“Is that him?” Zellman popped up from the back of Jordan’s truck.
“What?” Cross looked, leaning forward, then rested back again. “No. I told you, I only saw one picture of him, and it was when he was little—like twelve or something. He plays soccer.” He paused a beat. “And he has brown hair. That kid has bleached blond hair.”
We weren’t at school. We weren’t where we should’ve been. Nope. After telling Zellman everything, Z had suggested we stay up all night drinking, then come to Fallen Crest Academy once our buzz had worn off to scope the half-brother.
“I want to see him.” That’s what he said, and that started off the chain of events.
And because both Jordan and Cross had been feeling a buzz already, they’d heralded it as the best idea ever. So here we were. Scoping.
My phone rang,
