Ruthless knight

Sawyer

The student council meeting dragged on longer than it was supposed to, so by the time I meet Oakley in the library, I’m already ten minutes late. 

“I’m sorry,” I tell him when I reach the table he’s sitting at. 

Oakley’s so busy scribbling in his notepad, he doesn’t even look up. 

I used to wonder what all his scribbling was about, but after peeking over his shoulder a few times, I’m pretty sure I’ve figured it out. 

He might not have the hang of math, biology, or history, but he definitely has a way with words. 

Specifically, when it comes to rhyming them. 

He refers to them as bars—but that boy writes pure poetry. 

Too bad he refuses to show his poems to anyone...including me. 

I poke him. “Oakley.”

Eyes wide, he yanks out his earbuds. “Oh, shit. My bad.” 

I take a seat across from him. “Are you ever going to let me read them?” 

He stuffs the small notepad in his pocket. “Nope.” He looks at me curiously. “How tall are you?” 

Talk about a random question. “A smidge over five feet. Why?” 

He stands up. “That’ll do. Let’s go.” 

“Where?” 

He ushers me out of the library. “My car.” 

Shock roots me to the spot as I take in the gigantic cartoon-like head with large blue eyes, dark bushy eyebrows, and a white fuzzy Mohawk that parts down the middle of the helmet. 

I’m not sure what Oakley’s doing with Izzy, our school mascot, and I don’t know if I want to. 

He’s already on thin ice with his grades as it is. The last thing he needs is to get in trouble for theft. 

I rub my temples. “I’m probably going to regret asking this, but why in the world do you have Izzy?” 

“He was given to me.” He thrusts the massive head in my direction. “And now I’m giving him to you.” 

Say what now? “Gee, thanks, but I don’t want him.” 

I try to hand it back, but he declines. “Come on, Sawyer. I really need your help.”  

I blink. “You’re go

He takes the joint from the shell of his ear and lights it. “Morgan’s little brother Scott is Izzy.” 

Still doesn’t explain a thing. “And?” 

Bringing the joint to his lips, he inhales. “Unfortunately, the little dude came down with mono this week and he’s go

“Okay, so that explains why you have the costume.” I raise a brow. “What it doesn’t explain is why you need my help.” 

“Morgan’s brother is only a few inches taller than you.” He gestures to himself. “I’m over six feet, so his costume won’t fit me.” He blows out a thick cloud of smoke. “Plus, Cole says I’m still ba

Good Lord. Cole and his stupid superstition regarding Oakley is ridiculous. 

“Cole’s concussion wasn’t your fault,” I remind him. “It was Tommy’s.” 

“I know that, and he knows that, but he still thinks I’m bad luck. And since the Knights are undefeated again, I don’t want to do anything to throw them off kilter.” 

“Well, if that’s the case, why didn’t you tell Morgan you couldn’t do it? I’m sure she could have found someone else.” 

He gives me a dopey grin. “Let’s just say she asked me in the middle of performing a very special service with her mouth…if you catch my drift.” 

I’m pretty sure a deaf person could catch his drift. 

He clips his joint. “Anyway, you’re go

Bless him. The poor boy has smoked himself stupid.

“Yeah…no. Hard pass.” 

“You have to, Sawyer. The Knights need Izzy.” 

“Not my problem.” I place the big head on top of his car. “It’s yours.” 

“Come on. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” His frown deepens. “Besides, we both know you care about Cole, which means you know what a big deal football is to him. Right now, he’s competing against that dipshit Todd for the open quarterback position at Duke’s Heart and he doesn’t think he’ll get it if the Knights don’t win the championship.” 

Damn. I had no idea. 

“Look, I would help if I could, but I can’t. I have to be at work in—” I check my watch. “Twenty-five minutes. The game doesn’t even start for another two hours.” 

“Call in.” 

I shake my head. “No. My boss has been on my case for being late, and if I call in, I’m positive he’ll fire me.” 

“Only if you don’t have a good excuse.” He motions for my phone. “Hand it over. I’ll do it.” 

“Do what?” 

“Call in sick for you.” 

I hold my phone protectively out of his reach. “Are you out of your mind?” 

“Trust me, I’m a professional slacker, short stack. I got this.” 

“No.”

Rolling his eyes, he takes out his own phone. “Cluck You, right? I have that place on speed dial for when I have the munchies.” 

Of course he does. 

He brings his cell to his ear. “Does your dad talk fu

“I don’t talk fu

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He clears his throat. “Hey, y’all, this here is Mr. Church calling on behalf of my offspring Sawyer. There’s been an emergency and I need to speak to the person in charge right away.” 

My mouth drops open. Not only is his attempt at a southern accent terrible, he sounds like a dumbass. 

“What’s that?” he questions. “Yes, I’ll hold. But make it snappy, dang it. The cow’s getting out of the barn again.” 

Oh. My. God. 

“We don’t have a cow,” I hiss. 

He cups the phone. “You do now—Hello there, Mr. G. This is Sawyer’s daddy. I’m calling to tell you she won’t be able to make it into work tonight. There’s been an emergency over yonder on our farm.” 

It’s safe to assume if one doesn’t own a cow, one probably doesn’t own a farm, either, but not in Oakley’s imaginary little world. 

“What kind of emergency?” Oakley repeats, looking at me. “Bessie…she’s been…shot.” There’s a long pause, and then. 

“Bessie…our cow.” 

Oh, for the love of God. 

I’m seriously regretting not doing this myself. 

“Yup. We had to put the ol’ girl down after she attacked Sawyer this afternoon.” Oakley smiles at me, looking mighty pleased with himself. “The doctor said she’s a little banged up, but he’s hopeful she’ll make a full recovery by tomorrow.” His voice takes on a somber tone. “Too bad the same can’t be said for our poor Bessie.”

No way in hell will Mr. Gonzales buy any of this. 

Oakley nods solemnly. “I appreciate your condolences. I’ll let Sawyer know. Take care, sir.” He presses the red button on his cell and shrugs. “Easy peasy lemon squeezy.” 

“A cow?” I grit through my teeth. 

He holds up his hands. “What? You said you didn’t have one, so I got rid of it. Plus, that dead cow got you not one, but two nights off. He was very sympathetic about ol’ Bessie’s tragic passing.” 

Glaring at him, I gesture to Izzy. “Where’s the rest of him?” 

“In the trunk.” 

Exasperation climbs up my chest as I dig around my purse for my bottle of Adderall. “Do you have anything to drink?” 

Oakley fetches a water bottle from his car. “You okay?”