8 years earlier
"Wyatt Loring Matheson!" Maryanne bellowed from the other side of the bathroom door. Grunts of fury flowed from beneath the only barrier between Wyatt, Colby, and their potential demise.

The culprits sat, still as statues, listening intently as Maryanne worked to compose herself after the barbarous stunt. Without question, it was their greatest prank to date.

Saran wrapping the toilet bowl.

"I know you're listening, Wyatt. You'd best start running now, baby," she advised coolly. "Mama's gonna have your hide the second I get this mess cleaned up."

The two delinquents struggled to stifle their laughter, snickering as they remained crouched outside the bathroom. An errant giggle burst forth from Colby. She covered her mouth, eyes wide, but it was too late.

"The both of you better get your fannies out to the field. Your daddy and Rick wanna have a word."

The dread they felt was instantaneous. How quickly joy can become terror.

Maryanne listened as they scampered off like frightened little fawns. The moment she knew they were out of earshot, she began laughing so furiously that tears streamed from her eyes.

She made a weak attempt to collect herself before calling her husband Marty to update him on their boy's antics.

"This is a pleasant surprise," Marty said. "How's my M&M?"

M&M... Maryanne Matheson. Marty had given her this nickname when they'd first married, and she'd adored it. He'd insisted it suited her because she was fun-sized and sweet.

"I think we both know there's usually only one reason I'd interrupt your playtime with Rick," she began.

"What'd he do this time?" Marty asked, waving Rick over from where he'd been tending to an expectant heifer.

Rick Tillerson, Colby's grandfather, had owned this cattle ranch since Marty was just a boy, and was the only father figure Marty had ever known. Though not blood related, the two were thick as thieves, sharing a bond that even a true father and son would envy. Rick had taken Marty on as a stable hand at the age of thirteen when Marty was looking to step up for his struggling family. From that day forward, their relationship had developed into the deepest respect imaginable.

Maryanne recounted her tale of woe, and Marty, being the good husband that he was, howled with amusement.

"Rick and I have it covered," Marty assured her, smiling.

Marty quickly relayed an animated version of Maryanne's story to Rick before they saw the kids approaching. The two men chuckled quietly as the remorseful looking pair reached them. They pasted on the most disciplinary expressions they could muster, immediately intimidating the already timid Colby and Wyatt.

"Why don't you explain to me the stunt you just pulled on your poor Mama," Marty began, clinging desperately to his composure as he watched the kids' eyes shift downward.

"I'm sorry Dad. I thought it would be funny," Wyatt explained, taking full responsibility.

Colby was filled with so much guilt, she felt she might explode at any moment. It was she who had thought of the prank, and it had been her spreading the saran wrap over the toilet bowl. Yet, Wyatt was taking the blame.

"I did it!" she shouted, unable to contain her anguish any longer. "It was me, the whole thing. I thought of it, and I did it!" Her cheeks flushed a bright shade of red, and tears filled her saucer-sized blue eyes.

Rick turned away, hoping to keep Colby from seeing the grin spreading across his rugged face. He'd lost his touch where punitive measures were concerned. His children were all grown, and he was used to enjoying the perks of grandfather-hood-all the enjoyment of having children, without having to be the bad guy.

When Colby watched him turn from her, she knew that he would never forgive her for doing such a heinous thing to one of their most loyal employees. She couldn't stand the tension.

She collapsed to the ground, sobbing into her knees.

"I'm so sorry," she said between her gasps for air. Wyatt dropped beside her, rubbing her back in an effort to console her.

"I told you I'd tell 'em it was me," Wyatt whispered. "I didn't want you to get in trouble."

Marty and Rick watched the children, selflessly attempting to shield one another from punishment, and their fortitude dissolved. Both of the gruff, brawny men laughed. Full body, gut-clenching laughter.

Wyatt and Colby gaped curiously at the sudden change in their demeanor. They'd never seen either of the two so...jovial...in all their ten years.

"Don't...don't do that—" Marty sputtered.

"Ever again!" Rick supplied, between his fits of mirth.

So much for discipline.

Wyatt

"What's your problem, Ari?" I ask, finishing the last bite of my protein bar. "You've been a moody asshole since we got to school today."

"We're out of time, don't you see? We have to go tonight 'cause the game is tomorrow," Ari says, zipping his backpack shut and rising to his feet. "We don't wanna become the senior class that didn't manage to steal South High's flag. This is my rep we're talking about here."

"Right," Mari says, rolling her eyes. "People will judge you for the rest of your life if you can't pull this off. I can see it now: you'll be marked with a scarlet 'L', for loser. You'll become unemployable." She snickers. "And worst of all, you'll never get laid again."

"Shut up!" Ari snaps. "You have no idea how much pressure I've been under."

"Translation: Mama threatened to take the car away if he didn't clean his disgusting pig pen of a room," Mari says, smiling smugly. "It's taken him two days to unearth a four-foot patch of carpeting."

