SHOOT| ✓

Ravi Singh

THIS DOUCHEBAG OF A FOOTBALL PLAYER IS STEALING MY BEST FRIEND.

Ravi Singh. He used to be the scrawny Indian kid nobody spoke to in freshman year. Now he's at the top of the food chain, a fucking asshole, and I hate to say it, but the most academically sound kid at school. Not to mention he's president of the student council, the athletic council and the debate team. In essence, he makes everyone wish they were dead.

I want him to die. One way or the other, he will.

Even Ryder Gretzky doesn't have time for me–his best friend–because he's off frolicking around with the President, getting on his good side. For what? Nobody knows. We don't eat lunch together anymore. We don't talk in the locker room anymore. We don't look at each other anymore.

All because Ravi's in the fucking picture.

I stare at his photo pinned next to all my other potential victims. He is the one with the most X's drawn through it because my contempt for him is like no other.

I hate Ravi Singh. I want to pierce him through and through with my knife. Tear his skin apart, spill his guts beneath the outdoor lights, and leave him hanging from one of the gym rafters so his blood can stain the floors and everyone can finally thank me for putting him out of their misery.

"Jack, are you in there?!"

At the sound of my mom's voice, I unpin all the photos and shove them into the first drawer of my untidy desk. The last thing she needs is to know her son's mind has been slowly degrading and he's now at the point of using murder as a viable excuse to eliminate classmates.

Yeah, not really something we can talk about over dinner.

"Jack, open the door!"

"Just give me a second, mom!"

My eyes scan the bedroom one final time before I saunter to the door and open it. "What is it?"

She gives me that look all mothers give their children. Trying too hard to be too friendly. "You've been cooped up in your room all day, just wanted to check in on you."

"I'm fine," I say. "Just doing stuff."

Mom stares past my shoulders and peers into my room. It's a complete violation of my privacy, so I pull the door a little closer and hide everything from view. "You haven't been talking to us lately, Jack. What's going on with you?"

"Nothing, mom. School and graduation, that's it."

My eyes would have been an exact copy of hers if they were a darker blue. She'd be able to see all my emotions if they were, just like I can see hers. "How's Ryder?"

"Ryder's good," I spit his name out like poison. "Everyone's good. Can you go now?"

Her lips tug upwards into a smile I know is forced. It doesn't come as easy as Darcy's, and it's because she's learned to perfect it–around me and dad. Especially him. I've learned to do it too. The last time I didn't, he wasn't happy. I was in pain. Worse: mom got hurt for it.

"I bumped into him today. He said he's been seeing you around with a girl, Jack. What's that about?"

"Just a girl, mom."

I don't want my relationship with Darcy to be out there. It's something I want to keep to myself, and I don't need my parents or Ryder knowing about it. There's something about keeping the conversations to ourselves, the kisses, the smiles—mostly hers, and the sex.

It's my last normal secret. I feel like every other regular teenage boy doing regular teenage things.

Obviously, I don't say that to mom, but she gets the hint. That's what I think until she asks, "What's her name?"