Why did he hate my guts? Because my father shot his, and his father died.
That’s why.
Where Vance didn’t think his father did anything wrong, I knew better.
My dad was a police officer.
He didn’t just go around killing people.
What he did do was his job, and his job wasn’t easy.
It especially wasn’t easy for him to shoot his kid’s best friend’s father, either.
But that was what happened when that man happened to have a gun to his wife’s head.
My dad had to make a choice.
My friend’s father, or his stepmother.
Obviously, we knew which one my friend would’ve chosen.
Which was why Vance had decided to make my life a living hell ever since.
“It’s either Oakley or Ford,” Dad said suddenly. “You choose.”
I knew without a doubt that either one of my siblings would allow me to stay.
The thing was, both of them were in Kilgore, Texas. A couple hours away from where I was now.
“So what the fuck do I tell Coach when he finds out that I’m not coming back this year?” I asked carefully.
“You tell him that Vance is to blame, and if he wanted you to be there, he should’ve had your back a little better than he did,” my father snarled.
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“This fucking blows. You know that, right?” I asked.
My father sighed.
“I don’t want to do this to you, Banner,” Dad said. “But I’d rather you be safe, happy, and healthy than fucking in jail, or beat up because Vance finally decided to take that last step into becoming a goddamn felon.”
My dad had a point.
Vance had gotten considerably worse until the point where I didn’t know what to do anymore.
Staying away from him wasn’t working, and neither was ignoring him.
Sooner or later, things would get to the point where Vance wouldn’t skirt around the issue at hand.
Chapter 2
Adulting is soup, and I’m a fork.
-Banner’s secret thoughts
Banner
The first day of school in Kilgore, Texas proved to be a cold one.
It was unusually cold for the end of August. To the point that when I rode my bike to school that morning, I’d actually been thankful for the leather jacket that usually made me sweat.
Today was my first day of my last year of high school.
At a new school.
I was a senior.
At. A. New. School.
Goddamn Vance.
Walking into first period—I’d found it easily thanks to a freshman that’d been looking at a map like a fish out of water.
After taking it, I helped point him to where he needed to go, but only after I’d found where my own class was.
Which led me to now.
Statistics.
Kill me now.
“Ahh, you must be Banner Spurlock.” The teacher, a younger woman in her mid-thirties, smiled brightly.
She looked like a ho.
Seriously.
She had a pair of tight black pants on that almost covered her high-heeled hooker shoes that were so tall that it would be nearly impossible for anyone else but a stripper to walk easily in them.
Then there was her starched white button-down long-sleeved top that she had rolled up at her forearms. Oh, and let’s not forget the three buttons she had undone, just barely revealing the top bits of lace on her bra.
“Yeah, that’s me,” I said, my eyes automatically sweeping the room for an open seat.
I found it in the front row, at the opposite of the teacher, and the wall.
I walked to that seat, ignoring the way the teacher continued to talk to me, and took my seat.
Once there, I pulled my jacket off, getting a better look at the girl that was next to me.
At first, I thought she was just a girl-next-door type. But then she glanced up, and I got a good look at her eyes.
She most certainly wasn’t a girl-next-door type.
She was a ‘I want your panties on my bedroom floor’ type.
Jesus Christ.
Her black sweatpants and black long-sleeved, tight as fuck, curve-hugging top were nothing special.
Unless you looked below the surface. Saw the delicate curve of her hip. The beautiful swell of her breasts.
The delicate slant of her neck that was covered in deliciously golden skin that I wanted to…
She looked up at me, her gaze making contact with mine, and my breath hitched.
Her eyes were fucking purple.
Who the hell had purple eyes?
“All right, ladies and gentlemen,” Mrs. Hooker—dear sweet baby Jesus, how the hell was I going to call her that? —ordered. “Now, who wants to start the introductions first?”
“Mrs. Hooker,” someone called from behind me. “We’ve all gone to the same school for our whole entire lives. We’ve been with the same one hundred and fifty kids since we were all in kindergarten. We don’t need to do any introductions.”
I knew what was going to happen the moment that the kid said that.
“Oh?” Mrs. Hooker said. “What about Mr. Spurlock here? He’s new this year. None of y’all know him.”
“We don’t need to know him,” someone muttered in the back.
“Perry?” Mrs. Hooker said. “Why don’t you start?”
Perry, the girl that was dressed from head to toe in black beside me, sighed.
I grinned at her misfortune, but wiped it off my face the moment she turned her head to look in my direction.
My eyes studied her as she stood up and turned around to face the class.
“My name is Perry Street. I’m a senior this year. I work at the Stop and Go, I play volleyball, and I also run cross-country and track,” Perry drawled.
“Ohhh, Mulan,” someone called from the back of the room. “How’s Mushu?”
I could see the Mulan analogy.
She could pass as the cartoon character’s double.
Hell, she even had the long, flowing, thick hair.
“How about you go f—” Perry started, but Mrs. Hooker cleared her throat, causing her to break off mid-sentence.
I snorted.
She said it so monotonously that she sounded like a computer. Like the fucking Alexa electronics that my mother loved so much.
“Thank you, Perry,” Mrs. Hooker said. “Who’s next?”
It went on like this until it came to be my turn.
I stood up and said my name, keeping
