But Oliver got the distinct feeling his dad’s support wasn’t going to be worth much this time around.
He and his parents said good-bye to Regina at the front door of the high school. She mouthed “Good luck” to Oliver before falling into step with some of her girlfriends. He envied her sometimes, her ability to do it all. She wasn’t as talented as Oliver computer-wise, but she was good enough. And she was popular. She got decent grades. She always had something to do on Friday night, someone to sit with at lunch.
It wasn’t that he cared for himself that he didn’t have those things. But succeeding in at least one area outside of gaming might get his mom off his back.
As he and his parents marched through the halls toward the principal’s office, Oliver scanned the crowd. People everywhere had their heads down on their phones. He grinned when he heard someone shout, “There’s a Stash right here!” A stampede of students charged over to the drinking fountain, their fingers moving deftly across their screens.
Harper’s brother Sam, a senior, waved to Oliver. “Great game, Oliver!”
Oliver’s heart sped up and his face flushed. No one had ever shouted his name across a crowded hallway before. That better reflected Regina’s high school experience.
“I don’t see anything,” Oliver’s mom said, craning her neck. “The kid says there was a Stash. Where’s the Stash?”
Oliver rolled his eyes. How very mom of her. “It’s a virtual Stash. When you have the app open, it shows a rough landscape of where we are. Then—pop!—a Stash shows up on-screen. Then you click on it and answer a question. If you get the question right, you get the points. The harder the question, the more points the Stash is worth.”
“It’s pretty genius,” said Trip.
Again, Oliver’s cheeks burned hot.
His mom was still staring at the drinking fountain. “So they have to keep the app open at all times.”
Oliver grinned. “If they want to win they do.”
His mom shook her head. “It seems like a colossal waste of time.”
“Ouch,” whispered Oliver.
“Not for us.” His dad put an arm around Oliver’s shoulders. “Every so often, a coupon for a flash sale at Prince’s will pop up.”
“And we have some really valuable Stashes in the store,” Oliver added. At least his dad was on his side.
His mom watched as a freshman girl crashed right into a locker because her eyes were down on her phone. “Whatever you say.” She pulled open the door to the principal’s office, which was still dripping with garland from Christmas.
The three Princes sat across the desk from the principal, Mrs. Olsen. Oliver noticed that she, too, had her phone open to the Stash Grab app. Everyone was getting involved. He had never been prouder of anything in his entire life, though a sour pit in his stomach was harshing his buzz. This meeting wasn’t going to end well.
Mrs. Olsen passed a sheet of paper across her desk. Oliver’s mom picked it up. “After you called,” Mrs. Olsen said, “I printed off Oliver’s grades just to see how he’s been doing. I haven’t had any specific complaints from teachers, but I did notice a few things.” She reached over and pointed to a spot near the bottom of the page. “He has zero extracurriculars. Zero. That’s not good.”
“He’s been working on the game,” said Mr. Prince.
The principal nodded. “That’s very impressive, but it’s rather limiting. We like to see our students a little more well-rounded, of course.”
“Of course,” said his mom.
“Oliver’s grades are average, for the most part, which is fine, but I have a feeling he can do better.”
His mom scanned the page in front of her with wide eyes. “I know he can.” She put the paper down, took off her glasses, and stared at him. “You, of all people, should not have a C in math.”
Yes, he absolutely should have a C in math. He never did his homework, and he sat in the back of class avoiding the teacher’s eyes. A C wasn’t too shabby, all things considered.
“I’m more concerned about the Latin grade, honestly.” Mrs. Olsen highlighted a box in the middle of the page. “I know he can pull up his numbers in math and science, and in social studies and English, classes that are less cumulative. If he starts working harder now in those subjects, he’ll be fine.” She pointed to the Latin grade, which was currently a C- and dropping. “His Latin grade keeps falling, and I’m concerned that he’s so far behind now, he won’t be able to pull the grade up on his own.”
“And he definitely won’t be able to improve any of these scores if he keeps playing around on the computer.” His mom scribbled notes on a legal pad.
Mrs. Olsen nodded.
Oliver’s mom glared at his dad. “You see this, right? Tell me I’m not the only one who sees this.”
Trip stared at the progress report. “You’re not the only one.”
“So, what are we going to do about it?” Oliver’s mom bit her lip.
“We can cut back on his computer ti—”
Oliver shook his head. No. No cutting back on computer time.
“We tried that, Trip. Remember? Last year? We tried enforcing time limits, and it didn’t work. His grades didn’t improve. And you kept caving when he asked you nicely. I need to know that you’re on my side here. Please, Trip. We have to be a team.” She ran her fingers through her hair, then turned to Oliver. “I understand that you love what you do with the games and all of it. I get that. Don’t think I don’t. But, honey.” She pointed to the grades. “This is unacceptable. You’re limiting yourself in so many ways. You need to get out and make friends.”
“I have friends.” He had Regina and…Regina’s friends.
“You don’t.”
“I like my life.” Yeah, things got a little pathetic and gloomy at times, but he was happy being a lone wolf. He didn’t have to answer to anyone but himself. He didn’t have to worry about his classmates rejecting him because he wasn’t the funniest or the best at small talk. He was awkward around other people. It was easier for him to keep to himself. He liked keeping to himself.
