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Chapter One

Tucker

Dethroned: October Edition

I wonder what the NCAA would say about hotshot hockey stud Tucker Kane pounding beers and eating mystery brownies at the Delta Sig house on Saturday. Are those pot brownies, Tucker? Only a drug test will tell.

XO,

The Queen

M y twin brother, Trent, pushes his chair out from the desk in the bedroom we share. “Dude, you’re fucked if you don’t find out who’s writing this gossip column.” His pale blue eyes that mirror mine stare back at me in disappointment.

Uncrossing my arms, I let out a deep breath.

This is not happening.

Not now.

“Who would do this?” I look at Trent in horror, still in shock and also terrified that this stupid article will get back to the Athletic Commission. “Is there a way to find out who’s writing this shit?”

I’ve never failed a drug test, but I got a little too drunk this weekend and didn’t realize what I’d eaten until the next morning. The guys at the Delta Sigma Phi fraternity house always have pot brownies, though I always pass, or at least I did.

And because of some bitch with a vendetta against me, I might be in even hotter water than I already am with the school. Missing two games at the beginning of the season is hard enough, but an entire season is another story. I can kiss my professional hockey career goodbye if that happens.

Preston, Drake, and Jamie stand next to me, glaring at Dethroned , a new gossip blog created by some evil girl who calls herself The Queen.

Based on the posts on the site, it appears this girl has her sights set on our team.

There are brief articles and video clips of us doing stupid shit at fraternity parties and random pictures of us with girls.

Preston cups my shoulder, shaking his head at the computer screen.

“We can find out who owns the domain. But think of this as your wake-up call, Tuck. All of your screwing around is catching up with you. Time to get your shit together. Stop drinking. Hire a tutor. Spend less time at the Delta Sig house. We need you on your A game this season.”

“Yeah, I got it, Prez. For the hundredth time, I got it.” Shaking off Preston’s heavy hand, I step away from my brother and friends in desperate need of space. This conversation has been on repeat lately, and I’m getting sick of having it. “I’ll figure it out. Okay?”

Preston nods and then shoves his hands into the pockets of his track pants.

No one knows me better than the guys in this room. They’re family more than friends. I grew up with all of them. We went to school together, played Division I hockey together, and now live together in a house on campus. There’s nothing we don’t share, nothing we don’t know about each other.

I can see the concern on each of their faces.

Even Drake looks worried. Like his dad, he’s a giant, several inches taller than the rest of us, and built like a wall of solid muscle.

Apart from my brother, I’m the closest to Drake, and because of that, the concern furrowing his brows hits me more than Preston’s.

Running my hands through my spiky hair, I tug at the ends in frustration and lean back against the chest of drawers behind me. “We need to stop whoever’s doing this.”

“Our team is being targeted for a reason,” I say. “You could be next. Any of us could be next. And who knows what this bitch will say next. We need to take her down before it ruins our careers.”

“She’s got to be a student at Strick U,” Trent adds.

“How do you expect us to track her down?” Drake asks.

I hold out my hand, giving him a look that says, Are you kidding me? and point at Jamie, who’s a computer genius. “Jamie can find out.” I zero in on Jamie. “Right? Tell me you can hack into something and shut this website down.”

Jamie laughs. “I’m good, but not that good.”

“Let Jamie sit there,” I tell Trent, who vacates his seat in front of the computer.

Jamie pushes the chair into the desk and begins clicking buttons. The last few weeks have been a nonstop rollercoaster of drama and bullshit, hence the reason I’ve been partying more than usual. And now I’ve given this girl ammunition to use against me.

“The domain is private,” Jamie says.

I grunt in irritation, the hope I had a minute ago slowly draining away. “So, we can’t find out who owns it?”

He shakes his head, spinning around in the chair. “No, but there might be another way. I can try tracking their IP address. But I’ll need more time.”

“Until then…” Preston interjects, in an authoritative tone, “… all of you need to stay out of trouble.” There’s a reason he’s the captain of our team. “Stay the hell away from the Delta Sig guys.” His eyes shift to me when he says this.

“I’m not avoiding my friends because of one article,” I shoot back.

“Whatever.” Preston frowns. “But no more parties or pot brownies.”

“You sound like my dad.”

He narrows his eyes at me and opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but he remains silent.

We’re both sick of having this talk. College is about girls, parties, and hockey—my three favorite things.

Preston acts like he’s not all about those things too.

Until he met Bex Bryant, our coach’s daughter, he was partying it up with the rest of us on Greek Row every weekend.

The doorbell rings, cutting through the awkward silence in the room.

Jamie gets up from his chair. “That’s probably Shannon.”

Preston follows Jamie into the hallway without speaking another word. The angry scowl on his lips says everything I need to know. He’s holding his tongue while I’m trying to hold mine.

Drake plops his big ass on my bed, and the mattress dips from his weight. “You can find a tutor on Strick Net,” he offers.

