God, I wish I had that song right now.
Chapter Twelve
“Coach? You wanted to see me?” I sank down in the leather club chair in his office.
A man of few words, it was never a good sign when Coach asked you in for a chat. With a quick nod, he left his desk and closed the office door. He closed the office door! Okay, now this was a terrible sign.
Instead of sitting behind the desk, he perched on the edge and picked up a worn-out football, twirling it distractedly from hand to hand. “You know I want to see you succeed, right, Peters?” he said grimly.
“Of course, Coach.” Just get to the point. I was sweating over my sweat.
A disapproving frown slipped onto his face. “I overheard the other boys saying they ran into Nick Sharbus the other day. That you saw him first at some club. Are you two hanging out?”
“No.”
“Good.” He dropped the ball and picked up our playbook, heading for his desk chair. “You can go now.”
Didn’t have to tell me twice. I shot up out of the chair and headed for the door.
“Peters.”
Before I could turn the handle, I swung back around.
“Nobody hangs out with Nick Sharbus. Ever. Do you understand me, son?”
I nodded and opened the door, but something made me turn around. “Why?”
“Legally, I can’t say.” He propped his feet on the desk. “You got a sister, Peters?”
“No. Two older brothers, Jason and Elliott.” I searched his wrinkled face for an answer to my question, but in Coach fashion, his face was as calm as a puddle of water—unless you messed up a play. Then it was lava.
“That’s good.” Coach opened his playbook and waved me out the door.
Coach’s vague answer was impossible to knock from my mind. Asking if I had a sister. What was he getting at? Coach had a sister. I saw her once, not cute, and she was old. Had Sharbus hit on Coach’s sister?
Still deep in thought, I made my way across the locker room and grabbed my bag. My cell read seven PM. I still had one more thing to do tonight. My new favorite hobby—mess with Sinister.
When I pressed Jack earlier about his upcoming birthday, he was too excited to keep his plans to himself. He was so easy. Sydney managed to get him and her roommate special underage passes to SpaceRoom on Halloween. Supposedly, it would be a costume rager, with DJ Sinister spinning. And it was the perfect place to start with her.
I felt a sadistic grin cross my face just thinking about that letter she received from Starnose Entertainment (AKA me). I knew if I’d straight-up threatened to expose her, she would quit and that would be the end of it. I did my research and found out who owned KRUG and who would be in charge of hiring. Sydney probably scoured the internet making sure it was real.
I wanted to get her hopes up so they could come crashing down in a few months. I was playing the long con with this one. Devious? Yes. Worth every minute I spent planning it? Double yes.
Making my way toward the library, I called Chance.
“What up, asshole?” he answered on the second ring, and I could hear giggling behind him. “Get back here. New chicks stopped by. There’s a little brunette asking about you.”
“Sounds good.” I lied. I was dead tired and just wanted to sleep. “Are they sorority?”
“Yep.”
I rolled my eyes, hoping Chance could see my disgust through the phone. “I’ll be home later. Let the brunette down for me—”
“Jesus, Peters,” Chance chided. “What’s up with your dry spell lately?”
“I have a few things to wrap up on campus,” I said, ignoring his remark.
He was right, of course. I’d lost my mojo recently. I was too wrapped up in my plot to crush dreams.
“Just wanted to pick your brain for a second. Do you remember hearing why Nick Sharbus left the team?”
“No.” A hitch-pitched squeal shot through the phone, and I ripped it from my ear. “All I remember is Nick and Ashton got the boot at the same time.”
“Ashton Williams?”
“Yeah. That third-stringer who wanted to be you so bad we thought he was hitting on you.”
“Yeah.” I rounded on the library building’s parking lot and spotted Sinister’s truck. “What happened to that guy?”
Chance let out a low moan, and my stomach twisted. Couldn’t he at least wait until I was off the phone?
“He’s a loser. Drinks at Smitty’s in the subdistrict all the time. Barner and Echols saw him last weekend taking shot after shot, talking about the good ol’ days… Oh my God… I have to go…” The phone cut out, but the timing was good.
I was about to deliver an early present to the birthday girl.
Chapter Thirteen
“Allison… earth to Allison. Are you okay?”
Allison was frozen on the bed, hands down by her sides, mouth open, displaying her perfect cavity-free teeth. After a few more seconds, she started a slow shake of her head, dramatically smashing her eyes closed, then popped them back open. I could practically see my hideous reflection in them as they glossed over.
“Allison. Snap out if it.” I clapped my hands in front of her face, and she jerked her head back.
“Sorry. I thought I was in the middle of a nightmare, but then I realized. This is real. You are real. What you are about to wear on your twenty-first birthday to a club where you will be on display is real. This is happening, isn’t it?” She pointed a bony finger at me. “You are wearing that in public.”
I nodded, turning to look at myself in the mirror.
I was going to ring in my twenty-first birthday wearing an Iron Man costume.
When I first pulled it out of the box, I thought I was being punked, but then I read the death threat. Not an actual death threat, a death threat to my future and dreams.
It happened like this. It was a cool Tuesday night, after my usual Sunday Lane segment, and I was still shooting rainbows and butterflies out of my ass after receiving that promising letter last week. There was a pink box lying on top of my car, and I thought to myself, How nice. Jack must’ve returned the favor for those maple bars from a couple weeks ago.
Instead of a chocolaty treat (I prefer gummy bears), I found the following letter:
Sydney Porter (alias Sunday Lane),
I am aware of who you are, where you live, and the true identities of the persons you mock over the airwaves. I have detailed notes and will reveal you to the entire campus if you choose to ignore my demands. This is just one of many.
Wear this Halloween costume all night. No alterations. Wear the mask and the repulsor rays as well. I will be watching. Look for the skull mask sitting up front. Do not speak to me or I will release the first podcast related to your “shallow puddle” roommate, Allison Meyers.
Additionally, you will incorporate the following phrase into your set: “This DJ Sucks Cock.” Do not attempt to break apart that phrase. It must be complete.
So anyway, after kicking the side of my truck a hundred times and releasing a colorful array of curses in the empty library parking lot, here I was. Tony fucking Stark.
Just so you get the complete picture, this was a large children’s costume with built-in padded muscles, a glow-in-the dark triangle in the center, plastic repulsor rays that made a piercing noise, and a hard plastic flip-down mask, like a welder would wear.
Today I was of legal drinking age, but I didn’t look a day over seven.
“Why would you choose to go dressed as Iron Man? I didn’t even know you were a fan.” Allison sat up and smoothed her sexy bee costume with her hand.