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Monday, May 22
Senior pranks are a rite of passage. Sometimes they’re fun and sometimes they’re killer.
They’re the last dumb thing you do in high school before you get to do a whole bunch of dumb things in college.
But if you go to my school, they can stop your college dreams
dead. Sophomore year I couldn’t wait to participate in senior pranks, but in the last two years the pranks have really escalated. The Wilder brothers—putting their last name to good use—took over. Five of them, all a year apart in age and all headed for prison if it weren’t for their parents’ money, came up with a way to raise the stakes.
Everett
Emmett
Rhett—
ugh Garrett
Truett
Their parents really went with that matching-name theme. No wonder they have issues.
I think I remember a kid ribbing Everett about it once. Only once. There’s rumor that the kid had to move to another country.
The brothers all like to exert their dominance. They assign you a prank. A dare, really. If you’re brave enough—or stupid enough— to turn it down, a forfeit is forced upon you.
Arrests, expulsions, not walking at graduation, and even college rejections are what we face now. That is if we accept the dares . . .
or if we don’t. Saying no has consequences too.
I watch Rhett laugh and shove one of his followers as he makes his way into the cafeteria, cutting in the line because he doesn’t have to wait like the rest of us.
My best friend, Lucia, twirls her shiny black hair around her finger. “Ignore him,” she says, pushing what I think is supposed to be a burrito away from her. She’s curled up with her boyfriend, Jesse, so far evading the eyes of any teachers monitoring for PDA.
Jesse throws a scowl in Rhett’s direction, still holding a grudge against him for getting starting quarterback at the beginning of the year. Jesse and Atlas are better. Rhett’s family is richer.
“The dares are going to start soon,” I say, turning my nose up. “Rhett’s probably already plotting.”
With only three weeks left of school, senior pranks are right around the corner. Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to go all out to prank Principal Fuller, but I don’t want to get messed up in Rhett’s games.
Atlas leans in, kissing my cheek. “Nothing’s going to stop you and your big brain from going to UCLA.”
Last year Billy Halsten had his place at Ohio State stripped because the fire he set in a trash can spread and gutted a 7-Eleven. It was his dare from the second-born Wilder brother. Not to destroy a building but to keep the fire department busy while someone else stole a CPR mannequin.
Since then, the whole thing has made me want to skip the last few weeks of school altogether. There’s no way Rhett is going to listen to Fuller’s warnings.
We’re to keep it safe. No stupid stuff.
The Wilder brothers only do stupid stuff, and I think Rhett might be the worst one of them all.
And I already know Atlas and Jesse won’t back down from a dare.
“Nothing will stop college because I’m not playing,” I tell him. “We’re sticking with eggs and glitter and balloons. That’s enough.”
Atlas pouts, and I can feel myself starting to relent. He’s ridiculously good-looking—dark skin, full lips, football player’s physique. He’s been mine for the last three years. “Come on, babe, we’ll stick to the boring pranks, I promise. But we can’t miss out on this.”
The ones we’ve planned are boring. Kind of. They’ll annoy the hell out of Fuller, so it’ll still be funny. He’ll be cleaning glitter from his office long after we’ve gone.
“He’s right,” Luce says, jabbing a finger in my arm as Jesse bites her neck and makes her squeal. She pushes his head. “We’re not skipping this just because people have been total idiots in the past.”
“So you’re going to listen to Rhett?” I ask, eyeing them as if they’ve been taken over by aliens.
Jesse scoffs, runs his hand through his white-blond hair, and glares at Rhett again. I think he hates him as much as I do. “We’re not going to let him threaten us. Their family doesn’t have as much power as he thinks. If there’s something we don’t want to do, we won’t.”
A burst of noise gets my attention. Ruthie cackles when Rhett pokes her in the hips. They take a seat at the table next to us, and he looks over, smirking at me. His eyes are the darkest blue I’ve ever seen, looking nearly black against his light skin and sandy-blond locks. He just looks rich, you know. The preppy, perfect hair and expensive clothes. He has a ring on his thumb, as if he belongs to some underground organization.
All the brothers wear them, and no one knows why, but they look ridiculous.
I’ve lost count of the times he’s tried to break Atlas and me up, despite having Ruthie hanging off his every word.
He’s a typical bored rich kid who’s never had to deal with the consequences of any of his actions. It’s why he and his brothers hijacked senior pranks.
And he was once my best friend.
He smiles again and I turn away.
Hate, hate, hate.
Atlas, unlike me, is still staring at him.
“Forget him,” I say. “He’s not worth it.”
“I really wish someone would do something about him,” Jesse mutters, light eyes trying to laser into Rhett’s head.
Atlas barks a laugh. “Like what?”
“Yeah, like what?” I ask, genuinely invested now.
“I don’t know,” Jesse says. “But I think we should figure it out.”
“You want to mess with a Wilder?” Luce asks, giving him a look as if she thinks he’s lost his mind. Luce is too nice and a total rule follower. She wouldn’t even pack a fizzy drink on a field trip if you weren’t supposed to.
I want to roll my eyes. Not because I think it’s a bad idea—because someone needs to stand up to that family—but because it’s a waste of our energy when we’ll be going to college in a few months.
We’ll be out of here, and Rhett will be at a college in state because he’s not allowed to go far. His parents are
big on control; all the brothers have gone to the same college, and all will get an apartment near their parents after so they can join the family business.
I mean, no wonder they act out. Their whole lives have already been planned, and they don’t get a choice in any of it. Sounds suffocating as hell.
I still think they’re all assholes, though.
“I’m just saying, I’m sure there’s some way we can turn these pranks around on him,” Jesse says.
“I’m game,” I tell him. “We could paint little pink bunnies on his expensive car.”
“Why bunnies?” Jesse asks, chuckling.
“Why not?”
“Fair. He’d hate it.”
I smile. “And that’s all that matters.”
Atlas side-eyes me, tapping his fingers on the table. He knows that Rhett and I were close in elementary and middle school—they all do, but I’ve never really spoken about it.
Atlas looks like he’s about to say something, but we’re distracted by screams of laughter. I look up as four guys from the football team walk into the cafeteria wearing cheerleader outfits, complete with pom-poms and paint stripes on their cheeks.
The room erupts with cheers and applause.
“Why didn’t you do that too!” I say, playfully hitting Atlas’s arm.
Luce laughs. “Yeah, come on, I would’ve
paid to see that.”
The boys don’t have time to answer because the honorary cheerleaders begin to chant and jump around. Max spells out “school is shit” with his arms, and I think I actually see steam coming from Fuller’s ears.
“They’re good,” I say, cheering and throwing a wadded-up napkin at them. Max and Charlie both leap up and attempt the splits in midair. It’s a hilarious fail, and they both laugh along with everyone else.
This is the dumb stuff we’re supposed to do, not burning down buildings.
Fuller is on his feet as the four boys curtsy, holding their skirts to the side. He smiles as he approaches, but it’s easy to see the irritation on his face.
“All right, the fun’s over,” Fuller says. “Five minutes left, so hurry up.”
Luce and I jump up, knowing this is our chance, leaving the boys chatting to some guys on the team.
We make our way to Fuller’s office with the supplies in my bag. He always walks around the field for the last few minutes of lunchtime, after checking the cafeteria. It wouldn’t surprise me if he sits out on his porch watching his neighbors.
We easily slip past the secretaries as they dash to the staff room for their iced coffee fix.
Luce giggles as I look over my shoulder, palm resting on the handle of Fuller’s door.
“Go,” I say, pushing the door open and slipping inside.
Copyright © 2024 by Natasha Preston. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
