Sell Out Read online

  I sensed he still didn’t believe I was new, but I followed him anyway. “What’s your name?”

  “Henry Watkins III.” He came to a dead stop. “Did Blake put you up to this?”

  “Blake?”

  “Senior class president? Teenage heartthrob? King of the school?” He asked each question as if I’d crawled out from under a rock.

  “I don’t know who Blake is.”

  Henry’s yeah-right snort had me pushing down a spark of irritation.

  I grabbed his thin arm, careful not to squeeze too hard. “I really am new here. I moved to North Carolina a month ago.” His eyes locked on my hand. I released the grip and held my hand up. “Girl Scout’s honor.” I’d never been in Girl Scouts, but it sounded good.

  He tilted his head, his lips making a tight line across his face. “Where are you transferring from?”

  “Nowhere. I’ve been homeschooled my whole life.” He didn’t seem surprised by my admission. Instead he seemed to get more agitated.

  “So, tell me, Skylar from nowhere, why are you talking to me?” His sarcastic tone could have frozen fire.

  “Why wouldn’t I talk to you?”

  He clutched the massive calculus book to his chest like he needed protection from me. “I’ve been banished.” He looked in both directions. “If anyone sees you talking to me, you’re finished at this school. Even if you do look like, well…” Henry’s hand gestured the length of my body, “that.”

  If he’d meant “that” as a compliment, his social skills needed serious improvement. My feet itched to walk away and forget this small, strange guy, but my stubborn will trumped. Plus, my gut said he needed a friend. “I don’t see how talking to you will do anything but help me get to class. Please? If nobody is here, what does it matter?”

  “People are here, just not on this hall. Principal Rayburn likes to keep the grades separated.” He stopped like there was more to that explanation but didn’t want to say so.

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “It’s a safe thing.” Henry lifted his chin toward an empty classroom. “This is you.”

  Me. A classroom. Empty or not, it was still the first one I’d ever sat in. I touched my locket. “I’m nervous.”

  Henry’s guarded scowl loosened. “Don’t be. Ms. Yarnell is the coolest teacher here.” I didn’t miss that his voice had softened, too. “If you want, I can meet you after and show you where to go next.”

  My gut was right. “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Yeah, sure.” He scurried off, leaving me to enter alone.

  I stepped in and surveyed the room. Spicy incense hung in the air tickling my nose. The walls were a stark white, but greenery lined every shelf and windowsill. Six empty round tables filled the small room. I picked one near the back and sat, fidgeting, while my new teacher ruffled papers on her desk.

  “Give me one second,” she said without turning. Even from the back, I could tell she had a weird affection for vintage wear. Her long skirt stopped above leather sandals and swayed while she searched.

  She found the paper she was looking for, grabbed a textbook, and slid into the chair next to me. “You must be Skylar.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Ms. Yarnell.”

  She stuck out her hand, and the tension began to drift from my shoulders. You can do this.

  “I apologize for the lack of students. Seems our senior class decided to skip today.” She looked my dad’s age, but dressed like she’d grown up in the sixties. Her long brown hair was parted in the middle and hung straight as a board. She spent a few minutes explaining her policies and assignments and then sat back as if she’d finished a ten-course meal. “Now that the business is taken care of, tell me a little about yourself. I imagine you’ve had quite a unique life up to this point.”

  My face must have paled because she quickly laid her hand over mine.

  “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. I’ve listened to your dad’s music for over twenty years now.” She sighed and looked off as if watching a movie I couldn’t see. “Skylar Wyld in Times Square was my first concert and ruined me for any other rock band. I had just graduated from high school. My girlfriends and I loaded up a SUV and drove 500 miles to see them play. Best weekend of my life.”

  She must have realized she was still holding my hand and quickly removed hers. “Anyway, I’ve been a fan ever since. Been to seven of his concerts.”

  Her words pulled the plug on my bucket of hope. There were only a handful of pictures of me online, most from after my mom died and the paparazzi hounded us. But die-hard fans knew her face, which meant they knew mine.

