The Faker Rulebook

by Crow, Baylin

  The Faker Rulebook

  Baylin Crow

  The Faker Rulebook by Baylin Crow

  Copyright 2021 Baylin Crow

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, locations and events portrayed in this work are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity is purely coincidental.

  The use of any real company and/or product names is for literary effect only. All other trademarks and copyrights are the property of their respective owners.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording or photocopying without written permission from the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author.

  Any images or models shown on covers are for illustration purposes only. The characters depicted and any texts expressed in this story are not reflective of any models shown.

  Cover Design by Cate Ashwood

  Proofread by Kathy Kozakewich

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Noah

  2. Noah

  3. Rook

  4. Rook

  5. Noah

  6. Noah

  7. Rook

  8. Rook

  9. Noah

  10. Rook

  11. Noah

  12. Noah

  13. Rook

  14. Noah

  15. Noah

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About Baylin

  Ways To Connect With Baylin

  Baylin’s Books

  Also Available: Stripped Love

  Also Available: Fling

  Also Available: Risk

  Also Available: Quarterback Sneak

  Also Available: Broken Play

  Also Available: Recovered Fumble

  Also Available: Scar

  One

  Noah

  Eleven Years Old

  Being the new kid at school sucked.

  The sounds of lockers clanging shut and the constant hum of chatter, broken by bursts of laughter, trailed my steps as I navigated the long, unfamiliar hallways of Blakefield Middle School.

  Dodging the students hurrying to last period, I followed the scuffed floors, squinting at the metal numbers mounted on the exposed red brick trim around the doors. I had been given vague directions when I’d picked up my schedule from the office this morning, but for a school only a fifth the size of the one I'd transferred from, the layout was confusing.

  As the hall emptied and classroom doors closed, I quickened my pace. The bell rang, signaling I was officially late and I groaned. After the curious stares that had followed me all morning, the last thing I needed was more attention drawn to me.

  Room 202. I breathed a sigh of relief at finding my science class and pulled open the heavy door.

  The teacher, a woman with graying hair and rosy cheeks, paused what she was saying and every set of eyes turned, trained on me while my face burned.

  "Hello, can I help you?" she asked in a bright tone that contrasted with my sullen mood.

  "I'm Noah Stephens," I offered quietly while passing her my schedule.

  She grabbed it and quickly scanned the page. Nodding, she handed it back. "Welcome to Blakefield, Noah. I’m Mrs. Bradshaw, and I’m happy to have you in my class." She gestured to the far side of the classroom. "Find a seat. I’ll spare you the embarrassing introduction."

  Thank god. My shoulders sagged beneath the weight of my backpack. The other teachers hadn’t been as generous.

  Scanning the room, I noted large white-topped tables with two seats each, set in rows instead of single desks. All but one was taken, and I was glad it appeared I wouldn't have to share with anyone. I trudged along the aisle of the last row and dropped my backpack by the third table before sliding into the squeaky plastic chair.

  "We are going to pick up where we left off on Friday," Mrs. Bradshaw said before glancing at me. "Mr. Stephens, I'll send you home with the materials to catch up if you need it. Stop by my desk on the way out."

  "Yes, ma'am." I kept my eyes aimed forward, ignoring the murmurs around me. Back home, or rather what used to be home, I'd had friends. But with my parents’ divorce still fresh, I couldn't muster up a smile, much less try to meet new people.

  One minute it had seemed we'd been a happy family with our portraits filling large picture frames mounted on the walls. The next, my mom, brother and I were packing our things. Nothing made sense, and I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that my life had been uprooted simply because my parents had grown apart. Whatever that meant. I shoved the thoughts away.

  Mrs. Bradshaw beamed before shifting her focus over my shoulder. "Mr. Oliveira, could you retrieve an extra textbook for our new student?"

  "Sure." A voice deeper than any eleven-year-old I'd met answered from behind me. His chair scraped back and several seconds later a heavy book thudded against my tabletop.

  My gaze flicked up to the guy, surprisingly tall for a seventh grader. His hair was the color of a starless night and cropped short. Wearing a red hoodie and jeans, he appeared relaxed as he casually tapped the hard book cover.

  "Here. Page fifty-nine." He studied me with eyes a shade I hadn't seen before. A light brown with bright flecks of gold that glowed with warmth.

  "Thanks…" I hesitated because I had no idea what his name was.

  “Rook,” he filled in just before his lips slanted in a crooked grin. White straight teeth—minus one that slightly overlapped the other—stood out against his heavily bronzed skin.

  I was still self-conscious about the new braces that were doing their best to close the wide gaps in my teeth, so I held back the impulse to smile for the first time in weeks.

  He didn't move, and I suddenly realized he was stubbornly waiting for me to answer as if he had all day instead of holding up the lesson.

  I cleared my throat and croaked, "Noah."

  Rook chuckled. "I was beginning to think you didn't have a name other than Mr. Stephens." He tossed me another grin before he retreated to his seat.

