Better than Perfect Read Free Page B

captain last year, so we retaliated and tp’d their captain’s house. Watch your back, Parker. Once word gets out, you’re a target.”
    â€œI’ve got your back,” Vic says in a gruff voice. He means it.
    â€œWe all do,” Jet says. “Just remember that.”
    Target? I convince myself that I can handle being a target. I’m strong, tough, and nobody is going to get the best of me.
    I’m not a quitter.
    I’m the captain of the Fremont High football team!

Chapter 3

Derek
    My muscles are tense when we pull into the driveway at my stepmother’s childhood home in a small suburb of
Chicago
. I drove my dad’s SUV and followed Brandi in her new white Toyota with blinged-out rims. We drove for six days. As soon as we step out of the cars, an older man I assume is Brandi’s father appears on the front porch of the two-story redbrick house. He’s got brown hair just starting to gray at the temples, and he sure isn’t smiling. The dude is staring at Brandi as if she’s a stranger. It’s a standoff, with neither willing to make the first move.
    I don’t know what went down with Brandi and her old man. She didn’t explain much, except to say she left home right after her parents’ divorce and hadn’t been back . . . until now.
    Brandi grasps Julian by the hand and tugs the tired kid up the porch stairs. “This is my son. Julian, say hello to Grandpa.”
    Brandi’s son is a cool kid who can talk your ear off. But he’sacting shy right now and doesn’t say hello to his grandfather. Instead, he keeps his eyes focused on his sneakers. Brandi’s old man does the same.
    â€œAnd this is my stepson, Derek,” Brandi finally says as she waves her hand in my direction.
    Her father looks up. “You didn’t say anything about a stepson when you called.”
    I’m not surprised Brandi didn’t prep her father about me. Common sense is not her strong suit.
    Brandi cocks her head to the side, her big red hoop earrings reminding me of those ring-toss things at the carnival. I think she’s got a set to match every color in her wardrobe. “Didn’t I? I’m such a flake I must’ve forgotten to tell you, with all the moving and packing and . . . other stuff. Derek can stay in the den.”
    â€œThe den is filled with boxes,” he tells her. “And I gave the old couch that was in the den to charity a while back.”
    â€œIf you’d rather, sir,” I drawl, “I can sleep on the porch. Just give me a blanket and toss me scraps of food every now an’ then and I’ll be just fine.” It’s times like these that I’m wound so tight I can’t turn off the natural twang in my voice even if I want to.
    Brandi’s dad narrows his eyes at me. I have the feeling if I let three greased pigs loose in his yard he’d shoot ’em, eat ’em, and then attempt to skin me alive.
    â€œNonsense,” Brandi says. “Derek can stay in my old room with Julian, and I’ll sleep on the couch in the living room.”
    â€œI’ll move the boxes and put a blow-up bed in the den,” her dad says, reluctantly giving in when he realizes that I’m not about to hightail it back to California.
    â€œI’m cool with that,” I say.
    It’s not like I plan on hanging around the house all that often.
    â€œDerek, can you and my dad bring our stuff in the house while I put Julian down for a nap?” Brandi asks. “I’m exhausted from the trip and need a nap myself.” I note she doesn’t spill the beans to her dad that she’s pregnant, not that she can keep the secret for long.
    Before I can answer, she slips through the front door with Julian, leaving me alone with her grouchy old man.
    Her father scans me up and down. He doesn’t look impressed.
    â€œHow old are you?” His gravelly voice carries down the steps and across