  CODY

  My parents were seated at the table sipping their morning coffee when I walked in the kitchen. Classical music played lightly in the background, and the serenity almost made me forget I was about to lie to them.

  “Hey, Bud. You’re up early.” My dad was usually gone when I came downstairs, my mom close behind, but she liked to at least see me before she left. Our five-minute catch up session in front of the refrigerator had become a tradition.

  I focused on that fridge, not wanting to meet his eyes. “Yeah. Blake needs a ride, so I’m gonna head out.”

  My parents exchanged a smile. They loved Blake. Gave him credit for the change I’d made over the past year and a half. If they only knew the truth. But truth wasn’t what parents wanted. They wanted to believe their kids were happy and adjusted. Or a least that’s what my parents wanted. They wanted reassurance that my days of listening to music for hours and hours, without friends or a social life were in the past.

  My dad stood, dumped his cup in the sink, and walked over to the couch. “It’ll be a late night for me. We’re still waiting for those contracts to drop.” My dad did something with the government. Something boring. Something that kept him from attending most of my wrestling matches.

  “That’s probably good. I’ve got a stack of invoices to sort through, anyway.” My mom sounded partly disappointed and partly relieved. “What do you say, Cody? Chinese take-out for dinner?” She stood and turned off the coffee pot. “You can tackle calculus, and I’ll tackle my four page spreadsheet.”

  My mom was a CPA. Another boring job, but one she secretly loved. They were simple, my parents. Drama-free routine was their idea of a perfect day.

  “You okay?” She asked when I said nothing.

  I thought about it—telling both of them that I was struggling. That I’d worked the last year and half to be a part of something I was starting to hate. I opened my mouth to answer, but stopped. They were the types to dig until they had the entire story. I’d never told them about that horrible day in the boys’ locker room and never wanted to.

  “I’m fine. Chinese sounds perfect.” I grabbed my keys and gave her a quick hug. “See you tonight.”

  “Bye, Bud,” my dad called from the living room. “Work hard.”

  I resisted a snort. I’d be working all right. Working to keep Chugger and the rest of the team from drowning in Lake Lure.

  *

  I leaned against the wooden post on Jimmy’s pier and assessed the group lounging on the sand beach that ran the length of his property. Blake had said the group would be selective, but I didn’t realize he meant the junior and senior wrestlers and every hot girl they knew, including a few from other schools. Senior skip day had turned into a meat market, and Blake was sampling every piece of the goods.

  Lindsay’s glaring absence made it clear Blake had chosen today to announce his bachelor status.

  Bass from Chugger’s stereo was loud enough to rattle windows, and I wished for the fiftieth time that my friends had better taste in music. I knew they’d never appreciate the classics like Pink Floyd, Def Leppard or Skylar Wyld. But at this point, I’d even take Fall Out Boy or Maroon 5.

  “You look lonely.” Jill said as she brushed against my arm. Her presence bugged me almost as much as the music.

  “Hey.”
<
br />   She’d gone all out today on the lack of clothing. Two triangles covered her ample chest and her swimsuit bottoms weren’t much more than a string. I glanced at the ground wishing I had as much control over my body as I did my eyes.

  “I brought you a drink.”

  A cold bottle of beer appeared in my line of sight. I took it and set it at my feet. “Thanks.” I wanted to move, but I was trapped between the boat and Jill’s very appealing body. She must have known this because soon it was pressed against mine.

  “Jimmy said the rooms are open. We could go…talk.”

  Talk? Yeah, right. Jill wanted to talk as much as Chugger wanted to remain celibate through high school. I inched away, tying to focus above her neck. “Nah. I’m good out here.”

  “Jill, baby! Leave Saint James alone and come play with me!” Chugger yelled across the water. He’d passed drunk and into sloppy over an hour ago. Their theory to get wasted before lunch and sober up by practice was asinine.

  Jill stiffened and gave a very unladylike gesture. “Chugger’s such a pig. So, did you hear about Blake and Lindsay?”

