Chapter 1

One

Skyler

Autumn is my favorite season by far. The leaves change colors, bonfires, and the nights get cooler, giving us a break from the sweltering Cali sun, and, of course, there’s Halloween. What’s not to love?

“Bitch! Let’s go!” Bridget screams down the hall, not giving a shit about the teachers or anyone else. Typical Bridget. I flip her off with a laugh, running to meet her and Val before heading out to the parking lot where the guys wait.

We’ve all been friends since the fifth grade, and we’re damn near inseparable. By all means, we shouldn’t mesh the way we do if you look at the typical cliques in high school. Bridget is the cheer captain, while Val is the smartest kid in not only our year, but the whole damn state.

Price is our quarterback, Holten or Holt, as we call him, is a stoner. Bishop leads the marching band, Slate is in an actual band, and Caelan does theater. And me, well, I just can’t decide what color my hair should be from one week to the next, and, according to Val, that made me our group's emo kid.

I didn’t give a shit about the labels, though. They could call us whatever the hell they wanted: misfits, losers, crazy. I call us family; so they can suck my nonexistent balls.

“Fuck, you guys take forever to do every damn thing, I swear,” Slate bitches as we make our way to his Jeep and Price’s truck. Bridget rolls her eyes at him, and he winks, letting us know he’s not serious, but then again, he never is.

I still smack him on the back of the head for good measure as I climb into the back of his Jeep.

“Ouch, babe!” He rubs his head and pouts, but I’m not falling for that shit. Slate is a lady's man, but that shit doesn’t work on me. I don’t give a single fuck if his tongue piercing vibrates, and he makes me see stars when he goes down on me. He can still get his ass beat if he wants to fuck around and find out.

“Don’t be such a bitch, Slate,” Price says, barking a laugh when Slate flips him off without even looking in his direction.

“Let’s go, bitches, we have a party to get to,” Bridget yells, bouncing around before she hops into the back of the Jeep. How the fuck she’s so damn peppy all the time is beyond me, but just this once, I can relate. I don’t get hype for everything the same way she does, but this party is one that I look forward to every year.

Val climbs in the front seat, and Slate starts the beast up. This thing is a death trap, but I can’t say I don’t love it. We’ve done a lot of dumb shit in this Jeep since he got it and fixed it up to take on the trails a few years ago. Price’s truck is definitely the safer option, but I’ve never been known to take the safe route.

“Why the hell do you get all the pussy while I’m stuck in a goddamn sausage fest over here?” Price asks, seeming only half joking.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it,” Holt says, thrusting his hips up and palming his dick through his jeans while wiggling his brows at Price.

“Keep that shit in your pants, Holt,” Price snaps, climbing into the back seat. “I’ve seen more than enough of your dick for the rest of my life.”

I can’t stop the laugh that bursts from my lips because it’s true. Holt is a fucking free spirit and will strip down for literally any reason.

“I’ll meet you guys at Caelan’s after I drop off the fucking princesses,” Slate yells to the rest of the guys before throwing it in reverse and flying out of the spot without so much as looking behind him. Thankfully, our town isn’t huge, and most people know to avoid him or learn the hard way. Honestly, it’s a fucking miracle we still get in the car with him, but at this point, it’s a routine. The guys are older than Val, Bridget, and me, which means they got their licenses first, and, of course, that meant we were hitching rides. I’m never sure who will be there to get me on any given day, but someone’s always there, no matter what.