Vicious Deep
his father do the exact same thing when they’re sitting on their front porch drinking beer and a girl in short shorts walks in front of them. “You’re the luckiest bastard who ever lived.”
    Now I’m a lucky-cool bastard. Hey, I’ve been called worse.
    Layla walks over with a refilled bowl of tortilla chips, and the guys are all over her. I don’t like the way Angelo’s eyes linger on her. It’s not like she’s got giant boobs. I mean, they’re a nice size for her height, but she’s also not wearing a bra, just a bikini top under her dress. What’s with these guys anyway? She’s on our team. They see her in a suit all the time.
    Layla takes a seat on the couch between Bertie and me. She’s used to being one of the guys, so she doesn’t notice how different they’re acting, all shifty and nervous because she’s sucked their breaths out just by being here. Maybe she doesn’t realize how she’s changed. How practically overnight her Bambi eyes and full lips have grown into a face that all you want to do is stare at it. How she’s set the bar pretty damn high for every other girl.
    Of course, none of the guys would try to get with her. She’s still one of us.
    I reach over the coffee table and eat chip after chip. My stomach lurches, and I can taste bile creeping up. I gulp down water, and I feel a little better.
    â€œMy mom actually wants me to quit my post,” Angelo says. “She says the apocalypse is coming, so she’s got these garlic wreaths all over the windows—”
    â€œI knew I smelled something,” Ryan goes, shrinking back from the threat of Angelo’s fist.
    â€œâ€”and crosses all over the place. She asked Father Thomas to rebaptize me. He told her you’re only supposed to do it once.”
    â€œDid you tell your mom that the apocalypse is coming, and not an army of vampires?” Layla jokes.
    â€œWhatever. All I care is that she was so happy I woke up too late to go to work that day that she even let me sleep through school yesterday.”
    Angelo is a guy with no conscience and no worries. I almost envy him. He’s the kind of guy who takes your lunch money at the beginning of the day and then asks to borrow another dollar after school so you can split a pizza. He smacks girls on their asses, and they actually turn around and giggle, because other than being macho and using more hair spray than the drama class, he’s a pretty good-looking guy.
    Mom walks in with a gallon of root beer. “I heard you boys were thirsty.”
    â€œAnd girls,” Layla chimes in. Sandy, who’s been looking through my mom’s collection of books, looks up and smiles.
    â€œYes, please, Mrs. Hart,” the boys say in unison, all smiles and politeness. She doesn’t know them like I do.
    The minute she walks out, Layla looks up at Ryan and says, “Ryan, you’ve got a little drool right here.”
    He wipes at his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie. “It’s kind of impossible not to. No offense.”
    â€œNone taken.” I shrug. I’m used to the guys all coming over just so they can be doted on by my mom. Even when we have school trips, the guys try to bribe me to get her to be the chaperone. Suddenly my living room, which has always seemed like a cave when I’m alone, feels too hot, too tight. The AC is on, and I’m still sweating. I want to tell everyone to get out so that I can jump in the shower, but that would be rude.
    Ryan combs his fingers through his slick blond hair, a telltale sign that he’s getting ready for a speech. Aside from being on the archery team, he writes for the Thorne Hill High School Press and is treasurer of the senior class. He has parents who are still married, don’t hate each other, and work in the city. They live in the Sea Breeze gated community not a five-minute drive from here.
    Sometimes it annoys me how

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