"Argh!" Ari fumes. "No lo se—"

"Uh, uh," Nash says, stepping between the two of them. "First of all, you're gonna speak a language that we all understand. Second, we don't have time for your bickering." He moves to Mari's side, taking her hand. "Do you wanna get that damn flag, or don't you."

"Ohhh, Papi, look at you taking charge," Mari swoons, grabbing Nash's collar and pulling his face toward hers for a kiss.

"Ack!" Ari yelps. "My eyes! My eyes!"

I punch Ari in the arm, chuckling as Mari waggles her eyebrows at her brother.

"You've subjected all of us to far worse displays of affection, douchebag," Mari says.

"Now," Nash says. "Let's talk like the almost-adults we are and figure out how we're gonna steal that flag."

South High is our biggest rival, located at the edge of town. It's the game of the year, as most of Tyler's residents went to one of the two schools at some point, so even the town's people turn out in droves.

The stealing of South's flag has been a tradition, although not a school-sanctioned one, for many decades. It's a competition every year, with both schools attempting to outwit the other.

It's imperative to have a defense in place, usually left to the JV football players who are made to take turns sleeping out by the flag to protect it. Offense is more fun though, run by varsity. It takes strategy and the heart of a warrior to outwit the enemy. Lucky for North, I get to help run the show this year.

"Waiting 'til the last minute is actually an advantage. Less time for them to catch wind of our impending raid," I say, thinking about last year.

We'd placed a few of our spirit sisters strategically around their practice field. How those idiots didn't find the new eager faces suspicious is beyond me. We were waiting with paintball guns at the ready when they showed up to steal our flag. They failed miserably.

Needless to say, we stole their flag with ease that same night. They learned the hard way that two guards at the flagpole are nowhere near enough.

"Y'know, their flag will probably be better guarded this year," I say. "They won't want a repeat of last year."

"That's true. Good times," Ari says, grinning at the memory. "Okay, let's text CJ and Juan, and have them round up a few noobs. As much as I don't want to drag any freshmen along on this adventure, I know they have to learn sometime."

We were those freshmen once upon a time. I can remember the first raid like it was yesterday. And damn did I feel like a somebody when I got to skip out on flag guarding duty.

"You think you get to go have all the fun by yourselves?" Mari says, dropping Nash's hand and placing both of hers stubbornly upon her hips, attitude oozing out of every pore.

"Shit, Mar, this is not the time for girl power," Ari says, folding his arms over his chest.

"The hell it isn't," Mari says, eyes ablaze.

I say a little prayer for Ari.

"I'm coming," Mari continues. "And that's final."

"Where are we going?" Colby says from beside me, taking me by surprise. "Hey," she adds, running her hand over my forearm in greeting.

"Hi." I grin like a damn bozo.

Eloquent, dumbass.

"Oh, hell to the no," Ari says, jerking me out of my stupor. "You guys will just slow us down-stop to put on lipstick in the middle of the raid, or some shit."

"We are going to go steal South's flag tonight," Mari says defiantly. "What time should we pick you up?"

"You tell me, I'll be ready," Colby says smiling, and she looks beautiful. She looks happy. Without thinking, I put a hand on her arm, guiding her in front of me.

"These girls may have a few tricks up their sleeves, Ari," I say. "Let's do it."

"Look!" Mari squeals. "Wyatt sees reason."

Ari scoffs, and I immediately tune them out, knowing where this is about to go. I don't know why he bothers. We all know Mari has already won.

I lean closer to Colby, my lips brushing her ear. "You smell good, B," I say quietly, squeezing her shoulders. "Like summertime."

She relaxes into me, her head dropping to my shoulder. Next to me, Nash looks like his eyes are about to burst out of his head. I see dozens of questions forming in his mind.

I don't even care.

Colby sighs. "Unfortunately, I gotta get to class. I'll see you later though," she says, stepping away from me and pressing a hand to my chest.

"I'll come with!" Mari says, falling into step with Colby. "OMG, B," she adds, nearly shouting. "Let's wear all black tonight! We'll be like ninja chicks! And we can do each other's make-up, too!" She glances behind her, no doubt to gauge Ari's reaction. I know exactly what she's up to.

"Gah! Annoying little sister!" he spews, muttering to himself as he retreats down the hall.

He never disappoints.

"Sooo," Nash begins. "What's up with you and Colby?"

"Nada," I say, albeit not too convincingly. I shove my hands into my pockets, wincing when the raw skin on the backs of my hands grinds against my jeans.

"Okay," Nash says gamely. "Next question. What really happened to your knuckles?"

Damn. He's an observant bastard.

"I told you, my hands are just dry. The skin just cracked. It's nothing," I say.

It's definitely something. Things got a little heated when I confronted Trey. I just went over to tell him where he could go, and his drunk ass had the nerve to take a swing at me when I called him out for being an unscrupulous prick. It got ugly quickly. He's gotten bigger since he started playing ball for A&M, and he put up a hell of a fight. Of course, I didn't let him touch my pretty face. Got the better of his butt face though. Ha.

"Uh huh," Nash says, "Whatever you say."

He might as well call me a liar on both counts.

He wouldn't be wrong.