2. Jace
JACE
“Are you planning to spend another year hanging out in the hallway, or are you going to go to class and actually learn something?”
That over-the-top friendly voice immediately has my spine straightening in annoyance as my dad claps a heavy hand on my shoulder, like we’re best buds and he’s not going to rip into me later when we’re alone.
I don’t understand how I’m the only person who notices how condescending and rude my dad is despite his upbeat and cheery tone. Everyone else hears encouragement; I hear the unspoken warning injected into every word.
“Jace doesn’t need to know math, Coach,” David, my best friend, jokes. He’s also on the team and as obsessed with my dad as everyone else in this town seems to be. “Once he’s in the MLB, he can pay people to know it for him.”
They both laugh, but I fail to see what’s funny. Especially because I’m actually smart. Not that it matters to my dad, though. The only reason he cares about my grades is to keep me eligible and on the field, which has never been a problem.
My dad squeezes my shoulder in an unnecessarily aggressive grip.
Not enough to leave a mark, but enough to remind me that he’s in charge and not to fuck with him.
“Get to class, boys.” He finally lets go after his obvious warning, nodding and flashing his fake smile at us both before he continues down the hall toward his office.
David is as oblivious as he always seems to be about how tense that interaction actually was and calls out after him, “See ya at practice, Coach!”
I don’t bother to hide my eyeroll. Everyone loves my father. He’s basically a legend around our town. Jesse Ryan made it all the way to the MLB… for a whole four games.
He was never signed long-term to any of the major teams, but he spent a few years playing AAA and bouncing around to any team who’d take him so he could chase his dream.
Then he got my mom pregnant, which was definitely not part of his plan.
They were only dating at the time but quickly got married.
Mom wanted a more stable life for her kid—or so she claimed—and he’s never let me forget that I’m the reason he had to give up his major league aspirations.
He blames me like I ever had a say in choosing to be born.
Now he’s “Coach Ryan,” teaching gym class and in charge of the whole baseball program at the only high school in our New Jersey town. Which means he’s at my high school. And that failed dream of his? That’s now mine too. According to him, at least.
For as long as I can remember, all he’s ever talked about is getting me to the MLB.
Which means every second of my life has been about baseball.
I’ve been on travel teams since I was seven.
He’s made me custom workout plans with special diets to stay fit.
I wasn’t allowed sleepovers or ice cream or fun.
Nothing that could distract from the future he planned for me was allowed.
You’d think my mom would have something to say about it, but she’s content to go along with whatever my dad wants.
All she’s focused on is my little sister, Molly.
I’ve missed out on a lot of what my friends have gotten to experience as a sixteen, almost seventeen, year old because of it.
But my dad doesn’t care about fun I’m missing out on, because his number one rule for me is staying out of trouble “for the sake of my future.” He controls my life, and there’s no escaping him, especially when he’s everywhere I am—at home, school, baseball.
Even though he isn’t physically in every classroom, he might as well be.
He’s friends with all the teachers and employees, and they all know about his big plans for me and my future.
They all “help” to keep me in line and make sure I don’t screw it all up…
not that I’ve ever given any of them a reason to doubt me.
I try to shake off the bad mood my dad’s presence always puts me in as we head into our final class of the day. A minute or two after I’m settled at a desk—not even close to being late—the classroom door opens and in walks a guy I’ve never seen before.
He’s… impossible to miss.
He’s wearing a sparkly jacket for god’s sake, but somehow that’s not even the most noticeable thing. His hair is styled perfectly like he hasn’t been at school all day. He isn’t small, maybe only a couple of inches shorter than me, but he’s slender.
I bet his dad’s never dragged him out of bed before sunrise to lift weights in the freezing garage. Never made him run sprints until he puked “just to prove he wanted it badly enough.”
Then there are his eyes. I’ve never seen a guy with such pretty eyes before.
Wait, what?
I quickly shut down that line of thinking because that sounds like I’m describing a girl. It’s just… they stand out against his fair complexion. That’s all. Probably because his eyelashes are so dark and long, almost like he’s wearing makeup.
Holy shit.
“Are you wearing makeup?” I blurt out without thinking as he walks past me.