  “Yeah.” I’d managed to put a foot between us and could finally take a deep breath of air. Jill was a lethal mix of cobra and siren. “You know, Blake’s always up for talking.” I cringed. My hope to reiterate my non-interest came out sounding like a first rate pimp.

  She crossed her arms, pushing even more skin out of her top. “Blake’s been in love with Lindsay since freshman year. No way those two are over, and I’m not about to end up a casualty in that triangle.” She glared off in the distance, looking almost vulnerable. “Did you ever think that I might actually have feelings for you?”

  “Why? Seriously, Jill. We have nothing in common.” And we both knew what she did two years ago even if we weren’t saying so. She saw me run into the boys’ locker room. She could have helped. She didn’t.

  Jill bit her lip and her eyes sparkled with tears. For the first time I didn’t know if they were genuine or just another ploy. “Tom Baker hurt me, too.”

  My stomach twisted into a familiar knot. That name. That stupid name should not still affect me like it does. I turned around, focused on the lake water and on pushing air in and out. Her hand touched my shoulder. It was hot. Hotter than the sun scorching the back of my neck. I shrugged Jill’s hand away, but I still felt its lingering burn.

  “You think you’re the only one playing the game here? You’re not. Everybody at Madison wants the same thing.”

  I spun back around. “And what’s that?”

  She blinked. “To get out.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t hurt people in the process.” I’d never be one of them. Surviving wasn’t the same. Wanting to coast my senior year didn’t make me a bad guy. It made me smart. It ensured I’d never be the guy on that locker room floor ever again.

  She backed away. “Sure, Cody. Keep telling yourself that.”

  SKYLAR

  Henry disappeared at lunch, but I found him outside huddled under a tree with his books and a sack lunch. A few others sat on picnic tables or threw around a football.

  I took a seat next to him, ignoring the odd looks and whispers from those close enough to see.

  “What are you doing?” he hissed.

  I pulled out an orange from my brown lunch sack and began peeling. “Joining you for lunch.”

  “Listen, Skylar. You seem like a nice person, so I’m going to say it again. I’m branded. I get that you’re new to all of this. But, if you had any sense at all, you would pretend we never met.”

  Movement and chatter returned around us, confirming this wasn’t nearly as big a deal as Henry thought. “It’s just lunch.”

  His thumb and middle finger furiously rubbed at his temples. “You don’t understand. Madison isn’t like other schools. There are certain rules. Traditions.”

  I swallowed a grin and dropped my voice to a whisper. “Like what?”

  Henry’s eyes flicked from the surrounding tables back to me. “Madison has a king.”

  “Like a prom king?”

  Henry focused on his lunch, his mouth tight while he opened a Ziploc bag. “Never mind.”

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t making fun. Honest.” Okay, maybe I was a little.

  He ate his whole sandwich before continuing. “When an old king graduates, he selects his successor. Right now, that’s Blake Mason. Before him, Chuck Winston. And before him, Tom Baker. And the list goes on…for decades.” His shoulders fell. “I didn’t take it seriously either.” His pause was pained. “I made a mistake. And now it’s too late.”

  “It’s never too late.” The words came out more forcefully than I intended. Having hope. Believing in the impossible. It was the only way I could get through the day anymore. “What I mean is, you take one day at a time.”

  Henry met my eyes. His soft brown irises were barely visible through the thick glasses. “Thank you. It’s been a long time since anyone cared.”

  *

  By the time the last bell rang, I was way past my fascination with public school. It didn’t help either that my sixth period teacher, Ms. Bakerfield, was a grouch.

  My now full locker was jammed with a myriad of books ranging from slightly thick to ridiculous. I sighed. Maybe I was ready for college. High school certainly wasn’t what I expected.

  Loud heckling and laughter echoed through the hall, and a flood of male bodies meandered past leaving a wake of sweat, suntan lotion and hard, thick muscles. Heat shot to my cheeks and down my arms. I shouldn’t have looked, but I watched every step they took.

