Getting Played (Getting Some, #2)(22)

I adjust my glasses. “The secret of life is . . . good friends, good food, and good music. You have those three—everything else falls into place.”

“What do you consider good music?” Daisy asks.

Technically that’s two questions, but since Daisy is basically a mute most of the time, I don’t point that out.

I hear a sweet, spellbinding voice in my head that, despite my best efforts, I haven’t been able to forget. “I like songs that tell a story. That make me feel. That make me remember.”

“Good music tells a story, Daise. It makes you remember exactly where you were and how you felt when you heard it.”

Some of the kids nod, most of them looking at me like I’m Gandhi and Buddha and Nostradamus all in one. It’s nice to be idolized.

“Okay, summer packet is done.” I smack my hands together and sit down behind my desk, leaning back in my chair.

“Hey—new kid.” Jason Burrows’s eyes go wide and round. I gesture for him to stand. “Do your thing—you know the drill. Tell us about yourself.”

He stands up, wetting his lips, looking a bit nervous. But that’s okay—because if yolks want to make friends, they gotta crack their shells.

“My name is Jason, I’m a Junior, I’m from Bayonne. I’m fourteen—”

“Fourteen?” Louis asks. “That’s young for a junior.”

“Yeah.” Jason nods, shrugging it off. “I skipped a few grades when I was younger.”

That gets their attention.

Because my students may not be football players or track stars—hell, some of them can’t even walk straight. But that doesn’t mean they’re not competitive. Bloodthirsty.

They’d sell their mothers for an extra tenth of a percentage in their GPA. Tonya Harding and Nancy Kerrigan? Pfft—amateurs. My kids wouldn’t have wasted time with a crowbar—they would’ve gone straight for the chainsaw.

Hailey gnaws on the end of her pen. “A few grades? You must think you’re pretty hot stuff.”

“Not so much.” Burrows shakes his head. “I just really like school.”

They look him over, judging and weighing, like sniffing wolves deciding if a loner is going to be a new member of the pack—or lunch.

“Where do you live?” Diego asks.

There’s only about eight thousand residents in Lakeside. Where you live in town can say a lot about who you are. Wealthier families live on the North side of the lake or in the newer homes of Watershed Village; the old timers, like Grams, live below 6th Street, and the rest of the working-class families live everywhere in between.

“On Miller Street, at the end, by the lake.”

Louis practically jumps out of his chair.

“Wait, wait, wait—I saw them doing work on the old boarded up house on Miller Street. That’s where you live?”

I see where this is going—and it’s nowhere good.

“Yeah, it’s not boarded up anymore. My mom does these decorating videos on—”

“Holy shit, have you seen them?” Min Joon asks.

Burrows looks around. “Seen who?”

“The boys in the attic,” Martin says excitedly. Then he goes on to explain the legend of the haunted house of Lakeside. The one Burrows currently lives in.

“If you stand in front of the house at midnight on Friday the 13th and look up at the attic window, you’ll see the ghosts of the two 18th century boys who haunt the house.”

Burrows turns as white as the chalk on the ledge behind me.

“That’s not true,” Keydon argues.

“It’s totally true!” Louis yells. “My uncle saw them—he told me!”

I try to turn it around.

“Okay, guys, let’s get back—”

But they’re on a roll.

“I heard they committed suicide,” Hailey says.

“I heard their mother slit their throats in their beds,” Min Joon insists.

Even quiet Daisy gets in on the act. “I heard it was the nanny and then she hung herself from the top stair railing.”

“Uh . . . I . . .” Burrows looks like he’s going to puke any second now. Not the best way to make a first impression.

“Hey, guys!” I stand up, clapping my hands. “That’s enough, all right? Let’s bring it in and get back to work.”

I glance at my poor, terrified, new student and do the only thing I can.

I lie.

“The house isn’t haunted. It’s a joke, they’re just messing with you.”

He swallows so hard, I hear it. “Are you sure?”

I look him right in the eyes.

“I swear to God.”

It’s a good lie—God will understand.

And Jason almost believes me. Then, Garrett walks into my classroom.

“Sorry to interrupt, Coach Walker.” He hands me a manila folder. “Here are the revised plays we talked about, for practice later.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, Coach D,” Diego calls. “You know the boarded up house at the end of Miller Street?”

“Yeah, I know it.” Garrett answers.

“What do you think of it?”

“Haunted as hell.”