Looking in from the outside, it would appear that high school has really been the best four years of my life. Every day people in our small town see the muscled arm of our school's star quarterback wrapped around me and friends surrounding me on all sides. The view from the outside, however, only scrapes the surface of who I, Scarlet, really am. The inside paints a much different picture; a picture that only my eyes see.

My boyfriend, Jack Dallas, captain and quarterback of our football team, is on his way to becoming an NFL superstar. He's got three state titles and has offers from colleges up and down the East and West Coasts. All the girls at school, including me, drool over his looks, southern charm, and the gentle accent that makes his voice sound sweet as honey. By chance, he and I hit it off from the beginning—I was just a girl in the crowd at his football game and he was just a player looking for a cute girl to give the winning ball to. After that, he and I clicked, and I waited for the day he would finally ask me to be his girlfriend, which took weeks of agonizingly flirtatious "just friend" hangouts. When he finally did ask me out, everyone at school called us the Cinderella Story couple of Royal Eastwood High School, just like the movie with Hilary Duff and Chad Michael Murray.

It happened moments after he and the rest of the Royal Eastwood Warriors won the play-off game last season against our rivals, the West Side Knights. I was in the stands with the rest of the student body, soaked to the core from the torrential downpour that started during the second half of the game. No one wanted to leave because we were down by only one touchdown. With seconds left, Jack ran the ball into the end for the win. The crowd went ballistic because we were going to the state championships; we were yelling and screaming his name, and amid all the chaos, he ran into the bleachers to find me, wrapped his arms around me, and kissed me. After that, we became the it couple.

Even now, sitting in the middle of the crowded cafeteria during lunch, all eyes are on us. Jack moves his arm from my shoulders down to my waist as he laughs with his best friend and go-to wide receiver, Bryce. I look at Jack and get caught up in his perfect smile. His teeth shine, his jawline is sharp, and his bright-blue eyes are slightly narrowed, yet they still find a way to sparkle.

"Nah, bro, I totally shotgunned mine faster than you!" Bryce says, slapping Jack on the back while talking about the party a few nights ago.

"Are you kidding, Bryce? I had mine crushed before you were even halfway through!" Jack says.

"I had three before that. Hell, dude, I went to my car to do another instead of taking my test first period."

"Bryce, how do you expect to take over your parents' law firm if the only thing you do is try to beat people in drinking competitions?" I ask.

"I'm not worried about it, Scar. It's not like my parents have anyone else to give it to. Being the only child has its benefits. I'm only seventeen—right now it's all about partying hard."

"Same. I bombed my econ test last week, but my dad didn't care. I'm getting the company no matter what," one of the girls in our group, Katie, says.

I tune out the rest of their ridiculous conversation; it's all posturing and bragging. Royal Eastwood is known for educating the richest teenagers in the area. We come from a wealthy section of Texas—Conroe County, about forty miles outside of Houston. We are known for Lake Conroe, where the wealthiest students live the waterfront lifestyle.

Living in a richer county leads to an expensive lifestyle, and going to a high school with wealthy kids feeds into that way of life. Everyone in Jack's clique has parents who own a major business—his dad owns the Houston Texans football team. And because they are all so rich, not a single one of them tries in school, as Katie summarized with her entitled econ comment. They have some sort of weird mind-set that they don't have to try to succeed in life.

They don't know it, but I'm top twenty in our class. Yes, my parents have a family-owned business, too, Tucker Auto—a chain of auto shops spanning the Midwest—and my dad intends to give it to me when he retires, but my parents would kill me if I let my GPA drop too low. Not to mention I like the satisfaction of getting an A on a test or seeing the pleased look in my teachers' eyes when I answer a question correctly.

The business has to continue to do well when I take it over, and to do that requires a good education. There's no better place to do that than here at Royal Eastwood High—with nationally acclaimed teachers and an almost perfect graduation rate, it's the best public school to get an education at. My plan is to attend Virginia Tech after I graduate; a school states away but with a stellar business program.

