Wild Reckless (Harper Boys #1)(104)

Six in the morning arrives way too quickly. Owen stayed late, my mom never coming up to my room and telling him he needed to go home. I left my door open, knowing she would feel more comfortable with him here if I did, and I heard her move to her bedroom hours after our fight downstairs.

I feel worse about it today. She’s still asleep when I sneak downstairs to brew a cup of coffee and grab a packet of Pop Tarts from the pantry. Willow texted me when she was leaving her house, which gave me precisely seven minutes to shower and get dressed. I lock our front door behind me and pull my coat around my body, shielding the hot coffee mug from the freezing air.

I’m bundled from head to toe, the only things exposed are my lips and nose and the tips of my fingers through my gloves. Jess leaps from the front seat and holds the door open for me, then moves to the back.

“Thanks for letting me ride shotgun,” I say, unwrapping my neck from my scarf, letting the heat from Willow’s car penetrate my body.

“Thanks for giving me a sip of your coffee,” Jess says, reaching through the center to the cup holder where my mug is steaming.

“Go ahead,” I roll my eyes.

“You’re too nice. I would have spilled it on him,” Willow says, backing out of the driveway with enough speed to make the bump jerk Jess’s hand a little, splattering coffee on his chin and cheeks.

“Your such a bitch in the morning,” he says, slurping the coffee once more before putting my mug back.

“See, now when he says bitch it sounds authentic,” Willow says to me.

“That’s cuz you are one!” Jess says from the back seat. Willow raises her middle finger and smiles at him in the rearview mirror.

“Are you two going to fight all the way to Champagne? I’m just saying, that’s like…three hours of bickering. So if I have a chance to bail out now and drive myself, I’d like to take it,” I say, looking to Willow. She smirks at me.

“No, we’re just going to bicker for the first ten minutes,” Jess says from behind me. “The rest of the time we’ll be all shmoopy, making kissy faces at each other, and I’ll keep feeling her up from the back seat.”

“Uh, that’s not happening,” Willow says, pointing at him in the mirror.

“Worth a shot,” Jess says, settling back in his seat, pulling his coat up over his lap.

It’s still dark out when we hit the highway, but by the time we make it to the University of Illinois, three hours later, the sun is shining. It’s one of those rare days where there’s a tiny bit of leftover snow on the ground, too, so everything feels especially bright. I know it will all melt by the time we take the field for competition, but the early morning sun makes the ground look as if it’s covered in jewels.

“We’re going to tune in ten minutes, then we go to photos and pre-staging before we compete. You’re going to love this, Kensi,” Willow says. She’s wired on a few energy drinks. I counted three empty cans in her car. I’m pretty sure that isn’t safe, but I’m also fairly certain that there’s little difference in her personality—wired or not.

Willow walks around each section, listening and adjusting instruments as everyone warms up, her whistle perched at the edge of her lips.

“Just one more reason why drum line is the best,” Jess says, rapping out a drumroll on the rim of his snare. “We don’t tune.”

I laugh and wait at the back of the moving truck for a few of the booster parents to help unload the xylophone, smirking when one of the wheels falls off into my hand as they pull it from the truck. I bend down and lift the leg up so I can work the wheel back in place, and suddenly the weight is lighter.

“I hope you know this is butt-crack early, and I would only show up to something like this for you,” Owen says, his head buried in its usual black hoodie.

“You’re here!” I squeal, rushing into his arms. He catches me and holds me under the sides of his coat, shielding the cold breeze from my skin. We changed into our uniforms the second we got to the campus, and I haven’t been warm since.

Owen rubs his hand on the giant feather on the top of my hat. “You guys look like birds. Why do you have to wear these?” he asks.

“It’s so the judges can see us on the field. Willow says it makes the formations pop more,” I roll my eyes.

“But you don’t march…” he says, fluffing my feather once again. I slap his hand away and straighten my hat.

“Yeah, I tried that argument, but here I am, all plumed,” I say.

“Well, you’re adorable. Go win something. You do get to win something, right?” he says, taking a few steps away, moving backward toward the stadium.

“That’s what Willow says. This is like her Super Bowl, you know?” I say, wide eyes.

“Yeah, so I’ve heard.” Owen shields his mouth as he passes Willow, but she hears him anyhow and punches him on the arm. “Owwww!”

I smile as he turns, my heart feeling warm inside. Everything feels right—at least for right now.

Most of the morning is spent standing around, rolling my xylophone from patch of grass to patch of grass, until we’re in the tunnel. It’s kind of cool being in here, and I look around at the motivational words painted on the wall, the most amusing the threat that any opponent will feel the Orange Krush.