Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
I was agonizing about how I’ve changed over the years, but it didn’t occur to me until now that Noah would be older too. All this time, he’s been frozen in my mind, still the fourteen-year-old boy I used to know, but when I see him tomorrow, he’ll be different. He’s a legend in this town, the quarterback at every school he’s been kicked out of. Not that I’m keeping tabs on him or anything, but where Noah Ryan is concerned, word spreads like wildfire . . . or like the cheerleaders' legs at East View High.
Just great. Not only do I have to worry about those dark eyes of his showing up when I least expect it, but now I have to be cautious walking around every corner just in case Noah is hooking up with random girls in hallways.
“Ah, shit. That’s Cora calling me now,” Tarni says quickly. “Did you need a lift to school in the morning, or am I meeting you there?”
“Oh, umm . . . meet me there,” I tell her, all too aware of the fact that by the time everyone else arrives at school, I’ll have already suffered through the worst emotional trauma after meeting Noah in the student office.
I can’t wait!
“Okay, byeeeeee,” Tarni drags out before promptly hanging up to take Cora’s call. And with that, I stare back in the mirror, knowing without a doubt that I am not even close to being ready to face this.
Tomorrow isn’t just going to be interesting; it’s going to be a personal tour right through the darkest pits of hell.
3
Noah
Well, this is going to be a shitshow.
Dropping the cigarette butt to the ground, I blow out a cloud of smoke as I stare up at East View High, home of the mighty Mambas football team. But if you ask me, there’s not a damn thing mighty about them. They’re mediocre at best, though with me, they might just have a shot of taking out the championship, and that’s not my ego talking. It’s fact. I’m the best high-school quarterback in the state. Most of my stats outrank those in the professional leagues, but it means nothing if I don’t have a team to play for.
If life was forgiving and I could choose which team I represented, the Mambas are far from anything I’d select. They don’t even reach the top twenty on the list, but unfortunately for me, they’re the only chance I have left.
After my latest fuck up, I don’t have many options left. It’s either make it with the Mambas and work my ass off to try and save what little chance I have of playing college football, or I could just walk away and probably end up behind bars within the next twelve months . . . maybe sooner. Who knows? I’ve been on a roll lately.
Decisions. Decisions.
Letting out a heavy breath, I stride up the stairs and push through the double doors before letting them fall shut behind me, the loud bang echoing up the hallway.
It’s time to face the music.
It’s time to face her.
The hallways of East View High are dead, barely a soul to be seen, but it’s still early. I’m not usually the type to show up so early, but with everything happening so fast, I haven’t had a chance to meet Coach Martin yet. I don’t even know if he’s aware I’m coming, but either way, I won’t be leaving his office until I get exactly what I want. Whatever means necessary.
My gaze sails from left to right as I get deeper into the school, trying to figure out where the fuck to go. Navigating new schools isn’t exactly new for me. Once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen ’em all.
I’ve spent the last three years being the new kid, but it never takes long to settle in and find my people. Besides, they generally find me. When you come fully loaded with a name and reputation like mine, high school becomes a fucking breeze.
Passing some kid with a fucking trombone, I lift my chin and watch as he scrambles to take off, knowing assholes like me generally live to make life hard for losers like him. “Aye,” I say, his wide gaze shifting to me, terror blasting through his stare as he takes me in. “Where’s the student office?”
“Uh . . . uhmmm. Down the hall. To the right,” he says. “Red door.”
I nod, and he takes off like some bitch just offered to let him motorboat her beneath the bleachers.
Wanting to get this over and done with, I continue down the hall, scanning the doors on the right until I come across the red door with the words Student Office above it. Bringing my hand up, I shove through the door, and as I lift my gaze to figure out where the fuck I need to go, a horrified gasp sails through the office—a gasp I would recognize anywhere.