Page 12 of Boys of Brayshaw High (Brayshaw High 1)

With a resigned sigh, I step off the porch and head for school, deciding to track the guy down there instead.

I spend the better part of lunch hour roaming the outskirts of the campus, trying to figure out where the outsiders – the students who make it a point to separate themselves from the democracy that overtakes the school – hide out.

I finally spot him, though, posted under the bleachers against a cement beam. He’s got dark circles under his eyes, a cut over his lip with a nice little lip ring through it, smoking a cigarette without a damn care.

“Hey.”

He lazily spares me a glance. “Don’t ask. I don’t got shit for you to bum. This is my last one.”

“No it’s not, but good thing for you, I’m not the bumming type, and I prefer the green.”

His bored stare comes back to mine.

“I’m looking for some trouble.”

He scoffs and shakes his head.

“Check it out.” I level him with a glower. “I know a solid punk when I see one. I don’t need anything from you but a number or an in. Whichever you got and I know you’ve got at least one.”

He looks me over.

Yeah, I’m skinny, but I’m not scrawny. I’ve got natural muscles made from natural things like pull-ups on broken metal fences and tire flipping in the junkyards.

What can I say, anything to keep from having to hear the moans coming from the room my mom and I once shared as I slept on the couch ten feet away in our single wide.

“Heard you caused trouble for the Brays.”

“No more than they caused me, if we’re being real.”

“They don’t like being challenged.”

“You sure?” I tease.

He crakes a small grin before it disappears. “All right, maybe they do.”

“I think they thrive on it.”

“Still. They can make surviving real hard for people like us if we push and you’re the focus lately.”

“How would you know? You spend your days hiding out here.”

“I don’t hide anywhere.” He glares. “And I have eyes and ears all around. The guys are pissed, girls are panicked. It’s bad for business.”

I shrug. “Yeah well, seems my being dropped here was real inconvenient to them and theirs. Not my problem and nothing I can do about it.”

He scoffs with a nod, taking a long drag before facing me as he blows it out.

“What’s your name?” I ask him.

“Bass.”

“Well, Bass.” No way that’s his real name, but I don’t care. “Will you hook me up or not?”

“Tell me, Raven Carver.” He pulls a fresh pack of smokes from his jacket and offers me one. “What kind of trouble you lookin’ for?”

I can’t help but grin.

I knew it.They’re ballers.

I should have known they were. All the rough and rugged, swagged out guys are - at least the ones from my neighborhood.

My eyes trail over the big man, Maddoc, with those seriously badass eyes as he dribbles like a pro, then makes a quick crossover, cutting past his buddy with ease. He jumps, making the basket with ease.

“Oooo. That footwork, son,” Royce shouts with a laugh.

Maddoc throws the ball at Royce’s head and turns to the other one.

“Why you keep letting me cross you?”

Captain shakes his head. “That’s all you, man. I wish I could stop your ass.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Cap.”

“I’m not. Maybe if I could guard you, I wouldn’t have to trip on coach benchin’ me to start Clemmons when season begins. My focus is off lately and I don’t see it coming back anytime soon.”

“You got a lot of shit going on, man, but you’ll be good when season hits, like always. And he won’t,” Maddoc tells him.

Captain shakes his head unbelieving and Maddoc rushes him. Gripping the back of his neck, he pulls his forehead to his in a brotherly way. “He will not fucking bench you. You’re starting.”

My gaze flicks to Royce as he makes his way to them. He clamps a hand on Captain’s shoulder. “We got you, bro. We’re taking state this year.”

Captain nods.

And I’m a little taken back as I witness the silent promise made to one another that they’ll reach their goals, whatever they are, together.

It’s pretty fuckin’ rad.

Three boys choosing to play ball at this ghetto ass, run down park when I know they can play somewhere nicer if they wanted, like in the school gym or on the outside courts there. Parentless punks if the rumors they live alone are true, finding their own little tribe in each other. Something worth fighting for.

I bet it feels good.

Turning away, I slink back against the tree and pull out my last official joint, light it and put it between my lips. Dropping my head onto the old Sycamore, I get one good hit, and then it’s snatched from my hands and dropped before me.

“What the—”

“Don’t talk,” Maddoc’s growl cuts me off, his face a blank bill, giving me nothing. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”