“Is your girlfriend going to get pissy when she realizes you came home with crabs? They make pretty useless pets.” I bat my eyelashes sweetly at him. Luna is not his girlfriend although he would die trying. That’s why I never really liked Luna Rexroth. She is the original Via. The girl who created the Hulk inside me. The girl who Vaughn always smiled at and Knight followed blindly. Daddy once laughed that Luna is like a Sicilian nun. Once a year, the nuns appear behind lifted curtains so their families can see and adore them because they miss them so.

“That’s Luna. When she appears, everything stops.”

Yup. And I cease to exist.

“Suck a saggy cock, Dar.” He clamps his joint between his teeth, cupping his hand over it to light it, then blows a chain of gray smoke straight into my face.

“Is that an invitation? Because there’s a pill for your Q-tip of a dick.” I jerk my chin up.

“Baby, my cock is too hard for you to take. The only pills you’ll be needing are three Advil to handle the aftermath of having me inside you.”

“Inside me? In your dreams, Knight Cole.”

“Hard no. In my dreams, I have Luna’s legs wrapped around my waist, and the rest is NC-17. No offense, Tiffanie.” He pats the girl’s ass with the hand holding his Zippo.

“Stephanie.”

“Don’t make it awkward, babe. I forgot you were in my lap until Elsa here pointed it out.” Knight motions to me and laughs.

“Too bad you’re a sophomore, and Luna is a junior. She’ll never date you.” I’m just egging him on. I mean, Luna probably wouldn’t date him, but it’s not because of his age. She’s trapped in her own little universe. She is the sun, and he is the Earth. Always circling around her and getting an inch closer every lifetime even though the burn could ruin him.

He cocks his head to the side, his smile so wolfish, his teeth look pointier than usual.

“Oh brother, if you knew how many of your senior friends gave my cock mouth-to-mouth when they were juniors, you’d have a heart attack.”

A loud, shrieking, “Whoa!” interrupts our banter.

The crowd winces in unison, and we all snap our heads back to the field, watching Penn fall to the ground on his way to the center of the pit. My Marx. They haven’t even fought, and he’s already knocked down on his ass. He looks super drunk. Vaughn is going to kill him before he realizes where he is.

I turn my attention back to Knight.

“You need to tell Vaughn the fight is off.”

“Look who’s got her thong in a twist. Why? You placed a bet with Gus tonight?” Knight is rubbing the girl’s ass, but he’s not into it. He never is. I go crimson, my head so hot it might explode. My hands ball into fists beside my body. I don’t want Penn to end up in a hospital tonight even though he hates me and probably wouldn’t want my concern. Guilt swirls in my stomach as the memory of him tearing up his sister’s acceptance letter plays in my mind.

“Whatever. As if I’d ever talk to Gus voluntarily. But this loser is obviously drunk. Vaughn’s going to slaughter him.”

“He is a huge-ass football player on a team consisting of straight-up gangsters. He can hold his own,” Knight shoots back darkly.

As the starting quarterback of All Saints High, Knight’s had the dubious pleasure of playing against Scully. Rumor has it, Penn is the best in the county. Maybe even the state. Principal Prichard has tried to offer him a scholarship several times so he could join our team, but lucky for me, Penn is the loyal type.

“Knight.” My voice breaks, falling off the cliff of indifference. I’m begging. The girl in his lap shoots daggers at me with her gaze. “Vaughn could get into real shit if this goes south.”

His face morphs from bored to annoyed. He pushes the girl off his lap and hands her the remainder of his joint.

“I’m not going to break it apart because you’re being a vagina, but I’ll go downstairs to make sure these two dicks keep it clean.” He swipes his tongue over his lips, and his tongue ring pokes out.

I look back at the field, and both guys have taken off their shirts. Knight is right. Penn is a far cry from the emaciated boy who gave me the most precious thing in the world four years ago. Muscled, sinewy, and imperial, he has zero percent body fat and bulging arms. A prominent V points down to his holy grail, and by the way my fellow cheerleaders sigh beside me, they’ve noticed it, too. Vaughn is skinnier in comparison. Not that it matters. He has a feline patience you cannot help but admire, and when he’s in his element, I’ve seen him take down guys triple his size without breaking a sweat.

They circle each other, quiet and deadly and serious. Vaughn is expressionless, as per usual. Stoic and calm. Penn looks out of focus, wearing a loony smile on his lips. The glass bottle slips from between his fingers and rolls on the ground, and people burst out with laughter that echoes in my heart.

“Does he fight here often?” I ask no one in particular.

“Nope.” Gus, our football captain who sits two rows down, takes a pull of his beer. His friends beside him are passing a clipboard with names written on it between them. They’ve been placing bets on the fights all night, and this one takes the cake. Gus snatches the clipboard and pushes it into his duffel bag, balling his varsity jacket and stuffing it on top to conceal it. Guess he still thinks it’s a secret that he runs a betting ring. Rumor has it, he makes a small fortune running these bets, and Vaughn—the guy who hates money and everything it represents—gets a cut. Everyone knows what he does with it. Saving so he can open his own studio without touching a dime of his parents’ wealth.

“Penn’s not the get-drunk-and-fight type of dude, and I’ve partied with his school plenty. Something’s up.” He finishes his bottle and rubs his hands together.

Something’s up.

I need to stop this guilt-fest. I’m not responsible for his problems. A different girl—a brave girl—would have faced him by now. Not me. He knows what we did that day and how it led to his sister’s disappearance. I never asked for his forgiveness because—let’s be real—I don’t deserve it.

My breath catches deep inside my throat as the two measure each other on the dead field, their body language a perfect mirror. Vaughn is the first to throw a punch in Penn’s face. It’s a heavy blow, and Penn’s nose bursts with blood. People shriek and suck in a collective breath. Penn stumbles backward, laughing and shaking his head as if he dodged the hit. He licks the blood on the corner of his upper lip, then pounces on Vaughn in a way I’ve never seen before.

Bengal tiger.

I almost forgot how quick and graceful he was. Is. Just like his sister.

Penn jams Vaughn to the ground, locking his knees on either side of Vaughn’s torso, then rains sloppy fists down on his face. Some hit. Some miss. I want to throw up. The crowd is screaming. This hasn’t happened before. Vaughn has taken some serious beatings over the past couple of years, but he’s never been thrown to the ground. Vaughn knows better than to squirm and waste his energy. He learned jiujitsu before he was kicked out of three different classes for being disobedient.

“Spencer! Spencer! Spencer! Spencer!” All Saints High students chant from our side of the bleachers, throwing empty cans of beer to the sidelines. Students from Las Juntas, the other school, remain silent but no less intimidating. They are less prone to public gestures, but I know better than to think they’re any less loyal to their football star.