Chapter Five: The Bastard

I raised my eyebrows as Ms. Sconley stared Leia down. She clearly was not happy about Leia's tantrum. Leia slowly turned away from me and looked back at a pissed-off Ms. Sconley.

"Never have I ever expected you to have such an outburst in my class!" Sconley continued.

I snickered quietly. "I need a beer to drink to that."

Leia dropped her head, and her cheeks turned beet red.

"Miss Roschèr, mister Turploy, go to the principals office. Now."

I felt my jaw drop, incredulous that I was getting sent. "What did I do!?"

Sconley turned her glare to me. "You provoked. Now go."

I shoved my stuff into my backpack. "Bloody bitch," I mumbled under my breath. I picked up my backpack carried it out, and walked behind Leia through the door.

Unbe-fucking-leivable. I didn't know why I was being sent down for saying something. Leia had had a choice to ignore me. I mean, she had, but I always knew how to get under her skin. At least she was in trouble. I couldn't help but smirk at the thought as I quickened my pace and my steps fell in line with hers.

"You know," I mused. "You should learn how to take a joke."

She whipped around instantly. Sensitive much? "Yeah? Well, maybe you should learn to make one!" She retorts.

I raised a brow. "Oh? You think I can't make a joke?"

"I know for a fact that your sense of humor is fucked up."

A smirk formed on my lips. "Hm. Well, maybe I should fix that."

I barely heard what she had to say as something clearly snapped within me. In the blink of an eye, I found my hands slammed up against the lockers on either side of her, caging her in between my body and the lockers behind her. I leaned in close. So close, that I could see small strands of her hair being blown across her face from my soft breathing.

I stared deep into her blue-green eyes. "You wanna see how much more I can fuck you up, Tiger?" My voice was deep and rough, a sound I would only hear from a feral animal.

She shrank under my gaze and her face turned as red as a tomato. What she was feeling, I could tell she liked it. Even if she didn't know it herself yet. For hours, it seemed like we stood like this, which really had to have been only seconds. Fuck, I could've ki-

Before that thought could even finish developing, something clicked inside me and I suddenly realized what I was doing. What the fuck? I kept my poker face as I backed away, not taking my eyes off of hers. What the fuck had just happened?

I checked my watch, reading the time. I had a game in two hours, and I had to get to practice in thirty minutes. I looked around and saw an 'exit' door and started walking to it.

Leia scowled. "Where are you going?" Such a nosy bitch, I swear to God.

"Out," I answered, not that it was any of her business, and walked out the door and left. It was none of your fucking business where I was going.

I turned my head around and saw her groan and continue walking towards Mr. Moltrey's office. A smirk tugged on my lips as I continued walking through the parking lot, off the campus and onto the sidewalk.

Once I put my Air Pods in and connected my phone to their Bluetooth, I played AC/DC and the sound of the opening guitar to "Highway to Hell" filled my ears. I felt rain begin to sprinkle and pulled the hood of my Adidas hoodie up over my head and shoved my hands in the pockets as the small droplets of rain began to fall slightly harder. I pulled a joint out of my pocket and a lighter. I flicked the small switch, and a red hot flame emerged. I brought the lighter to the cigar in my mouth and lit it, the butt taking a bright cherry red as I sucked in the smoke.

As I walked along the sidewalk, my thoughts began to drift to the game tonight. It was supposed to go from 6:15 to 9. Not only did I have the game, but I also needed to pack for the trip tomorrow.

My neighborhood came into view after about ten minutes of walking, and I walked for about five more minutes before reaching my house. It... wasn't small. My family had had a wealth line for years, passing down all the way from my great-great-grandfather all the way to my own father. The place was worth at least a billion. But I could afford that.

I could afford almost anything I wanted. Actually, nothing came to mind that I couldn't afford. If I wanted a private jet, I had a private jet. If I wanted my own fucking private island in Hawaii or Fiji, I had a private island.

When I had started my own successful business at fifteen, my bank account had sky-rocketed from $28.42 to over $800 billion. Of course, I couldn't have done it without my own parents' wealth. So I gave them a fair share yearly until the day I had turned eighteen.

I walked around the back to the row of garages and opened the door to the space that held all my sports things. I grabbed my gear from the space and closed the door. Since I had walked to the school today, I had to go inside to grab my Kawasaki keys. Because I was not walking to the stadium, especially not in the rain.

I rushed up the main stairwell to my room and changed. I grabbed my leather jacket and gloves, then snagged my black and red helmet from my closet before grabbing my keys and heading out the door. I locked it behind me and dashed back down the stairs, behind the penthouse, and to the garage where my beautiful black Kawasaki Ninja 1000SX sat. Among a few other minorly-expensive motorcycles.

I slipped my backpack on before I rolled my bike out of the garage and onto the roundabout driveway. After I closed the garage door, I threw one leg over the bike and settled down into the cushioned seat.

Once I strapped my helmet on, I put the key in the ignition and turned it. The engine roared to life, and I couldn't help but grin at the sound. God, I fucking loved this bike.

