Wild Cards

CHAPTER 1  

Derek  

Getting caught wasn't part of the plan. Pulling off a prank so epic that it'd be talked about for decades was. I'm standing with five of my friends in Headmaster Crowe's office listening to him rant for the past hour about how our latest prank embar­rassed not only him but the trustees and teachers of this "presti­gious boarding school" as well.

"Anyone want to fess up?" Crowe asks.

Jack and Sam are freaking out. David, Jason, and Rich are trying to hold back their laughter. I've been called into the head­master's office more than a few times since I transferred here, so this is nothing new to me.

During finals week at Regents Preparatory Academy in Cali­fornia, seniors pull a prank on juniors. It's tradition. This year, the seniors managed to put blue dye in our showers and removed all the lightbulbs from the common areas of our dorm. It was only fair that we returned the favor, but on a bigger scale. The seniors had been waiting for us to raid their dorm, and you could tell they were on edge all week. They had lookouts posted at all hours, ready to defend their territory.  

My roommate, Jack, came up with the brilliant idea of greas­ing three baby pigs from his uncle's farm and letting them run loose in the senior dorm. Sam said we should let the pigs run loose during graduation instead. I admit it was my idea to number the pigs . . . 1, 3, and 4. It took six of us to pull it off. The processional music was our cue to set the pigs loose.  

I thought we'd gotten away with it, too, until all of us got sum­moned into Crowe's office an hour ago. 

Crowe's assistant, Martha, peeks her head into the office. "Mr. Crowe, number two still hasn't been found."  

The headmaster growls in frustration. If Crowe weren't such a dick, I'd tell him to call off the search because there is no pig number 2-that's part of the joke. But he's the kind of guy who doesn't give a shit about the students. All Crowe cares about is making sure everyone knows he's got the power to hand out detentions and fire teachers at his whim. I've seen him abuse that power more than once during the past year.  

"I did it," I blurt out, exaggerating my Texas drawl because I know Crowe cringes at the thought of a redneck attending his precious school. More than a few times he's called me out for say­ing "reckon" and "y'all." I reckon I did it just to annoy the guy.  

Crowe stands in front of me. "Which of your buddies here helped you?"  

"None of. 'em, sir. I did it all on my own."  

He shakes his finger at me. "When your father hears about this he will most certainly be disappointed in you, Derek."  

My spine stiffens. My dad, otherwise known as Commander Steven Fitzpatrick, is on another tour of duty. He's in a submarine for the next six months, completely cut off from the rest of the world.  

I briefly wonder how my new stepmother, Brandi, is doing now that my dad is deployed. Our setup is perfect. I live here until I graduate, and my dad's new wife lives in a rented house near the naval base with her five-year-old kid she had with some ex-boyfriend.  

News of my pig stunt isn't likely to reach my dad. And if Crowe thinks I'll be disappointing Brandi, that's a laugh.  

Crowe hunches his shoulders and gives me one of his many practiced scowls that make him resemble an ogre on steroids. "You expect me to believe that you stole one of our school vans and transported four pigs to the graduation ceremony, greased them up, and set them loose all by yourself ?"