Stealing for Keeps (Frost Lake High Book 1)

I’m in the kitchen later that night, looking for something to eat. I settle for sour cream and onion Pringles and I’m peeling off the lid when the back door off the kitchen slowly opens.

It’s dark in the house. Everyone else is asleep. Or so I thought. When Torrance quietly shuts the door behind her and turns, I say, “Welcome home, dear sister.”

She yelps and jumps, then presses a hand to her chest. “Dammit, Austin, you scared the shit out of me.”

I look over her outfit—short skirt and tight shirt. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Bobby Boone’s party,” she says as she leans down to take off her sandals. She tosses them onto the pile of shoes by the back door. “Are you going to tell Mom?”

“No.” I pull out a stack of chips from the container. “But she’s not an idiot. She probably already knows.”

“Are you kidding? Since we moved here, she’s too busy to notice anything.” She takes the Pringles can from me, then moves to the counter and pulls herself up to sit. “You were a hot topic at school today.”

My brows lift. “I was?”

“Rumor has it you broke up Vaughn Collins and Claire Crawford. Impressive work for your first day, bro.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“So you didn’t make out with her at Doyle’s bonfire party last week?”

I start to deny it, but, well, I kind of did. “How do you know so much already?”

Frost Lake is so much bigger than our last school, I feel like I learned a hundred names today and retained only a few.

“I have ears.”

“They didn’t break up because of me.”

“Well, that’s not what people are saying.”

“You need to get a life. Find some new friends, and stop listening to stupid gossip.”

“Why? So you can sleep with them?” She cocks her head to the side in challenge.

Annoyed, I give her the middle finger. I dated her best friend back in Arizona, but it’s not like I make a habit of hooking up with her friends.

“Kaylie asked me out and I learned my lesson. Your friends are drama. Like you.”

“Whatever.” She draws the word out and rolls her eyes.

“People say lots of shit that isn’t true. Just like back in Arizona.” Different school, same exaggerated gossip.

“Yeah, well, Vaughn was there tonight for a while, and he did look pretty upset. Also, he’s hot. I have no idea why she’d break up with him for you.” She wrinkles her nose up in disgust.

Flipping her off again, I ask, “Was Claire there?”

My sister’s smile turns mischievous. “I’m surprised you don’t already know.”

I roll my eyes. “I did not break them up. They broke up months ago.”

“But you did hook up with her?”

“We kissed. Once.” One kiss that I still can’t stop thinking about. “It was a stupid dare. That’s all.” I snap my mouth shut. My sister is as likely to spread that around as anyone right now, with as pissed as she’s been about moving.

“A girl in my algebra class is friends with Hunter Lester’s sister, and she said that they’ve been a couple for years. That it’s only a matter of time until they get back together. He’s still hung up on her.”

That last part I’d already figured out on my own, but the fact that they dated for so long is news to me. I don’t like the idea of them getting back together. I try not to think too hard on why that is. I have enough problems without getting myself further involved in high school drama.

“Seriously, how do you know all this already?” I ask, swiping the Pringles can back from Torrance.

“How do you not? They’re your friends. Or, well, not Vaughn.” A devilish grin spreads across her face. “Is it true that he punched you at practice?”

“For the love of…” I mutter and then sigh. “Of course it isn’t true.”

She laughs like she thought as much but is loving the image of me getting decked.

In truth, practices have been rough. Vaughn is still pissed, and the rest of the guys are watching him for their cues. Last Friday, someone swiped my clothes and all the towels while I was in the shower. I had to walk out bare-ass naked into the coaches’ office to find something to cover myself with.

And today, my practice jersey went missing, and I had to show up to the field without it. Coach made me run five laps and then chastised me for losing his property and not coming prepared.

Maybe they’d be messing with me regardless of Vaughn. I’m coming in as the new guy, and not everyone is stoked about sharing the field with an outsider, but I have a feeling if he was embracing me as a teammate, they would too. Which means I’m going to have to figure out how to make amends.

* * *

The week passes in a blur of school and soccer. During the day, I see Claire at lunch and in art class. She doesn’t say much to me in either scenario, but I’ve gotten to know her friends, and they all seem cool. Rowan’s cool too. He’s the only guy on the team who says more than two words to me at a time.

In the middle of the second week, Mrs. Randolph gives us a free day to work on anything we want. She’s a pretty laid-back teacher, and the class has become my favorite. The room is stuffy and smells of paint and clay, but I have an entire hour that feels like a break. School has never really been my thing. My grades are okay, but I’ve always preferred an extra hour of soccer practice to doing homework.

I pull out my sketch pad and pencils from my backpack. Claire watches me but doesn’t say anything.

“I like to draw,” I offer, flipping to a blank page.

She nods, stare still on the book. “Can I see?”

“Sure.” I stop flipping and push it over to her.

Her lips curve up as she stares down at a drawing I did of Zelda for Wyatt. She keeps going, stopping at each page for so long that I start to get a little nervous. I’m not embarrassed about my sketches, but it feels different sharing them with her.

“There’s a lot of soccer balls,” she notes, one side of her mouth pulling higher.

“It’s my go-to when I’m bored and trying to look like I’m taking notes in class,” I say.

She hands it back to me. “I used to do that with my figure skating routines. I would sketch them out. I’d draw little figure skaters in varying positions all over the paper.” A small smile lifts the corners of her mouth. “Your drawings are much better than mine.”

“A figure skater, huh?” I can see it. She has that grace about her. Always poised and a little hard to read. I bet she lights up when she’s on the ice.

“I was a figure skater. I don’t do it anymore.”

Every little nugget of information she gives me just makes me want to find out more.

“How come?”

She moves her right foot with the boot out from under the table and glances down at it.

“I assume the boot is going to come off eventually.”

“Yes,” she says with a little sass in her tone. Then it takes on a slight edge that’s mixed with something else. Sadness, maybe. “It comes off in a few weeks, but I’m done skating.”

I want to ask why, but she drops her gaze to her paper, dismissing me. We fall quiet as we both go back to working, me sketching and her painting with watercolors. It’s nice. I enjoy being with her, even when we aren’t talking.

At the end of the class, I fold up my drawing and hand it to her. She eyes me with some trepidation before taking it.

“What’s this?” she asks.

We walk out of the classroom together. She’s still clutching the folded paper in one hand.

“I was inspired.”

She looks even more nervous at that, but slowly she unfolds it. Her feet stop moving as she stares down at it.

“It’s rough. I don’t know a whole lot of figure skating poses. The form is probably all wrong and—”

“It’s great,” she says, voice shaky. She doesn’t meet my gaze as she folds it back up. “You are really talented, Austin.”

That sadness I detected in her earlier resurfaces, making it hard to accept the compliment. Whatever her reasoning for not skating anymore, it’s obvious I hit a sore spot.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t. It’s…” She trails off. “It’s beautiful. I love it.”