  The tall, blond in front seemed to be the ringleader. He was pretty enough to be a model and moved with the confidence of a celebrity. I’d known a hundred of those types: smug smile, lazy stride, his eyes catching his reflection in the glass trophy case. He may have captured the attention of most girls, but he wasn’t the one who spawned tiny fairies in my stomach.

  Head lowered as he walked, hands shoved into his pockets, the object of my fascination trailed just a foot behind the others. He was taller than the blond, his body solid and strong with the muscle and strength of a seasoned athlete. His sun-kissed brown hair fell softly on his forehead, which still held a line from a now missing baseball cap.

  All his friends were talking and cutting up. He wasn’t. His back pulsed with tension and his steps seemed hesitant like he dreaded each one. I wanted to know why.

  “Cody, pick it up. We’re gonna be late,” the blond one called out, stopping to wait.

  Cody raised his head and, for two heartbeats, his eyes were all I could see.

  My breath stilled. We weren’t close enough to speak, but his gaze sliced through every layer of pretense until I felt completely exposed.

  The other guy slapped his shoulders and pushed him forward, laughing while they walked. Cody’s focus returned to his group, breaking the connection. A strange feeling of loss replaced it.

  Henry joined me at my locker, but I was transfixed.

  “Who is that?”

  His sad sigh broke my trance. He pointed to the back of the blond who was the last to disappear around the corner. “That—is the king of Madison. Don’t ever forget.”

  CODY

  “Again!” Coach screamed as we ran our twentieth suicide sprint. His fierce demeanor went way beyond his gigantic frame and bushy white hair. The man’s voice could scare wild dogs into submission.

  Fatigued and dehydrated from all day on the lake, I barely made it to the side of the track before vomit spewed from my throat. I’d been the tenth one to puke and the last senior. Chugger blew chunks after just two sprints. Served him right for downing a six-pack.

  “Look at that, boys. Your captain finally went down. Do you have anything to say for yourself, Captain?”

  What I wanted to say would get me kicked off the team. I just shook my head.

  “I sure hope you had a lot of fun today, Mr. Cody James, because I plan to recoup every one of those seven hours you spent goofing off. You h
ear me?”

  “Yes, Coach.”

  “Good. Get back in line!”

  Five sprints later, he released the underclassmen to the lockers and let us rest.

  My knees buckled. Blake was also on all fours.

  “I’m going to kill you,” I whispered.

  His smile showed as much remorse as a bratty two year old who’d just stolen the last cookie. “It was worth it.”

  A grunt of disgust left my mouth. Maybe for him. Not a moment went by that Blake didn’t have some half-drunk girl in his lap. Why he wanted me there so badly, I’d never understand. He barely noticed.

  Blake crawled to the edge of the track and tossed me a sports bottle. I squeezed it tightly, more of the water hitting my face than my mouth. Sprints sucked. Getting yelled at sucked. And we were only an hour into practice.

  Coach’s shout rumbled across our broken bodies. “That’s enough resting. Pushups. Ready position.”

  My arms and chest ached. My legs burned. My mind kept drifting to the fire goddess I passed in the hall. I knew her somehow. Or maybe she knew me. Her stare was too deep for a stranger. I wobbled, reminding myself I needed to focus on practice and not some redheaded apparition.

  “Down,” Coach screamed.

  We lowered, holding our elbows at ninety-degree angles for what felt like an eternity. I squeezed my eyes shut, pushed aside the pain ripping through my triceps.

  “Up.”

  A relieved sigh echoed from the team. It didn’t last long.

  Thirty reps later, my hands went numb.

  “Down.”

  Once again lowered, I sensed the minute Coach crouched down to talk to me. “Has your team had enough, Captain?”

  “Yes, sir.” My labored reply was quick and desperate.

  He stood. “Up. Everyone but Cody head into the locker room.”

  I didn’t dare look at my retreating teammates. My arms were rubber, shaking uncontrollably.