Lance, he already hated the kid. He couldn’t believe he was working with Ally. Did Ally get pressured into working with him? Or did she really want to work with him? They went back to their papers and worked the rest of the period. Brett was always trying to steal a glance at Ally, hoping to catch her looking back at him, but it never happened. Instead, he was caught looking at her by Lance who simply shook his head, mocking him. When the bell rang to indicate the end of the period, Brett and Frankie gathered up their books and papers and headed towards lunch.
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T here was no bus service at Foxworth because of the low enrollment and because students came from many different communities, so those who were not old enough to drive would either get a ride home from an upperclassman, or from their parents. The latter was something Brett didn’t look forward to. Not that he didn’t like hanging with his dad, but having a parent pick you up from school was just not cool. His dad, Nick, was a personal chef for the wealthy. He cooked all day and then delivered the meals to five or six houses, depending on their schedules.
“How was school?” his dad asked, just as he had done the day before, and the day before that.
“Eh, you know, it was okay. What’s for dinner?” Brett said, closing the car door.
“Steak tips on the grill. They’ve been marinating since this morning. I’m also grilling corn on the cob in the husk, and we’ll have some asparagus with fresh basil.” His dad loved to talk about his cooking.
“Yum,” Brett indulged him.
“Do you remember what time your game is this Saturday?” his dad asked, referring to the baseball game.
“Yes, Dad,” Brett whined back.
“It’s nine o’clock so that means no sleeping ‘til eight forty-five and rolling out of bed. It’s a home game, but that still means you need to get up, eat breakfast, change into your uniform, and get to the field by eight-thirty.”
“Dad, it’s not like this is my first game, ya know?”
“Well, it’s your first game after your first week of high school. You just had the summer off and slept in every day.”
“I know, Dad.”
“I’m just sayin’...”
A few minutes later, Nick pulled his green Land Rover into the circular driveway and stopped just past the steps to the house. The grounds surrounding the house were in great shape, even after a dry summer. The grass was perfectly manicured and cut to just the right height. The ornamental grasses stood tall on either corner of the house and rattled gently in the breeze. The house was just over ten years old and was located in a new development, just west of Wilmington, Delaware, not far from the Pennsylvania border. They had bought the land prior to the house being built, having it custom designed by the breadwinner of the family, Brett’s mom. Lauren Logan was an architect with the Walker & McCary firm out of Philadelphia. She took the train to Philadelphia a few days a week, choosing to work from home the rest of the time.
Brett bounded up the steps of the great stone house, punched in the security code, and threw open the door. The house opened into a large foyer with tan ceramic tile that led down a hallway into the spacious kitchen. A six burner Viking gas stove sat to the left. Brett threw his backpack on the barstool fronting the granite countertop. He opened the left stainless steel refrigerator door, grabbed a blue Gatorade, twisted the cap, and took a large gulp. Shutting the door, he walked over to the kitchen pantry and proceeded to pull out a bag of Doritos, tearing into them like he hadn’t eaten in days.
“Whoa, whoa, save some room for the steak,” his dad said, entering the kitchen.
“Will Mom be home for dinner?” Brett asked, with orange, dust-covered lips.
“Tonight she will,” he responded. “Wanna do your homework now or hit the cages?”
“Cages,” Brett