“Isn’t there a tutoring center in the library?”

“Yeah, but private tutors will meet you anywhere. No one will know you’re failing if you hire someone.”

“You’re smarter than you look,” I say with a wink.

Drake smirks. “I have my moments.”

“You don’t want Coach Bryant to find out,” Trent says as he passes by me to sit on his bed. He props himself against the headboard, his arms crossed behind his head, staring over at me. “He’s such a hardass. He’ll bench you if he knows you’re failing.”

Every semester I find some way to pass my classes.

If I couldn’t sweet-talk a professor, Trent would do me a favor and take the test for me.

But helping me is no longer an option, not after we got caught cheating by Professor Cox.

We’re so used to everyone not being able to tell us apart we thought nothing of it.

Trent even spiked his hair like mine, but the sorority chick who sits next to me in class figured it out and told on us.

So, now I need a Plan B.

I sit in front of the computer and log into Strick Net, the Strickland University interface that allows students and professors to communicate.

Scrolling through each page, I look for someone who will tutor me.

I’m ready to give up my search when I spot a post from a student who uses the screen name Heir_of_Slytherin.

They posted the job fifteen minutes ago. He sounds like a weirdo.

What the hell does Heir of Slytherin even mean?

Part-time Tutor

Student tutor available Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Proficient in the following subjects: English, Math, Law, and Communications. $25 per hour. Rate non-negotiable. Serious inquiries only.

He sounds like an ass. But what choice do I have? I need help passing this class. At some point, I suppose I should start giving a shit about school. Today is definitely not the day, but at least this is a start.

“I found someone,” I say to Drake. “He sounds like a dickwad.”

He’s playing on his cell phone. “Cool,” he mutters, his eyes pointed at the screen, uninterested.

I’m sure he’s talking to one of the many women he’s sent a dick pic to this week.

“How do you know?” Trent asks. “Did you talk to him already?”

“No, but his post gives me weird vibes.”

“Stop procrastinating, Tuck.” Trent presses his hands to the mattress and leans forward, glaring at me. “You’ll find any excuse to avoid dealing with your shit. Send the dude a message already, and stop acting like a pussy.”

“You’re the only pussy I see in this room,” I shoot back, even though it’s uncalled for.

I laugh, and so does Trent, though he doesn’t look all that thrilled with me.

“Just do it,” he growls.

He’s right. I avoid responsibility. Call it a character flaw, I guess.

I click on the posting and type in the message box below to open a new chat window.

PuckMe_69

Hey, I need a tutor. Are you still available?

Two minutes later, a small bubble pops up below my message.

Heir_of_Slytherin

Yes. Which subject?

PuckMe_69

Business Law

Heir_of_Slytherin

How many days/hours do you need?

PuckMe_69

I don’t know. I’m failing. Can I start this week?

Heir_of_Slytherin

I’m booked on Wednesday. How about Friday at 4?

Friday is our game against Notre Dame, and I’m not allowed to dress for it.

Fuck, this blows. Thinking about everything Trent and I have to give up only makes me want to work harder and be better.

If not for me, then I have to get my shit together for Trent.

He would do the same for me. I feel so damn guilty about roping him into my mess.

My brother shouldn’t have to pay the price for my mistakes.

PuckMe_69

Friday works for me. What’s your name?

Heir_of_Slytherin

Sam. And yours?

PuckMe_69

Tuck

Heir_of_Slytherin

Where do you want to meet?

PuckMe_69

My house?

Heir_of_Slytherin

No. Somewhere public.

I roll my eyes at the computer screen, my fingers still hovering over the keyboard. Is this guy afraid I’m a serial killer? I don’t have a good feeling about this one.

Not. At. All.

PuckMe_69

I don’t want anyone to know I’m failing this class. How about off-campus?

Heir_of_Slytherin

I’ll meet you at Broad Street Beans.

PuckMe_69

That’s technically on campus.

Heir_of_Slytherin

Take it or leave it.

I pause for a few seconds, wondering if I should ask my dad to hire someone who won’t open their mouth. But I reject the idea immediately.

PuckMe_69

See you then.

Heir_of_Slytherin

I’ll be the girl in the corner wearing a green T-shirt.

This is unexpected. I was so sure Sam was a guy.

PuckMe_69

Something sexy, I hope. :)

Heir_of_Slytherin

I can’t do this.

Oh, shit. What did I just do?

PuckMe_69

Sam, I was joking.

Heir_of_Slytherin

I have better things to do with my time than tutor jerks.

PuckMe_69

Meet me on Friday. Please. I’ll pay double your hourly rate.

Three minutes pass before she types again, and the bubble appears on the screen. I suck in a deep breath, hoping she will change her mind. I need this, especially after reading that stupid article about me.

Heir_of_Slytherin

One hour. $50. Don’t be late.

Heir_of_Slytherin is offline flashes on the screen.

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