His mom closed her eyes for a moment. “I want more for you, Oliver. But at the very least, I want you to start taking school seriously. Because with these grades, you’re not going to a great college. You’re not. And you want that, don’t you?”
“I always figured my skills would be enough.” He did one thing and he did it well. Why did he have to be a Renaissance man?
The principal shook her head. “They won’t be. Not when you’re competing against thousands of other kids with the same abilities, but who also get better grades and participate in extracurricular activities.”
He sighed. Maybe she was right. What could it hurt to do a bit more homework and maybe join, like, the chess club or something? There had to be some club at school that wouldn’t be abject torture. “Fine. I will work less on the computer stuff. Regina can do more for the game. I mean, it’s mostly down to her questions and placing the Stashes anyw—”
His mom shook her head. “That’s not going to fix it. It’s not going to be enough.” She held out her hand. “Hand me your laptop.”
“What?”
“Give it to me.”
With a lump in his throat, he pulled his computer out of his bag and handed it to his mom. He stared at his dad, waiting for Trip to argue his son’s case. He didn’t.
His mom handed the laptop to Trip. “Your dad will hold onto this until you bring your grades up and start socializing more.” She turned to her husband. “I’m counting on you here. You’re the main parent right now. Hide his tablet. Change the passwords on the computers at home and at the office—Regina’s, too. I don’t want him working on the Stash Grab game at all. For the next few months, he’s going cold turkey.” His mom frowned. “It’s for your own good, Oliver. Honey, you need a break.”
Oliver glanced out the window to the hallway, where students were filing past. This was completely unfair. The game was his baby, and she wa
s asking him to cede control to Regina, of all people? She had too many other things going on in her life. The entire game would fall apart with her in charge. He couldn’t let that happen. His dad had to know that. He had to know how dire the situation would be without Oliver in charge.
He exhaled. He’d say yes now and then find a way to get his stuff back. His dad would cave, of course he would. His dad was on his team. And Mom would be back in Florida by tonight. “Okay,” Oliver said. “It’s a deal.”
Chapter Three
Six people bumped into Elena on the way to first period Monday morning. They all had their eyes on their phones while trying to navigate the halls of North Pole High School.
When number six, a freshman boy who only came up to Elena’s shoulder, ran straight into her back, she spun around and grabbed his arm. “What is going on?”
“Stash Grab,” he said, like, duh, who didn’t know that?
“That stupid Stan Stashiuk game?”
“It’s not stupid,” he said. “Two hundred bucks can go a long way at Prince’s.”
Elena blinked. “Wait. You’re Jimmy Shaw.”
He nodded.
She shook his arm. “Your family has been shopping at Chestnut’s for years.”
“You gonna give me two hundred bucks to shop at your store?”
Elena’s jaw dropped, and she let him go. He immediately ran right into the nearest locker.
In her first class, social studies, everyone bombarded Oliver Prince with questions, even the teacher.
Ms. White sat on the edge of her desk, eyes trained on Oliver in the front row, two seats over from Elena. “How far out do they go? I mean, like, are there Stashes out at Wal-Mart?”
Oliver sighed as if his entire world was ending. Even his usually glorious auburn hair seemed less shiny and luxurious today. Poor baby. “The Stashes are inside town limits only. They’re as far south as Poinsettia Place, as far west as Evergreen Street, as far north as Jasmine Terrace, and as far east as Cedar street. The golf resort is also fair game. So’s the ski resort.”
Their teacher nodded slowly, taking this in. “And there are going to be more Stashes over the next few weeks?”
“They’re on a timer, a clock.” Oliver fidgeted, shifting in his seat like he wasn’t used to the attention and he’d given this same spiel at least a hundred times over the past few hours. “Stashes come and go at varying intervals. If the app is open and the GPS tracker knows you’re in the area, the Stash pops up at the right time. The harder ones, the ones with more difficult questions that only pop up every few days or so, are worth more points. The ones that are around a lot—”
“And have easy questions like Stash’s middle name?” asked Ms. White.
“Right,” Oliver said. “Those are worth less, but you can collect them as many times as you see them. Once you grab that Stash—or even try to answer the question—it’s gone until the timer releases it again.”
The teacher nodded her head, stood up, and went to the board. Elena opened her social studies notebook and aimed her pen at the blank page, ready for class to begin finally, but Ms. White said, “Okay, everyone, let’s share. Where have you found Stashes around town? I’ll start. There’s one in the frozen foods section at Ludlum’s Grocery Store.” She wrote this on the board, while hands shot up all over the room.
Elena groaned. Oliver turned toward her, frowning.
“I’d like to, you know, learn something,” she whispered across the girl between them, Marley Ho, who was furiously writing down every place on the board.
Oliver hissed, “Yeah, so would I,” before facing front again.
Before lunch, Elena met Harper at her locker, like usual; but Harper flew right past Elena, eyes down on her phone.
“Not you, too,” Elena shouted, her hands balled up in frustration.
