Ultraviolet by Nancy Bush Page B

butts and empty bottles or cans. Very interesting caste system they had going. The men—at least some of them—were the rulers. Like Dwayne, I found the guys in charge disturbing. A better-than-thou attitude percolated from Keegan on down, and it felt like there was some big secret, some inner joke, that escaped the rest of us but fueled the amusement of the elite guys at the top of the pyramid.

    I didn’t like it one bit.

    The talk centered on the game. The Keegan worshipers kept bringing up his best plays. I learned his last name was Lendenhal and that he’d broken a few school football records already and was expected to break them all.

    “You want a beer?” Brett asked me. He’d settled us to one corner, cross-legged on the cold plywood, then gone in search of refreshments. Now he handed me a can of Bud, which I opened and sipped at, wondering how many laws I was breaking by drinking with a slew of minors. I hadn’t bought them the stuff, but I thought that might be a technicality if we were raided. I got a shiver all over as I pictured Officer Newell’s frowning face, and could practically hear him saying, “I’m disappointed in you, Jane Kelly,” right before he cuffed me and hauled my ass off to the Clackamas County Jail.

    I suspected claiming I was working undercover wouldn’t cut it.

    The answer, then, was to not get caught. To that end I searched the faces of the knots of kids, hoping to find the driver of the Taurus. She didn’t seem to be in the “house.” I thought she might be on the grounds, maybe down by the lakeshore. There was a stairway leading to the basement, which was an OSHA nightmare—no rails, rickety boards slammed up by a carpenter to gain basic access, no lighting—but my bigger problem was how to extract myself from Brett. Because he’d introduced me to the group I was apparently now officially his.

    To underscore this, Brett slipped an arm over my left shoulder, his hand and arm hanging over loosely. Golly, gee whiz, it looked like we were on the verge of being a couple, at least for the evening.

    “So, you go to Lake Chinook High,” I said, feeling the need for conversation. “What grade are you in?”

    “I’m a junior,” he said, belching loudly. He really threw himself into it, in fact, and as soon as it was heard, it started a volley of belching from all the strutting roosters.

    “Shut the fuck up,” Keegan said without heat, and the immediate silence was deafening.

    “So, you’re seventeen?” I asked. Great. Just great. He wasn’t even an adult.

    “Just about. Next February. How about you?”

    Sixteen. My heart sank. “A senior,” I murmured.

    “You eighteen?” he asked.

    “Yep.”

    “I thought you looked older.”

    “Yeah?”

    “Just something about you,” he said. He tilted his head and gazed at me thoughtfully. “You seem…wise.”

    “Huh.” I inclined my head toward the stairs. “Wanna go down to the lake?”

    “Brrrr. No. Much better here.”

    “I’m kind of ready to take a walk,” I said, easing from beneath his arm. The damn thing was like a lead weight.

    “Oh, come on,” he said grouchily, trying to struggle to his feet.

    “I’ll be right back,” I promised, easing away.

    He let me go but he didn’t look happy. It didn’t seem like many of the girls argued with these guys. I couldn’t get it. What did they see in them? Most of them were the kind of guy I’ve avoided my entire life: self-important, narcissistic, nefarious and self-serving. I sensed it in that age-old way men and women have possessed since the beginning of time. I wasn’t safe here. Brett might not be one of the true baddies, but if mob mentality prevailed, he would side with Keegan. I had no doubt.

    I felt my way down the stairs and through the hazards of the lower level of construction. Chunks of wood had been tossed around. Lots of nail heads showed on the subfloor, dark spots visible in the uncertain red light that glowed through