The fathers won, eighteen points to two. I didn’t have to understand lacrosse to know that Trey’s team had taken a thrashing. The other dads patted Vincent Bloomberg II on the back. He accepted their praise with a greedy smile.
Damon Delacorte placed his arm around Quinn’s shoulder and led him off the field. He flashed a playful smile at his son, which I expected Quinn to return. Instead, he stiffened up and stared at his shoes.
As soon as the players started heading for the lockers, Vincent stalked over to face his son. “You’re a disgrace to this family,” he snarled, grabbing Trey by the collar. Trey’s expression never faltered – he still wore the same stone-faced look he wore. But his eyes flashed with hate.
“I don’t think this was his fault,” Ayaz said from behind Trey. “It might be a practical joke—”
“Of course it’s his fault.” Vincent glared at his son. “I’m just sorry you were dragged into this, Ayaz. Clearly, Trey isn’t in control of this school. This never would have happened if his brother was here.”
“Well, he’s not here,” Trey snarled, his voice dripping with hate. He slammed his arm into his father’s hand, breaking his grip. He staggered back, his shoulders tensed, his hands balled into fists. “You decided I was the one who would stay behind while Wilhem went on to glory.”
“Don’t youdarespeak of those things here,” Vincent’s eyes flashed back, the ice in them even. “You know what’s at stake. Do your duty to your family, and you will be rewarded. Embarrass me again, and you’ll wish you’d never been born.”
He turned on his heel and stalked off toward the lockers. Trey watched him leave, his shoulders sagging. Ayaz placed a hand on his arm, but Trey shrugged it away.
Quinn came running over, his head bent low and a hoodie pulled tight around his face. In what had to be the most perfectly serendipitous moment ever, he had his sports bag slung over his shoulder. I leaned forward, my hand finding Greg’s and squeezing it.
“What happened, man?” Quinn dumped down his bag in front of Trey. “You were itching like crazy out there. It was hilarious. People are saying you have an STI.”
“I don’t want to fucking talk about it,” Trey growled, his hands still balled into fists.
Quinn shrugged. His hand tugged on his hood, pulling it even lower over his face. “It was just a game. It doesn’t matter.”
“That so?” Trey leaned forward and shoved the hood off Quinn’s head. I gasped as I saw the swelling around Quinn’s eye. In a few hours that would turn seriously black. Who had hit him, and why?
Quinn dipped his head low. He grabbed the edge of the hoodie from Trey and yanked it over his head. “Fuck you,” he whispered.
Trey looked like he was going to say something else, but Ayaz stepped forward and nudged Quinn’s bag with his toe. Beer cans and snack bars tumbled out onto the grass, along with a familiar-looking jar.
“Quinn, what are those in your bag?” Ayaz frowned.
“Huh?”
Ayaz kicked the bag, and a second jar rolled out onto the grass. “Those. What are they?”
Quinn stared down at his open bag in confusion.
“Just snacks and refreshments from my personal stash. Here, I brought you one, too. It was meant to be a celebratory drink, but you can use it to drown your sorrows. Hey…” he picked up one of the jars of powder. “What the fuck is this?”
Trey grabbed it from his hands, uncorked the cap, and sniffed the dark powder. He instantly broke into a sneezing fit. “Quinn…” he choked. “You bastard.”
“What?”
“You put fuckingitching powderin our fucking shorts!” Trey yelled. “How old are you, five?”
“I didn’t—”
“Of course you did. Who else in this school would do something so juvenile, knowing that all our parents were watching? You didn’t just embarrass Ayaz and me in front of Dad, but you embarrassed the whole school. If you don’t think there’s going to be consequences, then you’re even stupider than I thought.” Trey upturned the entire container of powder over Quinn’s head.
Shit.
Quinn’s face registered surprise. The powder streaked his cheeks and stuck to his lips and eyebrows. He reached up to swipe at his eyes, and then he started to scream.
Chapter Seventeen
Quinn’s scream tore across the field. Parents and students raced over. The coach blew his whistle.
“It burns,” Quinn yelled, clutching his face and tearing at his skin. Dark powder clung to his hair and smeared across his cheeks.And his eyes… oh god, his eyes…