  His chair creaked in protest as he plopped back down, and I battled the urge to glance back at him. I admitted to myself that Rook had gained my interest. There was an air of confidence that hovered around him.

  He was also cute, but I shook off the odd thought. Well not so odd, but I wasn't ready to consider what that meant yet.

  Mrs. Bradshaw stood before the whiteboard that stretched across the front of the room. "Let's talk about eye color."

  As she spoke, it quickly became clear that I had no idea what they were working on. The lesson was on genetics, and we hadn't reached that part of the curriculum at my old school.

  Forty-five minutes later, I was relieved when the final bell rang.

  "We have a quiz on Friday, so review the last two chapters and come prepared." She spoke over the rustling of students shuffling around, preparing to leave.

  I stifled a groan at the mention of a quiz and stuffed my book in my backpack before slinging the straps over my shoulders.

  As the room cleared, Mrs. Bradshaw stopped me as I passed her desk. "Just a minute, Noah."

  Crap. I'd completely forgotten she'd wanted to speak to me. Glancing at the clock, I hoped she'd keep it brief. High school let out before middle school, and my brother would be outside waiting for me.

  She went over the material and walked me through what I needed to catch up. My gaze strayed to the time again.

  She noticed. "I don't want to keep you too long, so if you have any questions or need more instruction, we can set up short-term tutoring."

  "Thanks." I took a st
ep back and she nodded.

  "Of course. Just let me know."

  Once I thanked her again, I hurried through the school, foregoing a stop at my locker.

  On my way out, I had to cross the cafeteria to reach the front entrance. Just as I cleared a glass case that took up a chunk of the wall, displaying a variety of trophies, the door to the gym swung open.

  I whispered a curse that would have gotten me grounded if my mother was around as I barely stopped in time to avoid slamming into it. Oblivious to the near disaster, a guy jogged out, dressed in black and red basketball shorts with a matching sleeveless practice jersey—the colors of the Blakefield Lions.

  The sound of tennis shoes squeaking across the polished floor drew my attention, and I peeked into the vast room lined with slide-out bleachers.

  A musky odor lingered in the air, and my gaze quickly swept over the banners with the mascot printed on them that hung from the walls and then down to the gathered basketball team at center court.

  My gaze froze on the player standing a head taller than the others, giving me his profile. Rook laughed, and even from where I stood, the husky sound reached my ears. He had an easy, relaxed posture, a basketball hugged between his arm and hip. He lazily shoved a guy away before another round of laughter echoed off the walls.

  "Stop standing around and line up!" A loud voice boomed. My history teacher, who clearly held two positions, stepped out onto the court, appearing even more comfortable in athletic gear than he did while lecturing on World History.

  The interruption shook me from my curiosity, and I sprinted toward the exit. The chilly December wind slapped my cheeks the second I burst through the doors and scanned the parking lot. Trevor's old gray Explorer idled next to the curb, and he shot me an annoyed look when I popped open the door.

  "Sorry. My teacher had to talk to me." I tossed my bag into the backseat and hopped onto the worn cloth seat. My nose wrinkled at the stale scent of fast food coming from the crumpled bags that littered the floorboard as I kicked them away.

  "Already in trouble?" he asked and I scoffed.

  "Yep, that's me. The rebel." Not even close. I was a rule follower by nature, and the idea of stirring up trouble was like a bitter pill on my tongue. I shut the stiff door and latched my seat belt.

  My brother didn't need to know about my other distraction.

  Rook. My thoughts, preoccupied by him, were confusing.

  Trevor shook his head full of dark strands—a complete contrast to my golden ones—and glanced at me with eyes a darker shade of blue than mine. "I can't wait until you get your own driver’s license."

  "Somewhere else to be?" I asked as he pulled away from the school.

  He shrugged. "Some guys invited me to come hang out."

  I should have known his first day of school would have gone much better than mine. A small tendril of envy wound in my gut. Trevor had been popular back home too, and being five years older than me, we didn’t have a lot in common. "I can ride the bus from now on."

  He snorted. "Mom would kill me, and you know it."

  Trevor was probably right, but my life had become a pile of rubble. The last thing I needed was to feel like an inconvenience.

  My brother had also had the rug ripped from beneath him, I reminded myself. He was likely dealing with things in his own way, so I shouldn't take it personally.

  It was hard though. I stared out the window, watching as the neighborhoods of my new town zipped by. I needed someone around who made me feel normal again.

  Two

  Noah

  On Friday, a week after we’d moved in, I swayed on the wooden swing hung from our front porch. Bundled in my thick puffer coat, I soaked in the heat warming my hands from the mug filled with hot chocolate, mini-marshmallows swimming on top.

  The temperature had dropped now that the sun had dipped over the horizon, and the tip of my nose stung from the cold breeze carrying the scent of pine trees that heavily dotted the town. The street was quiet, peppered with random dog barks piercing the night. Most of the town would be crowding the stands at the varsity football game.