Jack will go straight into football after high school, to whatever college gives him the best offer and provides the quickest path to the NFL. He was raised on football, on Friday Night Lights. The NFL is the only path in his life.

As for the others, I'm not sure what their immediate future holds. I know they will never make it in a world where their income is any less than six figures, but as to how they'll get there, I'm at a loss.

Katie's high-pitched laughter bubbles from the back of her throat and I fake laugh to cover the fact that I wasn't paying attention to the joke. Bryce and Jack don't notice my laughter is artificial, and Katie is stuck in her own bubble. The loud noises of the students mingling around us take away from the forced aspects of my laugh. Part of me wishes that I wasn't part of a popular group at Royal Eastwood—I don't relate to half of their conversations, I actually try in school, and I don't necessarily like partying all the time. They're nice, for the most part, but it's hard to call people your friends if you have absolutely nothing in common. Well, we have Jack in common, and being with him makes it worth it.

There's really only one girl in the group that I truly like, Jessica. She's got short brown curls, and I can tell she's just as disinterested as I am in whatever Katie said and is still laughing about. Even though Jessica's family is rich, she averages As and Bs in all of her classes, and doesn't care to know if Bryce got a haircut or switched colognes.

As lunch comes to the end, we venture past the garbage bins at the corner of the cafe to toss our leftovers and move to the halls to walk to our respective classes. Royal Eastwood never fails to impress me with its beauty. The roof is composed of skylights that brighten up the black lockers, which contrast with the orange and white floor tiles.

Jack and his football friends have most of their classes together, and though I don't have a class close to Jack's, we tend not to turn down walking with one another. On the way down the hall after lunch, Jack's telling the group about Texans training camp again, but while they're hanging on his every word, I notice something else. Elijah Black's at his locker.

Every school has a bad boy. Whether he comes from a group of bad boys or is the lone leather-jacket wearing idol, no school that I've come across seems vacant of one. Royal Eastwood fits the same stereotype, only we don't have the classic sex god that every other school seems to have.

No, being the bad boy at our school has the negative con-

notation the name is meant to have. He doesn't rule the school with a leather jacket and motorcycle, he doesn't sleep with an endless supply of girls, and he most certainly doesn't get into fights. No, he's labeled as a drug-addled freak no one has bothered to get to know.

Elijah Black.

When other students see him, they associate him with his deadbeat older brother—their words not mine—who died a few years ago due to a heroin overdose. No one in Jack's clique of friends has bothered to get to know Elijah. They're too judgmental to care.

There are times when I catch sight of Elijah and I feel myself wanting to talk to him, ask why he doesn't refute anything said about him, find out what the truth is, and try to set the record straight so people can stop being down on him both through their ruthless gossip and the words sneered at him every day. It's unfair that people treat him this way based on rumors. It's unfair the rumors twist such a tragic event in his life into something that reflects poorly on his character.

His good looks don't seem to matter to any girls here. His seemingly vile lifestyle is enough to keep them away. It doesn't matter that his sharp jawline contrasts with his prominent cheekbones, or that his green eyes, no matter how dark, always shimmer. All they can focus on is the stigma of who he is. Normally, girls are attracted to mystery, but with Elijah they try their hardest to stay away.

Jack's voice rips down the hallway toward Elijah. "Hey, look, guys, it's Eli the freak! He left his drugs long enough to actually come to school."

The group snickers but I don't react to my boyfriend. I never do when he starts this stuff. There are few things that I don't love about Jack, but his bullying is the most prominent. He says things like this to Elijah nearly every time we see him, and I don't understand it. Jack always has some new reason to attack Elijah, and the hate in his voice sometimes makes me wonder who Jack truly is.

If someone can harbor that much hate for someone they don't really know, how can they have love in their hearts? How can he hate Elijah this much yet still find it in him to share any love with me? But then I remind myself this is Jack I'm talking about, and I should never doubt his love for me. He says it every day.

