Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 152045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
“Hot sauce.”
Dylan scoffs, throwing me a look. But Farrow won’t give a shit that it’s illegal.
I pull off my sweatshirt, leaving the dark gray Under Armour shirt on before I pull my jersey over it. I push up my undershirt sleeves.
Dylan pops up on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek again. “Have fun.”
“Oh, no,” Farrows says before she can walk away. “The hostages are in the parade.”
Her face falls, and she looks at me. I just shake my head. “You don’t have to.”
She shrugs. “I’m no chicken.”
She hops up onto the float, while Farrow takes the throne, surrounded by the team, and instructs Dylan to sit at his feet. She rolls her eyes and plants her ass on the step between his legs.
“Hunter,” someone calls.
I turn, seeing a man approach me. He wears a yellow Clarke University T-shirt with a turtleneck underneath. His graying beard is tidy over his black skin, and he holds out his hand for me to shake.
“Hunter Caruthers?” he asks again.
I take his hand, shaking it. “Yes.”
“Good.” He laughs, letting my hand go. “You two look a lot alike.”
Yep. I’ve heard.
“Early admission letters will be going out first of November,” he informs me, “but I saw you standing here and thought it best not to waste a second.”
I dig in my eyebrows, not sure I understand.
“We’d hate to lose you to the University of Chicago.” His grin widens, and he shakes my hand again. “Congratulations,” he says. “I very much hope you choose to join us next fall.”
I glance at his T-shirt again. “I’m sorry?”
“Clarke,” he states as if I know what he means. “We were very impressed at your interview, and I must say, your admissions essay was incredible. Both yours and Kade’s. A couple of the best we’ve ever read.”
My interview? Admissions essay? Clarke is a university on the outskirts of Shelburne Falls. Hawke attends that school, and it’s a great university, but I didn’t apply there. My top choice is the University of Chicago, an hour away.
They interviewed me?
But almost immediately, realization hits.
Kade…
The pavement tilts under me. No.
“We should talk about maybe publishing it in the school magazine next fall,” he says. “It will be an honor to have you both in attendance there.”
He shakes my hand again, and I think I say, “Thank you.”
But it’s like someone else is saying the words because I can’t think. The man leaves. I didn’t even get his name. Obviously, he thinks we’ve already met.
Taking out my phone, I log into my application account for the University of Chicago, seeing the list of items needed to process my application—General Information, Transcripts, Essay, Recommendations…
And then I see, in red block letters, Application Withdrawn.
I drop my hand, my eyes burning. He called and had my application withdrawn.
I’m going to fucking kill him.
“Good morning, everyone!” my dad announces over a loudspeaker. “Thank you for being here on this beautiful Sunday, probably the last of the warm days this year…”
I rake my hand through my hair, feeling the sweat on my forehead. He had my application withdrawn for the only school I’ve wanted to go to since I learned it was one of the top research universities in the world.
He thinks I’m staying here with him after I fucking graduate? He thinks this won’t end?
“And we have two undefeated teams facing off this Friday,” Dad calls out to a round of cheers. “Please welcome the Shelburne Falls Marching Band leading our amazing Pirates’ team and cheer squad!”
The band kicks up the Pirate fight song, and the line starts moving, turning onto High Street. Batons and flags fly into the air, the majorettes leading the team.
I glare at the ground. I’ll make it end.
“There’s the anger,” a voice says next to me. “I was worried there when you came downstairs this morning looking like you were in love.”
I grind my teeth together as Farrow, having climbed off the float, turns to face me.
“Now that you’ve fucked her, it’s time to face him.”
“Leave Dylan out of this,” I say.
Weston’s band and cheerleaders march out, the drums setting the pace while pom poms shake in my peripheral.
“I’ll try,” is all he says.
He jumps back on the float, and I walk, barely seeing anyone else as I zone in on the Pirates ahead.
“And please welcome a team that always demands our very best,” Dad shouts, “the Weston High School Rebels!”
Boos fill the crowd, but the cheers and claps from Weston are louder, noisemakers and chants drowning out the assholes.
Groups of Rebels sing in sync, making everyone around me laugh.
I don’t, though. I glance back at Dylan. She gives me a smile.
And I turn back around.
We walk, and I pick up pace, leaving my team behind. The march goes on, the crowd on the sidewalks waving banners and taking pictures as I make my way through the cheerleaders, around the car carrying the coach and the administration.