Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
“Oh!” Cat slapped her fist into her palm. “Isn’t he the one with the huge—”
Laila swiped at her. “Cat.”
Cat rolled her eyes but obediently changed what she’d been saying. “Should we skedaddle?”
“Skedaddle,” Jean echoed.
Cat turned on him, eyes bright with mirth. “Oh, please say that again.”
Jean scowled, and Laila took pity on him. “Leave.”
“Get the hell out of dodge,” Cat agreed, which was a less helpful response. She shifted out of Jeremy’s space and waved a curious gnat away from her half-eaten lunch. “You never told us what your second language is. German? Spanish? Uhhh. Italian?” She scrunched up her face in thought but gave up only moments later. “Give me a hint, I don’t know anything about the European education system.”
“Irrelevant. I was homeschooled.”
“Explains the dire lack of socialization skills,” Cat said.
“I had youth Exy,” he said, which was and wasn’t true.
The Exy court at Campagne Pastré was about ten minutes from his home in Sainte-Anne, an easy enough drive for his mother to make once she vetted the families of the other kids on the team. He’d been forbidden to mingle with his teammates outside of practices and games, and he’d known better than to talk to them about anything but Exy. His mother drove the point home early by killing off his first captain and her entire family. A boating accident, he thought—the memory was vague, but the lesson had stuck.
His only other contact with the outside world was the Japanese tutor his mother hired on his eighth birthday. She came by the house every evening to work with him, and although he’d known there was an ulterior motive he’d been unable to separate the language from the sport he loved playing. He was thirteen before she was allowed to start him on English. Jean had resented those extra lessons until he was sold off to the Nest a year later. Communicating with Kevin and his new masters had been easy; learning English via the Ravens had been a nightmare and a half.
“Avoiding the question,” Cat said. “Again.”
“The first was never answered.” Jean looked toward Jeremy.
“Huh? Oh, no. He won’t be in town until Sunday.” Jeremy had his phone halfway to his pocket when it started ringing. He spared a glance for the caller ID before putting it to his ear with an upbeat, “Hey, Coach. Yeah, Jean’s with me. We’re just up—” Jeremy went so silent and still even Laila sat up to stare at him, but Jeremy didn’t seem to notice. He listened for a minute, then gestured frantically to his friends to pack it up. “Yeah, yes, we’re on our way back right now. Do you know—okay. Okay.”
Laila turned this way and that, looking for the lunchbox they’d set aside, and froze to stare. “Fuck,” she said, too loudly. “Jeremy, we have a problem.”
Jean half-turned to follow her gaze, but the only new addition to the area was a pair of police cars with their lights on. The teenagers who’d been playing in the street retreated to the lawn at their approach, yelling at each other to move faster and clinging to their boards. Instead of passing, the cars pulled up to the curb. Four officers got out only a few moments later, but they didn’t even spare the tense teens a second look on their way toward the Trojans.
“Jean,” Jeremy said, with unexpected urgency. Jean obediently turned back toward him, but Jeremy was looking past him at the police. The shuttered look on Jeremy’s face made him a stranger, but Jeremy pressed on even as he got to his feet and dusted off his shorts. “It’s Grayson.”
Jean sucked in a slow breath through clenched teeth. “He’s here?”
“No,” Jeremy said. “He’s dead.”
CHAPTER TWO
Jeremy
There was a limit to how many ways Jeremy could answer the same few questions.
Yes, he’d heard of Grayson Johnson. He knew there was bad blood between Grayson and Jean, but did no one at the LAPD pay attention to NCAA Exy? The Edgar Allan Ravens had been fighting with Jean since he transferred off their lineup mid-championships this past spring. No, Jeremy hadn’t known Grayson was coming to town yesterday, and no, he hadn’t even seen him when he turned up at the Gold Court. Jeremy missed both the fight and Grayson’s flight and only saw the awful aftermath. Yes, he’d been home all night with Cat and Laila.
“But Moreau left,” the cop said, for the fourth or fifth time.
“He came back around midnight,” Jeremy said yet again.
His phone gave a discordant chime. It was the sixth message from home in the last fifteen minutes, and he was in no more hurry to answer this one than he had been the first. Laila’s stare was a heavy, knowing weight on the back of his head, but Jeremy refused to return it. He kept his gaze on the doorway like looking would make it easier to hear what was being said down the hall. Now and then the familiar rumble of Coach Rhemann’s voice carried as he intervened in the conversation, but he wasn’t who Jeremy desperately wanted to hear.