Miss Play Your Man

Adler POV:

It wasn’t that I didn’t care about Ledela’s speech or her tears, and I was certainly not the one to say I told you so—but I told her so!

Her boyfriend of the month stood across the courtyard at junior lunch with his buddies without a care in the world. As soon as the new girl Jamieson glanced his direction, he dumped Ledela. Typical Dayton.

This explained why we sat by the big oak tree with our backs to the student population, rather than at the picnic table claimed by the junior class. To top off Ledela’s miserable morning, Principal Burkhart gave her detention for dress code, or lack thereof.

“He said that my shorts were too short, and I told him he was killing my creative spirit. This was a Zendaya mockup from her 2019 Teen Choice Award outfit. How dare him, Adler.”

I patted her back, while taking a bite of my Uncrustable sandwich behind her head, playing with her dark brown hair and wishing I had her looks.

She’d give Zoe Saldana a run for her money with a thin frame and legs longer than a Texas football field.

I swiped my tongue out to gather the grape jelly on my mouth and smiled at myself. I would not give Zoe Saldana a run for anything. Maybe I’d beat her to the burrito line in the cafeteria, but that was it.

With wavy auburn hair, my light complexion stood out like a cheerleader on Harry Heights, but it did make my blue eyes pop. Courtesy of my biological mom that bailed when I was five. At least she left me one good thing.

“It’s just one detention, and at least you’re not missing the game on Friday.”

She pulled her face up from her knees and gave me a deadpan look. “It’s not like I’ll have a date for the game.”

No one had dates for the first football game of the year. Sure it was Texas, and you go big or go home, but not because of a lack of a date. This wasn’t prom, but Ledela seemed to lean toward ten on the melodramatic scale most days.

Ledela groaned and pressed her forehead to her knees. I continued to pat her back and assault my food when something hit the back of my head, knocking my Uncrustable to the ground.

“Savages,” I hissed, looking around for the culprit of the football lying beside me.

Of course, my stepbrother stood on a courtyard table, laughing at me with his friends. They stood around him as if he were the Prince of Texas, with stupid caveman laughs and varsity athlete jackets.

Despite his good looks and attempts to hide his brains behind his football skills and his perfect smile, he was tolerable, mostly. His mom, Mrs. Shana, married my dad when we were twelve. You would think after five years together that we would get along, but that was like asking Joe Exotic to get along with Carol Baskin.

Not happening.

If you asked me, Huxley Jacks probably caused the most recent hurricane and maybe helped Carol Baskin get rid of her husband. Who knew for sure?

I flipped him the bird and grabbed the football, tossing it into the closest trash can before walking back to the lone tree.

“Don’t be a killjoy, Poops!” Huxley yelled at me.

I ignored his nickname for me and dug through my backpack for a bag of pretzels. I’d be damned if he ruined my lunch.

He gave me that nickname in sixth grade when I begged Dad for this white outfit from Old Navy that resembled a snow bunny with white fur around the hood and soft material. Until the cafeteria’s burrito gave me the poops and well—you know.