SNAPPED (The Slate Brothers 1)

“My eyes are steel?” I say, almost laughing.

She nods, then gives Sebastian a surprised look. “You don’t think they are, Bass? Look at her— you can tell she’s always thinking a few steps ahead of you. That’s probably why you like her so much.”

“Because she’s smarter than me?” Sebastian says with fake offense.

“No— well, yes,” Mrs. Slate says, slapping him on the arm teasingly. “But no— because whatever the game is, she’s going to beat you at it.”

“Thank you,” I say. “That’s really nice of you to say.”

“Just make sure you use your powers for good,” Mrs. Slate says. It’s an offhand comment, delivered with a smile, but it cuts at my heart. Yes— I plan to use my powers for good. It’s just that in the process, I’m trying to bring down New Recruits Week, the football team’s god-like status, and, oh yeah, your husband.

What will she think of me, when that day comes? When it comes out that didn’t say anything about who I am and my real feelings about her family, her husband?

She’ll hate me, and I won’t be able to blame her. I might be able to live with that, though— but what about Sebastian? He’ll probably hate me too, when the time comes. But I’m not as convinced I can live with that.

20

It’s New Recruits Week, which means Sarah and I are getting ready for the first of the parties together. She’s wearing an insanely low cut black dress— one that makes me think she should have been the spy all along. She’s going to turn all sorts of heads in that thing. I, on the other hand, am wearing Sebastian’s jersey.

“No one will bother you if you wear it. They’ll know you’re taken. Also, it makes a pretty cute dress on you,” Sebastian said when I modeled it for him— as a joke— earlier that morning.

“A dress? You’re kidding.”

“You wore it out as a dress the first time we met.”

“Because I was literally covered in pizza grease. I had no choice.”

“As a dress,” Sebastian said again, grinning, and I knew I’d be wearing the damn jersey as a dress. It was hard to say no to him.

“I can’t believe you got that. I knew you and Sebastian have been around campus lately, but you must be really flirting it up to get a jersey from him,” Sarah says a little enviously. “Has he told you anything good? I’m going to video as much as I can with my phone so we’ve got some good shots of underage drinking and stuff, but everything else will just be here say. I mean, I can’t go videotaping people having sex without their consent, you know? Though…I wonder, if I tape it but don’t watch the tape—“

“I’d avoid that entirely,” I say, touching up my mascara. “Not worth the trouble.”

“I wonder if a release formed signed under false pretenses would hold up,” Sarah wonders, looking at the ceiling, then shrugs. “Well, either way, we’ll get some good info. Farrow said to pay attention to both what’s flatly illegal, and what’s against the student code of conduct. The latter is actually more important when it comes to New Recruits Week and the role it plays in the school’s opinion of football culture.” She says the last bit in such a precise, clipped way that I know it’s exactly what Farrow told her.

I’ve finished primping, and mostly gotten over the fact that if I bend over in this jersey, someone’s going to get a show. I turn to Sarah, and we start toward the door. It isn’t until we’re outside that I think enough time has gone by that I can sound casual when I ask, “What’s the difference, though?”

“Huh?”

“So a girl has sex. And it happens to be with a football player. Is that because of the football culture system, or because she just wanted to have sex with the guy? And the high school students drinking— are they pressured into doing it by the rest of the team, or are they just kids making stupid choices?”

Sarah considers this as our heels clip along the uneven brick sidewalks of Berkfield’s South Campus. “I think it’s both, right now. And what it needs to be is just one— the choice. There shouldn’t be any question.”

I nod. “Fair.” She’s right— and, frankly, better at wording this than Farrow is, though perhaps it’s just the lack of judgment in her eyes when she speaks.

Sebastian’s house— the house the party is being held in, obviously, since it’s the senior players’ place— is already lit up when we arrive, a thick crowd pouring out the door, people shoulder to shoulder on the deck, the front porch, in the yard, even on the sidewalk down the hill. It’s the sort of party that normally, at least one cranky old neighbor would call the cops on— but this is New Recruits Week and, as Sebastian explained it, “we don’t really have problems with the cops during New Recruits Week.” I text Sebastian from the front steps. Sarah knows we’ve been seen together, so it shouldn’t be too insane for him to come guide us in— plus, given the mass of humanity, we need someone with Sebastian’s size and reputation to clear a path.