Per usual, Elijah doesn't say anything or offer any reaction. He slams his locker shut, his lips pulled into their usual tight line. Jack laughs and we continue walking down the hall as the topic moves on to something other than bashing Elijah, but my eyes remain on him. All he ever does is grimace.

Elijah senses my eyes on him because he glances back, and despite how crowded the hallway is, his eyes meet mine and slowly narrow. I quickly look away and keep walking, but Elijah's eyes burn into me. My heart races for almost no reason, and I risk a glance back, once again meeting shockingly dark, shimmering green eyes.

The closer we get to my class the more the group fans out so that it's just me and Jack. He stops just before we reach my classroom and leans his back against the wall, pulling me against him. When apart from his friends, Jack shifts from cocky shenanigans to a loving desire to be with me. I melt into his arms, reveling in the hardness of his muscles as he gives me a soft squeeze, making it easy to forget the fact he spoke to Elijah with such disdain.

With Bryce, Katie, and the others, Jack puts up a facade of who he thinks he has to be. With me, he can be himself, and I forget about the hateful things he can say to and about others; because he's so sweet it's hard to believe those words really came from him.

"Katie and Bryce can talk your ear off, can't they?" He chuckles and tucks some hair behind my ear.

"They've got a lot to say, but not much worth saying," I joke.

"I think you should skip history class. I have the house all to myself, just you and me."

He places his hand back down on my hip and slowly massages circles into my skin. "We could get in the hot tub, I could give you a massage, slowly take your bikini off . . ."

"You know I can't skip, Jack," I say.

"Come on, babe, just this once?"

Laughing, I lean forward to kiss him and he melts into it, smiling against my lips. "No."

"That's okay, I'll just watch porn or—" Jack says. "Ow! Don't hit me, I'm only kidding!"

"Sure you are . . . I've seen your browser history. I had no clue you were so into blonds."

"Maybe you could experiment with some dye. I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off of a blond version of you."

"Maybe you could experiment with being accepting of your girlfriend."

"I am. She's the only one I want or need."

Such simple words, yet they're enough to have any girl falling in love at dangerous speeds. This is the Jack his friends don't see. A sweet, gentle man who holds his true personality only for those he trusts most.

"Keep the sweet talk up." I kiss him. "It may work in your favor. I have to go to history, though. I'll see you later."

Jack playfully smacks my butt as I head into my classroom. Of course, just as he does, one of the guys on the team catcalls and yells for us to keep it PG. I love Jack, but I definitely do not adore his friends.

•

Once the final bell rings, people usually hightail it out of school rather than stop at their lockers. The traffic to get off school grounds for student drivers is bonkers. If you don't beat the buses, you'll sit at a standstill for fifteen minutes, and even after that it takes forever to get home. In order to avoid the traffic, kids sprint to their vehicles and race onto the main roads to get home.

It's really a safety hazard if you think about it; a bunch of teenagers who just got their licenses speeding around trying to either look cool or beat the traffic. That's why I avoid it by staying a bit later to get my things in the peace and quiet of an area that's normally loud and rowdy. I lazily try the combination to my locker, getting it wrong a total of three times before I'm actually able to open it. Almost everyone has cleared out of the hallway now, and I'm away from Jack's friends mocking me for caring about doing my homework and assignments.

Bryce and a few other football buddies saunter past some kid. They stop in their tracks when they notice the boy stuffing his homework into his backpack, trying to escape their eyes as quickly as possible. Bryce reaches forward to snag the boy's backpack, and the boy quickly pulls it out of reach and shuffles away with his head tucked down low. My heartstrings tug painfully when he runs past me but what can I do? They're my boyfriend's best friends, and to them I'm just the girl attached to Jack's arm.

"What a loser," Bryce says as he walks by. "He doesn't even have the money to 'donate' to the school and get out of homework."

"His dad's probably the janitor, I heard he lives over off of Tenth Street."