Harper swung around, but she didn’t put her phone away. “‘Me, too,’ what?”
“That stupid game.” Elena’s finger jabbed toward Harper’s hand.
Taking a step toward Elena, Harper glanced down at her phone. “Yeah, and?”
“You hate hockey. It’s one of the first things we bonded over. We’re, like, the only two girls in North Pole who can’t stand stinking hockey.”
“That hasn’t changed.” Harper took a quick glance at her phone, realized what she was doing, and then stared intently at Elena. “I like to win. You know that. Remember the Sugarplum Sweethearts?” Harper had entered the town beauty queen competition two years in a row, and never made it past the first round. Elena had consoled her friend both times with under-baked chocolate chip cookies made from store-bought dough—their favorite.
“True, but why even bother entering? It’s not like you need the money. You can buy your own plane ticket, and you don’t even shop at Prince’s. What are you going to do with a two-hundred-dollar gift card to their store?”
“Flush it down the toilet?” Harper jumped as her phone buzzed. “There’s one in the girls’ bathroom!” she hissed, eyes darting around, making sure no one else had heard her.
Elena trailed into the bathroom after her friend. Harper had never moved this fast in her life. Elena was the runner.
Harper skidded to a stop near the sinks and pressed a few buttons on her phone. “How many hat tricks did Stash get during his rookie year?” Looking somewhere between panicked and utterly confounded, she frowned in the mirror at Elena. “I hate it when they ask about stats. I never know any of them. And you only have twenty seconds to answer.”
“It’s four,” said Elena.
Harper’s mouth dropped open as she typed the answer and pressed enter. A few seconds later, she said, “Hmph.”
“I got it right?”
“Yeah,” said Harper. “How the hell did you know that?”
“My parents own a sporting goods store. You pick things up.”
Elena watched her friend in the mirror. Harper’s eyes were still on her phone. “You should play this game,” Harper said.
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious. You know loads about Stash and town history and gossip. There are some North Pole-centric questions, too.” Harper glanced up at Elena, her eyes wide. “You could win the tickets. For spring break.”
“Ugh.” It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t occurred to her. Florida sounded so, so good to her right now. A fun spring break, lying on the beach with her best friend, would be amazing.
“You’re interested.”
“No, I’m not.” Elena tucked her long, wavy hair behind her ears, avoiding Harper’s gaze in the mirror. “It’s a ridiculous game, and you shouldn’t be playing it because the Princes are vile.”
“But I want to play it.”
“Again,” said Elena, eyes now on Harper, “why? You don’t need the money. You don’t want a Stan Stashiuk jersey.”
Harper blushed slightly.
And Elena caught on. Oh. Of course. It wasn’t the game at all. “It’s not about Stash, is it? Or the money.”
Harper shook her head.
“What’s it about, then?” But the answer was obvious. She and Harper had been best friends, inseparable best friends, for five years. Harper had a crush. “You like someone.”
Harper’s jaw dropped. “How did you—?”
“I can tell.” Elena gazed into her best friend’s eyes like a fortuneteller, searching for more information. “You like…someone having something to do with Stash Grab…someone you don’t want me to know about.” She paused. “Ugh. It’s Oliver Prince.” She mimed vomiting.
“No, it’s not,” said Harper.
“Please. Who else could it be?” Of course Elena’s best friend liked the bane of her existence. The universe was just that cruel.
Harper opened her mouth to protest further, but then her shoulders slumped. “Okay, yeah. It’s him.”
“I know you better than anyone.” Elena’s shoulders sank. “I can tell when you have a crush. Why didn’t you tell me?” They told each other everything
. Or, they used to.
Harper opened her mouth again, but Elena stopped her. “It’s because of the feud thing, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” said Harper, quickly.
Elena squinted. There was still more Harper wasn’t saying. “Does he like you?”
Harper sighed, staring at the florescent light above her. “I thought so. If you had asked me a few weeks ago, I would’ve said yes.”
“This has been going on for a few weeks?”
“Since the ski trip over break. Or really, stuff happened while on the trip, but ever since then—” Now Harper actually did start crying.
Harper had never been this broken up over a guy, and there had been a lot of guys. It always inspired the heck out of Elena to see how tough Harper was around her various boyfriends, and how cool. She was the kind of girl who stayed friends with every one of her exes, which was probably some form of self-preservation, since they lived in such a small town. When things went south between Harper and one of her boyfriends, they had a mature discussion over lattes at Santabucks and then went their separate ways. There were no tears. There was no yelling. There was no drama.
Elena wrapped her friend in a massive bear hug. “Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve been commiserating for weeks over this jerk. Imagine all the pints of ice cream we could’ve consumed. So much wasted ice cream time.” She held Harper at arm’s length. “Were you afraid of making me feel bad? Because of the feud?”
Harper nodded. “That’s totally why.”
Elena peered at her again, trying to read Harper. She was still hiding something. But since Elena hadn’t yet said anything to her about how Chestnut’s was about to go under, she couldn’t judge Harper’s need for some privacy. “You know you can tell me anything.”
Any Boy but You (North Pole, Minnesota) Page 3
