Give the girl fifteen thousand followers on social media and she thinks she’s influencing, when all she’s actually accomplished is filming a few dumb choreographed dances when she’s supposedto be eating lunch. I’m embarrassed to have been caught watching Easton while he was staring at another girl.
My hearts sinks.
Is that seriously the type of girl he’s into?
If it is, then there is no hope for a girl like me: A bit too confident for someone a tad nerdy. Bookish. Studious. Smart-mouthed.
Throw in the fact that my parents are a mess…
I wish I didn’t care what he thinks of me, but I do.
Why did I open my mouth today?!
Because, Harper. It irritates you watching him make sad eyes at Maddie Miller, who isn’t smart enough to give a nice guy like that the time of day. She is a stuck-up asshole who thinks she’s living her own version of a teenage movie.
And now Easton thinks I’m a jerk.
I turn my attention back to the task at hand: raking the lawn, despite the fact that it’s getting dark. We have company coming over this weekend, and neither of my parents has time to tidy up the backyard or clear the leaves from the fire pit. Therefore, the task falls to me.
I’m at the far end of the yard, near the edge of our wooded lot. Behind our house is the football field of Parker Lane Prep—as close a rival school as we can get for simple proximity and the fact that they’re in our conference even though they’re private and we are public.
Which creates even more tension.
When I was a kid, I loved playing on their gym equipment when students weren’t using it—it felt taboo. And illegal. As if I were committing a crime by swinging on their swings or using their slides.
I wasn’t,obviously, though technically was I trespassing?
I still get a rush seeing the white lights of the football field shining bright, glowing through the tree in my backyard on Friday nights. Hearing their fans cheer.
We are rivals—but that never stops me from sitting in their stands on the nights our Lancer Knights aren’t playing the Rhinos (that’s Parker Lane’s mascot), cheering them on, eating nachos from the concession stand with extra cheese finagled from my neighbor Gwen, who manages their pep squad.
One of the perks of living behind a high school.
At once, a wave of nostalgia hits me. Instead of continuing my task like I’m supposed to, I abandon the rake to lie in our hammock, shining my flashlight on the new paperback I stuffed down the back of my leggings. Some might say I’m shirking my duties, others that I’m taking a union break…
I settle in, hammock swinging on its frame in the subtle breeze, rake leaning against a tall oak tree; I keep it handy on the off chance Mom—or Dad—decides to check my progress.
I lift my head and glance toward the house.
Naw.
Mom is busy clearing the kitchen table. I can see her moving around the counter, probably wiping it down with a rag, probably listening to a podcast as she does it, blissfully unaware of my lack of choring.
I rock the hammock, enjoying its sway.
Behind me, a branch snaps.
Leaves crunch.
A squirrel? Chipmunk?
Could be a raccoon. The sun is starting to set and daylight is disappearing over the rise, making it increasingly hard to see, minute by minute. Animals are normal around here—sometimeswe have deer in the backyard as they find their way back to the woods.
Snap.
I lay the book on my chest, alert, raising my head again to scan the yard, eyes straining in the near darkness.
Then…
