“I'm not here to start trouble,” Jack says, but he does look a bit sweaty and worse for wear. His baggy t-shirt is wrinkled and his jeans are streaked with dirt. “I just … want to talk to my brother, okay?”

“We'll get him for you,” Ranger says, eyeing Jack like he's suddenly positive that he's one of the killers. He steers me away from Spencer's brother and inside, past a sneering Mark who's sitting on the couch, surrounded by some of his meathead friends.

“Wow, I've heard that fags like to sleep around, but Chuck puts the uck in fuck, am I right?” Mark snickers as Ranger freezes in place, turning his head around to look at the football playing dickhead. Last year, he was the wide receiver on the Adamson football team, but this year, he's the quarterback, taking Eugene's place like he was never there.

“As lame as that sentence is, I'm still going to kick your ass for it.” Ranger pushes the jacket and uniform into my arms and then grabs Mark by his tie, choking him as he drags him over the back of the couch. Without skipping a beat, I whip my phone from my pocket and dial up Church.

“Ranger and Mark, lounge room,” I say without waiting for his greeting.

The other football guys don't seem to know if they should get involved or stay back, giving Ranger enough time to put Mark on his back and throw a hard punch into his pretty little face. There’s definitely a bit of blood on Ranger’s knuckles, and the sound Mark makes … is kind of like a dying giraffe. I mean, not that I know what a dying giraffe sounds like, but it’s high and keening and weird.

Guess that hurt.

“Make another homophobic joke, you prick. Piss me off a little more by insulting my boyfriend. See what happens.”

“Tsk-tsk, Mr. Woodruff,” Church says, appearing like a summoned specter at the bottom of the staircase. Like, he didn't even have to rush to get down here. “Violence isn't the answer, even when dealing with bigots, homophobes, and idiots.”

Ranger pauses a moment as I rub my thumb against the band of my engagement ring, glancing between him and our fearless leader/president.

“You heard him, you psycho. Get the fuck off of me.”

Luckily, the twins and Spencer appear at the bottom of the steps, panting, and ready to fight, evening the odds a bit. Seven of them, six of us, although I'll be the first to admit that I'm a tad useless. I do however, have that pepper spray and Taser on me.

“Ranger,” I say, because I wouldn't put it past Mark to mention this incident to my father, and I'm afraid that by pissing my dad off, I've put the guys in an awkward sort of spot. I don’t know how I’d function if one of them was expelled. “Let him go. People who hate from a place of ignorance can't be beaten into submission; they need to be educated.”

“Spoken like a prissy little girl,” Mark spits, and Ranger just loses his shit, punching the asshole again. The two groups of boys come together in a raucous of flying fists, and for the first time ever, I get to see what Church can really do.

Eugene's taunts echo in my mind: “Right. One of your cronies, but never you personally, huh? Are you scared to fight Church?”

Two of the guys come our way and my hand reaches down to the weapons in my pockets. I don't get the chance to use them, however. In the blink of an eye, Church is moving between our would-be attackers, and then they're both lying on the floor holding their throats and coughing. What. in. the. actual. fuck?!

“Krav Maga,” Church explains casually, naming a type of military self-defense from Israel, and turning to look back at my shocked face with a smile. “I've been taking lessons three times a week for years.” He turns back to the fight in front of him and then heads for the brutal but unpracticed beatdown that Spencer's giving the team's new wide receiver. Church touches the guy's shoulder, and when the asshole throws an elbow back, Church steps to the side, blocks the blow with his forearm, and then hits him in the face with a punch that drops the kid to the floor.

“Oh, my poor, sweet ovaries,” I murmur, because even though I know that violence isn't the answer to my problems, it's still pretty hot to see the guys I like kick serious ass. Within just a few minutes, the football dicks are lying on the ground, moaning and holding their heads, and the Student Council is standing above them.

It's pretty hot … until the door opens and Archibald Carson walks in.

His eyes go from the collapsed boys and straight over to me.

Oh. Shit.

I'm in big trouble, aren't I?

“This is all your fault, Woodruff,” Mark sneers, mucking the floor of the chicken coop as he glares at Ranger's back. It's not technically our turn to help with the chickens or mind the organic vegetable garden that feeds the school, but … it is now. For the rest of the motherfucking semester.

“Shut your mouth, Grandam, or I'll shove chicken shit down your throat and smile while you choke on it.” Ranger puts the last of the eggs in a basket, and then glances down at the little yellow chicks chirping near his boots. His cheeks flush for a moment, but when he sees me looking, he storms over and grabs my hand, putting the basket in it and taking the broom from me. “Go deliver these to the kitchen, and I'll finish this up.”

“I can handle a little sweeping,” I grumble, but Ranger's pushing me out the door anyway. “Don't think I didn't see you snuggling one of those chicks earlier,” I murmur, but I really don't want Mark and his toxic masculine bullshit to hear, so I head off with the heavy basket.

Spencer joins me with his own basket, his split lip and slightly swollen and purple eye oddly charming.

“I totally ruined the season for Diego,” he says with a sloppy bad boy grin, pausing as a pair of chickens waddles across the path in front of us. “You know what's coming, right? Why did the chicken cross the road …?”

“Noooo,” I groan, bumping into his shoulder with mine. I almost lose an egg when it slips out the side of my basket, but Spencer grabs it in mid-air, spins it around on his finger, and deposits it into his own. “You think that made you look cool, huh?” I ask, and he grins, his silver hair falling across his forehead in just such a way that I feel my heart melt.

“Didn't it though?” he asks, and I roll my eyes. “By the way, Jack bailed and sent me some bullshit text about being out of town for a while.”

Ah, right. Jack … I'd almost forgotten in all of the hubbub yesterday that Spencer's brother was there at all. By the time we were done being lectured by Archie, and all the boys had been patched up by the school nurse, he was gone.

“Did he say anything about what he wanted? Or why it was so important he couldn't text you?”

Spencer shrugs loosely and then pushes in the kitchen door with his shoulder to let me pass through, turquoise eyes dark. He doesn't want to believe his brother's involved anymore than I want him or Church to be. Not that I blame him. Wondering if my dad’s involved is killing me. But last night, I had a little revelation: I’m convinced that Dad, Mr. Murphy, and Mr. Dave know something about what’s happening on campus. I’m also convinced that, despite the evidence, they’re on our side. Based on the way Church reacted when I told him last night, I feel like he agrees.