Foes & Cons by Carrie Aarons (i am malala young readers edition .txt) 📗

the doors and roof completely off in the warmth of early September. The stereo is cranked up, my phone blaring Linkin Park through the Bluetooth. Heads swing my way, and my ego is satisfied.

First day of senior year. A day I’ve been looking forward to for a number of reasons, but mostly because this year we’re alpha dogs. No more answering to whiny-ass older guys or girls who think they’re too good for me. Being captain of the soccer team. Slacking off enough in class so long as it secures our college acceptances. And of course, partying our faces off on the weekends before we leave this town for the next four years.

We feel golden, right now, on this precipice of the next chapter. But I can’t wait to enjoy the spoils in the coming months.

“Truck’s looking perfect, dude.” Glavin, my best friend and goalie on our soccer team, gives me a fist bump as I hold on to the roll bar and climb out of the driver’s seat.

A few girls and guys in our grade follow him over, and we all congregate around our cars before we’re forced to walk inside for homeroom.

The scene looks like that of any suburban, upper class high school. With the parking lot full of mostly new or gently used cars gifted for seventeenth birthdays. The school building, a pretty glass and steel structure, is only about four years old. It houses state-of-the-art science labs, athletic facilities, and even a swimming pool that got approved two budget votes ago. And all the students filtered out into groups containing the beautiful people, the band nerds, the art kids, the burnouts, and everyone in between.

“Thanks, man. Where is my breakfast?” I rub my stomach, lifting my shirt a little to show my abs.

Nearby, I see two of the girls who joined our group staring, and I wink at them. Not only am I out to win a state championship on the soccer field this year, but I plan on living my best life ever. I’m college bound this time next year, and I’m going to enjoy the spoils of this town even if it chews me up and spits me out.

They giggle and flutter their eyelashes at me.

Glavin pulls out something wrapped in tinfoil, and my mouth waters. He lives closer to Genardi’s, the town’s best deli, and since his stomach is the size of Mount Everest, I know he has two Taylor ham, egg, and cheese sandwiches in the brown paper bag for himself. I unwrap the tinfoil, and see my own bacon, egg, and cheese bagel.

“Clutch, dude, you’re the best.” I high five him.

“What do you have first period?” Hailey, one of the girls hanging around, curls into my side.

I don’t move into her, but I don’t move away. She’s a fun option for some weekend party or other. “History.”

“The smart kids’ kind. I don’t even know why you’re taking real classes this year,” Glavin adds.

“Woah, you’re in AP classes?” she asks, referring to the advanced placement courses some of the more intelligent kids are enrolled in.

I shrug, biting into my bagel. “Yeah. It’s not a big deal.”

In my circle of friends, though, it kind of is. I’m a part of the popular crowd, made up of mostly male and female jocks. It’s uncommon for kids in this crowd to actually thrive in school, because most of them are killing it out on the field. But my dream was never to go pro, like a lot of my other friends. No, I want to work for my dad at his architecture firm. That means advanced classes and a really hefty college course load. Becoming an architect is no joke, and I know I’ll have to work hard for it. Which is why I’m not taking my foot off the gas during senior year.

“You know what they say about guys with big brains, though …” Hailey gives me what is supposed to be a sultry side-eye.

“Who the hell is that?”

Glavin hits me in the shoulder. I turn my head to look in the direction that he’s staring, and my gaze runs straight into a perfect, perky ass.

It’s facing out to the parking lot, the upper half of whoever’s body that is bent into their car, a silver, newish-looking Camry. And Jesus Christ, is it spectacular. Round, encased in frayed denim jean shorts, and I can make out the tiny waist it leads up to. What I wouldn’t—and most of the guys turned around staring at it—do to follow that around for a while.

Matthew, our other best friend and quarterback of the football team, whistles low in his throat. “Dibs.”

“You can’t call dibs. We haven’t seen her face yet.” I growl, annoyed.

But if those legs, toned and tan, have anything to do with it, I don’t even need to see her face.

The girl straightens, and a head full of long brown curls blows in the morning summer breeze. She waves to someone, a bunch of gold bracelets jingling on a slim wrist.

And then she turns.

“What in the ever loving fuck …” Glavin’s jaw drops, as do the rest of ours.

Because the ass we were just staring at, the body I was fantasizing about grinding up on me at the homecoming dance, is none other than my sworn enemy.

Blair Oden.

Apparently, a summer away has turned her into every teenage guy’s wet dream. Jesus Christ, I actually think I can make out the form of her nipples underneath that tight white T-shirt. It has a little bow right where her cleavage dips down, and apparently her ass hasn’t been the only thing to round out. The sight of that fucking pink bow on her shirt accentuating tits that would be more than a handful if I felt the weight of them—

It makes me burn with everything from lust to fury.

The thing is, I’ve always thought Blair is pretty. Not in a conventional way, but I know her on a deeper level. She’s hilarious and sincere, and the way