He freezes where he’s standing just in front of me now, and his shoulders lift then fall like he’s taken a deep breath before he turns back to face me. I can’t help scanning the rest of his face now that he’s so close. He’s totally wearing makeup, and I can’t stop staring at his eyes.
Not in a weird way.
More in a what-the-fuck kind of way.
I’ve never seen a guy look so feminine before, and it’s… confusing me.
“Makeup isn’t gender exclusive,” he answers boldly.
His full lips are glossy too, and they momentarily distract me from the challenge clearly shining in his bright eyes. I seriously need to stop looking at him. Any second now. Turn away, Jace. Jesus, people are going to wonder why you’re staring at him.
“Whatever you say, Sparkles,” I finally mutter, shaking my head as I tear my gaze away.
Except, maybe I didn’t say it as quietly as I thought, because everyone around me laughs, and David echoes, “Yeah, bye, Sparkles.” Then fake-coughs “loser” in his hand as the guy storms away with a huff and an eye roll.
Dramatic much? I only asked him a question. You don’t do something that out of the ordinary if you don’t want the extra attention. Honestly, it’s rude to get all offended when I was only playing into what he so clearly wants.
To my complete shock, he sits directly across from me.
The desks in this room face each other with an aisle down the middle.
I don’t understand why he’d sit there after seeming so pissed off at my comment, but as I look around the room, I realize almost every desk is full since he got here so late. Sucks to suck.
He looks up to shoot another glare my way before pulling a notebook out of his bag. I can’t help but laugh when I see it because even that has sparkles on it. Seriously, who does this guy think he is, and why does he need attention this badly?
The bell rings to start class, and the teacher starts the same boring monologue I’ve heard in every class now. I quickly skim the syllabus and mentally note the important info so I can block it out and turn my attention back to Sparkles.
I wonder what his real name is? Is he new here? Where does a sixteen-year-old boy even learn to put on makeup? Or get it?
My dad would lose his fucking mind if I asked him to buy me anything girly. Not that it takes much to piss him off or that I’d ever want to wear makeup. But I’ve spent so much of my life being told “no” or that things weren’t allowed, I wouldn’t even attempt to ask for anything outside the norm.
And then there’s this guy—walking in with a sparkly jacket, makeup on his eyes, and shiny pink lips—who obviously wants people to notice him. Almost like he’s asking to be made fun of.
He’s doing the exact opposite of everything I’ve ever been taught.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone try harder to stand out than a guy wearing makeup. It’s pathetic. Who shows up on the first day of school like that? Isn’t the whole point of high school to try to fit in? Make friends and be likeable? Not paint a target on your back?
I’ve spent my whole life learning how to follow the rules, how to keep my mouth shut, and how to keep my image clean.
My dad’s favorite stories are warnings about the guys who blew their shot in the majors over one minor scandal or one bad decision.
Every story ends the same way: “He could’ve made it if he didn’t…
” followed by whatever lesson he thought I needed to hear.
It’s the reason his favorite phrase is: “It only takes a few seconds to ruin your whole future.” Not that it’s hard to forget when my dad reminds me every day that my existence ruined his.
And Sparkles is just doing whatever the hell he wants, like there are no consequences.
I have so many questions, and the most annoying one is why the hell is this weirdo taking up so much of my thoughts?
When the bell rings, dismissing us for the day, I’m not in any hurry to rush out of here since practice doesn’t start for thirty minutes.
Sparkles ends up right in front of me and David as we exit the room into the hall of lockers, and the glitter, or whatever is covering this guy’s jacket, is once again distracting as hell.
David bumps my arm, waggling his eyebrows toward the outfit as he silently laughs.
But ya know what? I don’t think laughing behind his back is enough. This guy obviously wants attention, so why bother holding back? Something about him is really pissing me off, and I can’t seem to let it go.
Before I even think it through, I grab the strap of the backpack he’s wearing so it jerks him back a step.
He spins around fast, eyes wide with panic.
Good. Maybe that’ll teach him to stop wearing all this crap.
“What’s with the makeup? Do you want to be a girl or something?” I taunt. “Or are you just a freak?”