“So,” Higgins screams, “what happened to Penn Scully?”
“Nothing, sir!”
“What happened?” he screams.
“Nothing, sir!” they all bark at the same time. I should feel proud. Touched. Something. Anything. I don’t. I fucking don’t. It’s too late.
“I will ruin your goddamn football careers, boys!” He punches the lockers again. And again. And again.
“Penn Scully is our captain, sir.”
For the first time in weeks, I smile.
I have Daria’s back.
And my team’s got mine.
Loving you is like
Listening to a song
For the first time
And somehow knowing all the lyrics
The game ends with 42-17 after much hard work from me trying to lose. Our scrawny quarterback ended up having an arm like Brett Favre, and the defense played their hearts out and forced fumbles that they recovered. Las Juntas Bulldogs win, anyway. Kannon gets the ball, but we both know who deserves it.
I leave before the after-game prayer. Stalking toward the locker room, I take a quick shower, throw my duffel bag over my shoulder, and burst into All Saints’ unlocked showers. Most of the players are inside, lathered in soap, sporting bruises on their foreheads and chests. Gus is sitting on a bench, a towel wrapped around his waist, holding his head in his hands. He is still dry as a bone.
Kicking his shin with my toes, I snap my fingers before him. He looks up. He looks like death. His eyes bloodshot, his cheeks sunken. People are whining about my being there as though I came in with a ruler to compare our dicks. I ignore the protests and requests to see myself the hell out.
“Your girlfriend’s dead.” He smirks darkly.
“Meet me at the pit tonight, Bauer. And this time, you’re not in charge of the fucking paperwork. You’re fighting. With me.”
Daria asked that no one know she was leaving. She preferred it that way, not trusting Gus with the information. But I don’t put it past my sister to tell him, and I have to make sure he doesn’t get to Daria tonight.
“Give me one good reason to do anything you ask, you fucking lowlife. I have every right to—”
I punch him in the face, knocking him back. He falls backward, and Colin—I’m not done with you, either, Colin—manages to catch him before his head hits the floor.
“You’ll come because I know where you live, and if you make me come to you, I will, and without witnesses, you will fare so much worse. You too, Stimatzky.” I look up to meet Colin’s gaze. “I have a bone to pick with you.”
I storm out, hearing Knight yell, “I knew it,” and lockers slamming in the distance.
Not all the All Saints High team are fuckers. But their captain is.
War is a universal language. Christian, Jew, Buddhist, or a Muslim. Beautiful or ugly. Rich or poor.
They’re about to find out that it is especially vicious when you’re the underdog.
“I need to tell you something, bro.” Kannon bounces his knee fast and furious while we drive back from the hospital and toward the snake pit. We had to make a stop at Cam’s bedside to give him the football we used for the win, signed by all of us, and while we were at it, we took him some greasy-ass food he’d never be able to get from the gross canteen.
“Spit it out.” I roll my window and spit out phlegm. My mind’s not on the fight I’m about to walk into. My mind is back in the Followhill mansion, where Daria is packing her bags to fly fuck knows where. Jaime and Mel are going to drive her to the airport tomorrow, and they already made it clear that this is one family function the Scullys are not invited to.
Daria was a rock star today, telling me to save my own ass because hers was already on fire. But when she stood there and yelled at me, her hair up and her neck exposed, the only thing I could focus on was the fact the sea glass necklace was no longer there.
I punch the steering wheel.
“Whoa. What’s wrong with you?” Kannon asks.
Everything. Every-fucking-thing is wrong with me.
“Just say what you gotta say, K.”
“First, I want to know what was up on that field, Penn.”
“Nothing. And if you don’t say what you have to say right now, I’m throwing you out of the car,” I inform him matter-of-factly without missing a beat.
“Well, shit, I was kind of hoping you’d be in a better mood but better late than never, I guess. So remember the first game of the season? Against the Saints?”
“How could anyone forget?” I throw the car into park in front of the snake pit. The lights are already on, and there’s more commotion than usual. In fact, it looks like my entire school is heading toward it. All Saints High, too. Dozens of kids are marching through the gates that have been busted open somehow, and a cold sweat finds its way to the back of my neck.