Sam got to his chair just as the bell rang for the start of second period.

“Almost got you, Mr. Dyer,” Mr. Pinkett said with a smile. As far as teachers went, Pinkett was pretty cool. He needed new material, though. He loved to call out the students who weren’t in their chairs by the bell. Like it’d make the rest of them move faster or something. Not that he ever did anything about it. He was all talk but a cool enough teacher none of the students took advantage of it.

It also didn’t hurt that Mr. Pinkett was what Ash called a “silver fox.” Most of the girls, and even some of the guys, sat near the front to have an unobstructed view of the studly teacher.

“Today we’re going to be starting The Castle of Uldor, considered one of the first—and best—gothic horror plays.”

Loud steps echoed up the steel walkway leading to the portable classroom. A moment later, Randy Masters strode in like he owned the place, his hair still wet from the shower. Sam rolled his eyes. Technically, students didn’t get extra time to shower after gym. They had the same seven minutes as students in every other class.

But like most things at Elsbury High—hell, in the whole town of Elsbury—that rule didn’t apply to the Masters family.

“Late again, Mr. Masters.”

“Sorry, Mr. P, it won’t happen again.” Randy didn’t even glance the teacher’s way as he made the same promise he always did. Mr. Pinkett just grunted, stopping his lecture to note Randy’s tardiness on the attendance sheet.

Like it’ll do any good.

“As I was saying, we’re starting The Castle of Uldor today—”

Randy slid into his chair next to Sam. “Sick, I love that movie.”

Mr. Pinkett’s eyes closed like he was making a silent prayer, but he continued despite the interruption. “Unlike the last play, this one we’ll be reading aloud in class. I’ll assign roles if we don’t have volunteers and hold auditions for those thespians among us who vie for the coveted lead roles.

“Before we get to that, I want each of you to open your books and read through the dramatis personae. Pay attention to the descriptions, and see if any of the roles really speak to you.”

The only response he received was the sound of twenty-four students rolling their eyes in unison. Sam fished the book out of his bag and opened it. He’d already read the play—twice, in fact—but he didn’t want Pinkett to think he wasn’t following directions. His eyes glanced over the characters and their brief bios. Sam doubted anyone would actually volunteer for a role other than the one or two classmates who were in the drama club.

“Did you go to Fisher’s party last weekend?” The sounds of rustling backpacks and the susurration of flipped pages hid the whisper. Veronica Chambers was twisted around in her seat, addressing Randy. Her hair was wavy and loose, and her breasts practically popped out of her blouse in that position. Sam’s heart sped up, and he dropped his head so it wouldn’t look like he was checking her out—but not so far that he couldn’t see, of course.

“It was wild.” Randy’s book lay face down on the desk, untouched. “I didn’t see you there, though.”

“That party was lit.” Scott, Randy’s ever-present henchman, spun around in the chair in front of Randy.

Veronica rolled her eyes. “I had to visit my grandma in Dunwich. Wish I could have been there.”

“Okay, we’ll just go in order. Who wants to be the Dowager Countess?” Mr. Pinkett’s voice turned Veronica around, but when she noticed he was still at his desk and couldn’t see her, she turned back around, dropping her voice.

“What was the occasion?” she asked Randy.

“Mr. Nunez,” Pinkett continued. “How about you? I think you’ll find the Countess’s idiosyncrasies and melodrama to your liking.” The students, at least those paying attention, laughed.

“It was his girlfriend’s birthday,” Scott said, which elicited an Awwww out of Veronica. “He was out of town for Valentine’s Day, so she said he owed her big time. He went all out. The pool was full of balloons. Wish I saw you there,” he said, leering at her. Like most people, especially girls, she ignored him.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Veronica was eyeing Randy. “That’s really sweet. But it’s going to set the bar high for birthdays this year. What are you planning for Ashley? You don’t have long to plan, do you?”

Randy leaned back in his chair, the picture of dudebro chill. “Nah, her birthday’s not til November. By the time it rolls around next, I’ll be across country in college and off the hook.”

Veronica’s nose scrunched up adorably. “I don’t think that’s right. Didn’t she have a party last year right before summer?”

Randy’s face went slack for a moment, then he shook his head. “Nope. Trust me, we’ve been dating for like five months now. I’d know if it were coming up.”

A snort exploded from Sam’s nose before he could stop it. All three sets of eyes turned to him. Veronica, noticing him for perhaps the first time in his life, leaned toward him, giving him a magnificent view of her cleavage.

“You’re like BFFs with Ash, right? When’s her birthday?”

A frown wrinkled Randy’s chiseled-from-marble countenance. With a sigh, Sam answered. “Her birthday’s in June.” And because Randy was a douchelord, Sam continued, “And you’ve been dating eight months.”