I shifted my gear and slowly released the clutch, and pulled out of the small parking lot, towards the stadium.

After about five minutes of riding, I pulled into the players' section behind the stadium. I took my key out of the ignition and kicked the stand up on my bike. I strode across the lot to the back door, walking inside and making my way to the locker room, where I saw Owen, Marcus, and the rest of the team as they prepped up for practice.

"There's the man!" Owen slapped a gloved hand on my back, grinning. "C'mon, get ready. Coach's gonna be here in a few."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I hear ya."

I grabbed my gear and headed over to a changing stall.

Marcus mock pouted. "Aw, you're not gonna change out here in front of us?"

I scoffed. "Absolutely not. You're so gay."

He rolled his eyes. "Am not."

I chuckled as I closed the curtain and started changing.

Once we were all ready, we grabbed our hockey sticks and a puck and made our way to the rink. The team skated onto the ice and performed maneuvers for a few minutes, racing and shoving until the coach came in. "Alright, you oafs!" He laughed. "Get over here!"

We all skated over to the benches and stepped in behind the glass, sitting on the bench as Coach Droller stepped in front of us.

"So," he started, making sure he had all of our attention. "Tonight's game is kind of a big one. It's the game that determines whether or not we stay on the bracket for the playoffs. So let's run over a few drills and plays. We're just doing all against all since I don't feel like making a new thing."

The team grinned like fools and skated out, positioning themselves. I couldn't help but grin too as I skated onto the ice.

Coach stood behind the glass and blew his whistle, setting us all off, skating and darting while trying to get the puck. He occasionally yelled at one of us to correct our maneuvers or form, telling us to fix our position and offering different tactics for each player as he observed. Owen blocked a few goals and scored twice, Jayden stole the puck and scored about four times, and I stole the puck any chance I got and scored five goals before coach blew his whistle after an hour.

We all stopped and skated to the bench box, and sat on the bench and squirted water into our mouths from our bottles.

Coach snapped his fingers, getting our attention. "Alright, boys. Game starts in about an hour. Mishton will be pulling in any minute now. Take a break, eat a hot dog, whatever. Just be back here in thirty minutes so we can go over plays."

We nodded in agreement and took our gear off, but we left our jerseys and pants on, and put them in our lockers.

Thirty minutes passed, and we all headed back to the locker room to get ready and go over plays. Fifteen minutes before the game started, we headed onto the rink with Mishton to warm up.

The stadium slowly started to fill up with people, and over 95% of the crowd wore our colors. Bloody right, they were.

Five minutes before the game, the coach had called us into the locker room to go over last-minute plays.

The lights dimmed, and "Immigrant's Song" began to play, indicating the game was about to start. Coach clapped his hands. "Alright. Foley, goal. Miller, you're on left defense. Stone, you're right. Jackson, left wing. Rolf, right wing. Turploy, get onto center."

We lined into the bench box while waiting for our names to be called.

"Let's kick some Mishton ass!" Owen cheered.

"Yeah!" The team grinned and slapped each other's backs, high-fiving.

Suddenly, the announcer started speaking. "Welcome to Richmond Stadium! Playing tonight are teams the Mishton Cobras," people cheered for their team as their names were called.

"And the Prolter Panthers!" The announcer called our team. The crowd screamed at our team name, and we couldn't help but grin.

"They fucking love us," Marcus grinned.

"Let's get them in here!" The announcer continued, bringing out more excited cheers. "Coming out first is Owen Foley!" Owen skated out to screams and cheers, waving and grinning as he skated to the goal.

"Marcus Miller!" Loud screams echoed throughout the stadium as Marcus's fans cheered as he waved.

The thing about stadium cheers was that you could easily tell who the favorite players were, who were mainly Owen and Marcus. Fucking golden.

The announcer continued reading the team's players, each one skating out as their name was called to the cheers of their fans. "And finally," he continued in a dramatic tone. "The team captain of the Panthers, the fans' favorite, everyone, please scream for: Zachary. Bentley. Turploy!"

I skated out to cheers that filled the entire stadium, making it nearly impossible to hear anything else other than the screams from the crowd. I wouldn't have been surprised if the cheers could be heard across the street. I waved with both hands, my stick in one and my other in a fist, grinning and shouting. Okay, maybe I was one of the favorites.

I saw my face on the live screen, which showed my deep blue eyes, my lightly-tanned skin covered by my black and red jersey, a large number 7 displayed on my back right below my last name.

The cheers subsided as we got into positions and waited for the ref, who eyed Owen warily, to drop the puck. I couldn't help but chuckle lightly at the memory of Owen's little incident, and the opposing team Center gave me a confused look. I just narrowed my eyes at him and shook my head while I kept one eye on the ref at the same time.

The silence was deafening. The only thing I could hear was my heartbeat pounding in anticipation as the adrenaline had already begun to coarse my veins. It seemed as if time stopped.

One beat.

Two beats.

Three beats.

And the referee dropped the puck.