The Warrior Heir Read Online Free PDF

shuddered, imagining his mother's reaction if she got the message in the late afternoon. With any luck, he'd beat her home. Anyway, he felt fine. Great, in fact.
    By the time Jack and Will came out onto the field behind the high school, some of the early arrivals were helping Ted Slansky, the soccer coach, set up the goals. The sun emerged from the clouds at intervals, but it was a cold sun that seemed to draw away more heat than it provided.
    The stands were peppered with a few spectators: interested parents, community coaches, friends. Jack shaded his eyes, scanning the bleachers to see if there was anyone he knew.
    "Run up the colors," Fitch said behind him." 'Tis the queen and her court."
    Turning, Jack saw a handful of varsity players collected in a reverent half circle at one end of the stands like wistful planets around a glittering sun. Leesha.
    "What's she doing here?" Jack said irritably. "She hates soccer." Knowing the answer even as he said it.
    " 'Tis not for us to ask, but only to serve, admire, and desire."
    Maybe Fitch had no idea how annoying this was. Maybe. "Shut up, Fitch."
    Fitch's smile disappeared. "Dude. You're better off. Trust me."
    Jack deliberately turned his back to the stands.
    There was a large turnout. Jack tried to be optimistic. He was a good player, playing midfield and forward most of the time, but he had never been a star.
    "Look who wandered into tryouts. It's Jackson Downey Swift. Or is it Swift Downey Jackson? I get so confused.” The sneering voice came from behind him, but Jack knew who it was right away. Then a soccer ball hit him right between the shoulder blades. Hard.
    "That's called a pass," said Garrett Lobeck. "Better pay attention if you want to play with the men."
    Jack swung around. Lobeck had a crooked grin on his face, thinking he'd made a witty remark. He was one of four brothers, known for their good looks, bad habits, and a talent for violence on and off the field. At seventeen, Garrett was the youngest, and on pace to be the worst of the lot.
    "Maybe you'd better paint your name on your butt, so Coach knows your mama's on the school board," Lobeck went on. "That's the only way you'll make the cut."
    "I'm surprised to see you, too, Lobeck," Jack replied. "I thought they made you ineligible after that game against Garfield last year."
    Lobeck had broken the goalie's leg on a nasty penalty play.There'd been a huge stink about it. But Lobeck was a talented running back, and his father owned half the town, so they'd let him play football in the fall. Becka had been the only member of the school board to vote against it.
    Jack lifted the ball with his instep, juggled it a moment, then passed it off to Fitch. "So assault and battery is okay. Did they scrap the academic standards, too? Or are you in some kind of mainstreaming program for idiots?"
    There was a kind of time delay while Lobeck processed this. The word "idiot" must have been the giveaway, because his face flushed a deep russet color and he took a step toward Jack.
    Suddenly Will was there. "What's up, Lobeck? No sixth graders to pick on?" Lobeck was big, but Will was in the same weight class at least, and he was all muscle. Lobeck didn't like the new odds.
    "Ease up, Childers. Don't get your shorts in a bunch." Lobeck scowled at Jack, then trotted off down the field.
    They started out doing drills, dribbling and passing, throw-ins and goal shots. Jack was standing on the sidelines, waiting his turn for the throw-in, when he heard another familiar voice behind him.
    "Jackson." She said his name in two disappointed syllables. "Aren't you even going to say hi?"
    He had to turn around then, or make it plain she was getting to him. "Hi, Leesha."
    She wore a pale pink hoodie, and her masses of dark curls were pulled back in a clip. She put her hand on his arm. He stared at it, swallowing hard, trying to ignore the pulse pounding in his ears. "I still miss you sometimes, Jack." Guileless brown eyes looked into his.
    He