"This is all your fault, director's pet. This is a play. I'm not falling in love with you, and I would never ever go out with you, Jack Garrison."
Jack and Shayna can't get through a rehearsal without fighting.
Cheerleader Shayna loathes perfect Ja...
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Exhaustion rippled through my body. I'd been pummeled against Westside's defense too many times at last night's football game. Didn't help they had some three-hundred-pound kid playing defensive lineman.
It had been a good game. We'd come out on top despite it all and two sacks against me. Barely. My teammates were still texting about the Hail Mary I'd thrown to Bart to win the game to keep us from going into overtime.
After going home, I'd sunk into my bed, too exhausted even to shower. I'd woken up in the middle of the night to shouts.
Dad stormed into my room at four in the morning. He was carrying his belt and loomed over me menacingly.
"Explain," he shoved his phone under my nose. "NOW!"
Blinking my bleary eyes, I read over the text messages on the screen between my parents.
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My mind went blank. Visiting Mom right before a game had become a bit of a tradition for me. I'd missed part of practice with the coach's blessing.
Mom and I had talked about school and her brother's play. I'd mentioned that Uncle Anton was trying to get me interested in a college summer theater program. Apparently, Mom thought Dad should know about this tiny detail.
"We were talking about Uncle Anton," I said. "I wasn't serious, sir."
Dad grabbed my shoulder and hauled me out of bed. "Better not have been. I am not paying for some crack theater school. You need a good career like engineering or law like me."
"Dad," I said, wrenching my arm from his grasp. "I'm not going to school for theater. There's no need to yell. You'll wake the girls."
"That uncle of yours is filling your head with nonsense," Dad swore under his breath. "I should pull you from that stupid production of his. My tax dollars shouldn't pay his salary."
"If you pull me from that program, I have to give up football or shop class to take choir, art, or band to get a fine arts credit to graduate," I said.
We'd had this conversation before. Dad thought football was my best chance of getting into college, and he swore that shop would help me on my way to becoming an engineer. The school just didn't count shop as a fine art.