  Had I been back in Sapling, I'd be surrounded by my friends, playing laser tag or dropping coins in the arcade at an alarming pace. My parents said the split was mutual, but why then did he get to stay at our home while we moved to Nowhere, Texas? Why hadn’t I heard a single word from him since we’d left?

  But even if I’d been able to go back to my hometown, I wouldn’t. I didn't want to see my friends either. How normal and unchanged their lives were. Trevor said lots of parents get divorced and that I'd get over it when I was ready. I wasn't so sure. My dad had been everything to me, and now our relationship was tainted by an ugly stain of betrayal.

  I let out a shuddering sigh, watching as my breath puffed in a cloud of mist.

  "Happy birthday to me," I muttered as I eyed the tangle of sad blue and white balloons securely tied to the mailbox as it had been for the last two hours. Now they were only visible by the glow of a street lamp.

  Guilt gnawed at my stomach. My mom had been excited when she'd hung them. They matched the decorations in the house—a banner that stretched across the fireplace mantle that read Happy 12th Birthday Noah with more balloons tied to chairs around the dining table. I hadn't had the heart to tell her no one was coming. She had no idea I hadn't made any friends.

  The birthday party was more suited to a younger kid, or at least I thought so. Especially if we factored in the cake my mom had baked herself that chilled in the refrigerator with icing swirled in primary colors. Even my brother had bailed to attend the game, claiming he was too old for a kid's birthday party.

  Honestly, he hadn't been home much since we arrived. And because I'd known him my whole life, I knew he was purposely avoiding the house. Despite what he said about our parents’ divorce, I wondered if he wasn't hanging onto a sliver of denial. He'd graduate this year, so no matter where we lived, he'd head off to college next summer.

  The screened door creaked open, interrupting my thoughts, and I glanced up. My mom leaned against the doorframe. Her long brown hair, the same color as Trevor's, cascaded over her shoulders. Dressed in a heavy sweater, she hugged her stomach. "Aren't you cold?"

  Holding my steaming cup up, I shook my head. "I'm okay."

  She shivered as she stepped out onto the porch. "Honey, I think you might have been right. Maybe we should have waited until tomorrow."

  I shrugged as she crossed the porch and gingerly took the space beside me. "It's fine. More cake for me."

  Her chuckle was soft, but a sad note laced her tone. "I guess I underestimated the power of Friday night football."

  "It's like a religion or something out here. It's all everyone talks about at school." I let her believe that was the reason no one had shown up. Telling a white lie about making new friends made me uncomfortable, but she was going through too much already. I didn't want to add to the stress etched in the features of her heart-shaped face.

  My mom nudged my knee with hers, and I glanced at her. "Someone could show up after the game."

  I attempted to smile but only managed a slight tilt of my lips. "I doubt—"

  "Oh," she interrupted while looking toward the road.

  Following her gaze, I spotted a kid jogging along the sidewalk dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants.

  "Hi!" My mom’s voice pierced the quiet, and the startling sound caused him to stumble. He barely caught himself before he ate a face full of pavement. I groaned as she stood abruptly, causing the liquid in my cup to almost spill in my lap. "You're here for the party, right?"

  "Kill me now," I muttered under my breath.

  The guy lifted his head, his face lit by the streetlamp, searching until he saw my mom waving like crazy. Recognition slapped me in the face, and I prayed for a swift death.

  Rook Oliveira, of all people, froze in front of my house. He frowned and then his gaze flicked up to the balloons. He squinted toward us, and my cheeks flushed hot.

/>   Eff my effing life. I wanted to crawl into a hole. A dark suffocating one that I'd never come out of. My thoughts were growing more morbid by the second.

  My mom's voice wavered. "You are here for Noah's birthday, right?"

  Rook glanced at me. Or more like stared.

  Cue the most embarrassing moment in my life in five, four, three, two—

  "Yeah. Uh, hey, Noah." Rook freaking Oliveira was making his way up our driveway lined with scraggly bushes. He climbed the steps and smiled as if showing up had been his plan all along.

  We both knew that was a lie.

  "Hi, Rook," I mumbled as I placed my drink on the glass side table.

  My mom swatted at my arm, whispering, "Don't be rude, Noah." Her voice rose again as Rook stepped onto the porch. "Are you coming from the game?"

  “No, ma’am. I’m not much of a football fan.” His gaze switched to mine. "And I had other plans?"

  The note of uncertainty almost made me laugh, but my mom didn't seem to catch it.

  “You can call me Lisa." She beamed. "And you are?”

  "Rook," he filled in while matching her smile.

  "I'll leave you boys to it." She leaned down and bussed a kiss to my forehead, making me wince. “Let me know when you two get hungry, and I’ll reheat the pizza.”

  When she turned to go inside, I braved a look at Rook whose lips twitched as if he was holding back a laugh.

  "Shut up," I whispered. My mom would have had a complete meltdown if she'd heard me. But Rook? He chuckled, right before he took a seat next to me.

  "So… Happy birthday," he offered as he scratched the back of his neck.