The Forever Crew (Adamson All-Boys Academy, #3)

by C.M. Stunich

I facepalm for even thinking that. When I look up, Church is raising a single, skeptical brow at me. “Did you just literally facepalm to your own thoughts?”

Our past isn't an anchor that keeps us tied to a shipwreck beneath the sea; it's the sail that we can collect wind in so that we can soar.

“You guys share girls now, remember?” This time, it’s his turn to snort back at me. “Well, not girls. Girl. Singular. One. Just me, Chuck the Micropenis.”

“This is a bunch of patriarchal bullshit. This doesn't make me a girl. I just … it's like armor or something, okay? I feel calmer wearing it. I want to wear it. That's feminism right there: choice.”

He’s quivering now, and yet all I can think is: how much can you love a guy who gets naked, dons frilly aprons, and bakes his anger out? The answer being: with everything you have. I bite my lip.

My eyes rove a bit past his ankle to the bit of calf muscle showing beneath his pants, making me feel like some sort of Victorian pervert. Dear me, I saw a flash of ankle! How scandalous.

“I was getting ready to suck your dick, Charlotte Carson. I was looking up the ins and outs of anal sex, and if silicone lube was better than water-based—it is.” He pauses and smiles at me in a way that breaks my fucking heart and sews it back together all in a single glance. “If you think that I wouldn’t love you in sweatpants and pimples, then you’re just not paying attention.” “Love me, huh?”

“I’d rather die for love than live without knowing how bad it hurts,”

Not over my dead body. Oh. Ow. Ouch. Bad metaphor. Over my living body.

“Yeah, I mean, I love you guys, too. No big deal.” “You love us?” they repeat, exchanging a long look before turning back to me. “Get her?” Tobias asks, and Micah nods. “Get her.”

The last thing I see before I pass out is the Student Council, looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters. And that, that’s a good last memory to have.

After the main character in a book dies, there’s always some purple prose shit, a bunch of flowery fluff about a life well-lived, or all the wonderful lessons the person learned before they passed. Me, I dream about riding a unicorn, seated behind Ranger Woodruff while the twins march along on either side of us. We come to a castle, where Church is the prince, and Spencer is his handsome silver-haired husband … Not a very sophisticated death knell, is it?

I glance over at him, realizing in that moment that every asshole thing he does, every barked command and sneer … is because he’s my parent. And parents, parents are dicks. Even good parents. Especially good parents. Because sometimes teenagers are rebellious little ass pigs.

“God, we hated you so much when you showed up at Adamson. Now we’re all, like, clinically obsessed. What have you done to us?”