Veronica let out a light laugh. “Wow, maybe you should be her boyfriend.” She smirked at Randy. “Knows her birthday and remembers the anniversary.”

Scott looked stunned that Sam contradicted Randy.

“It’s creepy that you know that, Dyer.” Randy looked like he was ready to say more or maybe jump across the aisle and pummel him.

“Something you’d like to share with the class, Mr. Masters?” Mr. Pinkett called. He’d gotten up from his desk and was back at the front of the class again.

Veronica turned her thousand-watt smile on the older man. If Sam were on the other end of one of those smiles, he’d be nothing but a jiggling mass of goo.

Well, maybe one part of me would still be hard.

To his credit, Mr. Pinkett didn’t collapse into an amorphous blob, but he looked like his bones went soft. Like he’d been struck by Cupid’s arrow…or just got to motorboat a particularly busty stripper.

“Sorry, Doctor Pinkett,” she continued, referring to him by his actual honorific. “We were just discussing who should take the role of Professor Drake.” Sam’s eyebrows rose in surprise, both with how easily she manipulated Pinkett and that she actually did the reading.

Pinkett’s face lit up. “Really? Well, that’s wonderful! Tell us, which of these strapping lads is going to read the part of the indomitable playboy, William Drake?” His eyes bounced between Randy, Sam, and Scott.

“Playboy?” Randy sat up straight for the first time. “I guess that’d have to be me.” He stared at Sam like he was waiting for a challenge, but Sam only shrugged.

Unlike a man-child stuffed into a shirt three sizes too small for him, Sam didn’t need to be the center of attention.

“Great!” Pinkett said. “I usually have to assign—”

“Actually, Doctor,” Veronica interrupted, “I think Sam should read the role.”

For once, Sam and Randy were on the same page. “What?” they said together.

Veronica shot an impish grin at Randy and turned an appraising look on Sam. “Why not? He can play the dashing hero. Underneath that bird’s nest and all that flannel he’s actually pretty cute.”

Sam’s insides did something weird. Sam wasn’t sure if he had butterflies in his stomach or if he needed to take a crap.

Randy’s scowl deepened, if that was even possible. Then he smiled like he was in on the joke. “So what do we do now, audition?”

The butterflies in Sam’s stomach melted into cold jelly. Mr. Pinkett clapped his hands, his shoulder-length gray hair waving wildly in his excitement.

“Yes! Randy, why don’t you go first. Flip to the opening monologue on page five and read the first paragraph.”

Randy grabbed his book and glared at Sam. The meaning was clear: You’re going down.

Sam made a face, but he wasn’t sure if it appropriately conveyed all that he was thinking.

WTF!?

Take it, it’s yours!

You’re going down, douchebag!

He didn’t know where the last thought came from. Reading out loud in front of the whole class was the last thing he wanted to do. The only reason he hadn’t spoken up and said so was because Veronica had nominated him.

A stupid smile crept onto his face. She called me cute.

Randy cleared his throat with an unnecessarily loud cough. Sam had a lot of practice tuning Randy’s voice out, so he didn’t hear a word he said. Instead, all he could think about was the smile Veronica gave him when she called him cute. Sam never cared much about his appearance. He wasn’t a slob or anything; he combed his hair and wore clean clothes, but outside of that, he spared little attention to fashion trends. Maybe he should start, though. Ash had been begging to give him a makeover for years.

The background noise of Randy’s voice trailed off.

Shit, that means it’s my turn. What should he do? He didn’t want the part, but he couldn’t bring himself to forfeit in front of Veronica. Mr. Pinkett considered Randy in silence, his lips pursed. Randy leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head like he’d just delivered the State of the Union to thunderous applause.

“Well, that was…something.”

Randy smirked at Sam, preening at his own magnificence.

“But you mispronounced every name except William, and you skipped an entire line of text. Alas, Mr. Masters. You may love the limelight, but sometimes its brightness can be blinding. I think we can safely call it. Congratulations, Mr. Dyer. You’ll be our Professor William Drake.”

Anger smoldered in Randy’s eyes. He wasn’t accustomed to losing. Star running back. President of the student body all four years of high school—even as a freshman which was unheard of. He’d been crowned homecoming king every year except sophomore (the year Bobby Winscombe died and they gave it to him posthumously). His father was one of the richest men in town, and Randy wasn’t shy about reminding people of that fact.

The Masters family were a bunch of winners. What they wanted, they got. If not by skill, then by guile or commerce.

“Take it from the top, Sam,” Mr. Pinkett said. “The first few pages are Drake, so we’ll assign the rest of the roles as we come to them.”

Great. As if Randy didn’t have enough reasons to hate me.