves in three weeks. Will tell them after.

NJ

“Why not tell us now?” I whirl to see Nick standing slightly behind me and obviously reading my emails.

With a defensive shrug, I say, “Because if I tell Mom and Dad, they’ll tell Bo and AnnMarie, who’ll tell Charlotte, and I’m not ready for her to know.”

“Because she’ll go ballistic.”

“Yeah.” I grab the football and throw it to Nick. He catches it, settles back into his chair and tosses it back. This is how we think. “I figured I’d have all this time with her, but with her going away, the most I’ll have is seven weeks. Three now and four when she comes back.”

“If she comes back by then,” he points out.

There’s a little more heat on the return pass I send Nick’s way and he grunts when the ball thuds against his chest. “When she comes back.”