Starlee's Turn (The Wayward Sons 2)

she checks the time. “The bell is about to ring for lunch, but I think we have time to run down to the art hall so you can find it tomorrow. It’s your first period, so you missed it today.”

My mind is already on overload but I follow Margaret down the stairs to the basement. Artwork lines the walls and one catches my eye. It’s pen and ink—a portrait, but I recognize Sierra’s smile and kind eyes. I spot George’s name scrawled at the bottom. I can’t help but run my finger over it.

“Although I told you the art teacher is really good, George Evans is really gifted.”

“I can tell.” My heart pounds in my chest just knowing he’s nearby. “Does he take art now?”

“I doubt it,” she says, peering into the classroom window. “I think this is ceramics. I’m not sure but I think he’s mostly independent study.”

“Oh.” I try not to sound disappointed.

“Starlee, before the bell rings there are a few things I should probably let you know about Sierra Academy.”

“I’m listening.”

She leans against the wall. “Most of us have gone to school together since elementary school—if not pre-school. The cliques are tight, but like I said, you’re new and exciting so a few will definitely open up for you to join in.”

“Okay.” I have no idea how to navigate anything social like that. Good thing I didn’t have to. I already had a clique of four to join.

“Some of the girls are super fake and mean. Not to sound like a cliché, but watch the cheerleaders.”

I nod in understanding. Clichés are clichés for a reason; they exist. “Anything else?”

She glances at George’s drawing on the wall. “There are four boys—foster brothers. They’re gorgeous but have totally effed up pasts. Dexter is absolutely hot, but total trouble since he’s in and out of juvie. I heard he almost got another year added this summer but someone saved his ass. Jake is totally focused on football and although George is a great artist, he’s just as likely to be tagging something and getting hauled in.”

I raise an eyebrow, fascinated by these descriptions. “What about the fourth?”

“Charlie? He’s a computer geek. They’re all notoriously standoffish, but he’s the worst.”

Again, my heart thrums in my chest. “What do you mean standoffish?”

“They keep to themselves. None of them date very much, although I did see Christina talking to Jake this morning. I thought they were ancient history, but you never know. They work all the time at the coffee shop their foster mother owns.” She shrugs. “I’m just saying, if you’re into guys, I won’t blame you for being tempted, but realistically they’re not worth your time.”

“Wow, okay, that’s a lot of information.” I study her for a minute. “Did you go out with one of them or something?”

She laughs. “Hard no. I have a boyfriend—in college. I don’t date townies.”

“Gotcha.”

The bell rings and she pushes me toward the stairs, beating the kids coming from the art room. I follow her to the cafeteria, thinking over everything she said about the boys. My boys. The fact they required their own warning statement should have said enough, but even with some accuracies, she didn’t really seem to know them very well.

Or really, what I just learned is that despite them living here their whole lives, I know them better than anyone else.

10

Dexter

I push through the crowded doorway of the cafeteria and head to the back corner. Jake and George have covered half the round table top with food, fueling up before afternoon practice. Charlie’s got his headphones on, eyes focused on his hand-held device. Obviously, Sierra forgot to take that one. I’m still pissed at his little tantrum the other day, but I get it. We’re all on edge. It’s been a hard few weeks.

I brush past Charlie, knocking his head with my elbow. He doesn’t even notice. Rolling my eyes, I sit, dropping my own lunch on the table. “I know you guys are carb-loading, but that doesn’t mean you have to eat like pigs.”

“I’m starving,” George says. “Running three miles every morning is ridiculous. If a cow walked through here, I’d eat it.”

“Why would a cow walk through the cafeteria?” I ask. “That’s idiotic.”

“I’m just saying,” he says with a shrug. Jake crams a sandwich in his mouth.

“Look, I know you guys are busy with practice, but I’m going to need some help with pie day next week.” I focus my attention on Charlie, who is oblivious. I snatch his headphones off his ears.