Though we live in a wealthy suburb, our town has its rougher areas. The poorer district is at our south end, full of crumbling houses, a crumbling economy, and crumbling socioeconomic status. It's just beyond our version of a downtown, though we don't live in a big city. Students like Bryce would never cross the invisible border into that side of town.

Bryce laughs, and from the grunts of the other players I assume he punched him in approval, the way jocks do.

"That was funny, bro. Wait till we tell Jack about this, he'll freak!"

If you do your homework, it somehow correlates with being poor. Because if you do the work, then you must not have the money to "donate" to your teachers. And if you're poor? Then you don't belong and can be ridiculed. My parents would never let me write a check to pass high school. I do my work diligently, and in doing so I've gained respect from my teachers.

I choose the single textbook I will need tonight and shut my black locker. It closes with a satisfying slam that echoes down the empty hallway.

As I head outside to where I know Jack is waiting for me, I run smack into someone, dropping my textbook and folders as a gust of wind carries my papers halfway down the hall. The guy I ran into bends down to pick them up, and his voice startles me.

"Are you going to help?" His voice is deep and surprisingly rugged.

Elijah Black.

It takes me a few seconds to register that he's kneeling down on the floor picking up my papers without my help, and I quickly bend down too.

"I'm so sorry! I don't mean to make you pick them up," I say. "I was startled by our collision."

"You must be pretty clumsy to run into me when we're the only two people in the hallway," he teases as he stands up.

I stand there like a fish out of water, unsure of what to say. Elijah takes my silence as his cue to turn and walk away.

"I've always sort of been a klutz!" I blabber, and he stops walking, glancing back at me with one brow raised. "It may stem from when I was a baby. My very first steps were me falling down the front porch steps, and ever since then my balance has been way off. I blame my dad for not putting up a guardrail and baby proofing the front porch. Now that I think about it, he didn't really baby proof any of the house, and—"

"I'll see you around, Scarlet."

He disappears around a corner, and my face reddens from his amusement. What just happened? Elijah's certainly not a freak—there wasn't a hint of the smell of drugs or alcohol on him. Maybe the only rumor that's true is about his brother, and that one is hard for me to hear. I wanted to go to Elijah and comfort him after hearing what happened, because I knew how hard it was to lose a brother. I knew what he was going through. But I've always thought Elijah was an uninviting personality. So I never took the risk, and he had to deal with it all alone.

Adjusting my things in my arms, I head out to the parking lot, curiosity sparking through my mind.

Jack's waiting for me by his giant, jacked-up black truck. As soon as his parents got it for him, he went and lifted it by at least another two feet and installed a loud-as-hell exhaust system complete with pipes coming out of the bed, and installed a stereo that part of me thinks should be illegal because of how low the bass drops. But are you really in Texas if you don't own a lifted, pimped-out truck?

A few junior girls are huddled around him, probably gushing over his muscles, his eyes, or his truck. News flash, ladies, he's taken. But I can't blame them for gawking. He is a sight to look at. But as he sees me, he steps away from them as though they've turned invisible.

"Hey, babe, what took you so long? I've been out here for fifteen minutes," he says, effortlessly taking my textbook and folders from my arms so that I don't have to carry as much weight.

"I ran into Elijah by accident and my papers flew everywhere so I had to pick them up."

Jack stops in his tracks and I realize my slipup. He's the one guy who for some reason finds the most joy in making fun of Elijah.

"Delilah, I mean." I lie lamely, and Jack sees right through it.

"What are you doing talking to that freak?"

"I literally smacked into him and then he helped pick up my papers," I say quickly.

"That freak ran into you?" Jack repeats, as though Elijah personally insulted him. "He's going to get it. When I see him, I'm going to shove my fist up his—"

"Jack, don't worry about it. He didn't even talk to me."

Anger dances across Jack's face despite my words, so I lean forward and softly kiss him to try and calm him down. It works, and he lengthens the kiss.

"I don't want a freak talking to you, he has no business. You're my girl, Scar."