“You’re a kid. I’m almost a teenager.” I saw him pointing at his chest out of the corner of my eye.
“You’re not almost a teen, you’re like ten, Ford.”
“I’ll be eleven in a few months,” he argued back, stepping closer to my side of the field. Our tracks were nearly matching, our strides too. Even though he was much taller.
“Connor will be eleven sooner than you.” I wasn’t sure why I said it. It didn’t matter, and it wasn’t like the two of them were in a competition. I just hated how bossy and prideful he got over being older. It drove me nuts. Especially when he didn’t even act his age half the time. I acted older and definitely more mature.
Ford stared ahead, not saying anything until finally his shoulder bumped mine but not in a friendly way. “And how old are you, Royce, not even ten years old yet.”
“I’m—”
He sneered, getting closer to my face. “But it really doesn’t matter, does it? Because you could be older, or younger, like Ellie and Taryn, it wouldn’t make a difference because of who your parents are.”
I stopped walking, freezing in place as tears fought for a way to emerge.
“What difference does it make who my parents are? Your mom and mine are best friends; we see each other more than even the other kids do. We’ve had more sleepovers, more family outings, more vacations. Why are you so mean to me?”
A hiccup nearly had my voice cracking, but I slammed my mouth closed as my body shook with rage. Connor was the nice one, the one who was always kind, always considerate, always making sure Ford wasn’t being a jerk.
Snow fell against Ford’s lashes, his hazel eyes moved, as if he were searching for something on my face.
“My dad was the president before yours. My grandpa started this club. My mom was raised in it. By rights, it should fall to me, but because your dad runs it, it’s not going to stay in the Stone family.”
My eyes narrowed in frustration as I shouldered past him, moving closer to the door. “You’re not the Stone family. You’re the Ryan family, and you’re an idiot. My dad was raised by your grandpa, we’re practically cousins, you moron.”
We were nearly to the door when Ford let out a scoff. “We are not cousins.”
I sneered back, “I said practically.”
His cheeks flushed red as he shook his head, then pulled open the door to the back of the club. Heat rushed to my face as we made our way into the separate kitchen area, where just a washer and dryer were. The door leading into the main part of the kitchen was closed, so no one saw us enter.
I kicked off my boots and slid out of my jacket; Ford did too.
“Do you think they’re okay?” I asked, hoping he would be nice for once with his reply.
He shrugged, then quickly moved to the door, watching through the crack to see if it was clear.
Once it was, we moved silently to the pantry.
The small light flickered on, and then Ford pulled on the cellar door.
“I should have gone with them,” Ford murmured from ahead of me. I crossed my arms over my chest to ward off the chill of the cold room. I was in my socks, which felt like nothing at all because of the cold basement floor.
“Well, I needed help pulling the door.”
Ford scoffed, but I let it go. He could make fun of me all he wanted, but, deep down, he knew I was right.
We were both at the small wooden hatch, staring down at it. Ford moved to a crouch and began pulling, but the door wouldn’t budge.
He glanced at me once, and then pulled again, groaning as he pulled yet again, but nothing happened. Breathing heavily, he sat next to the hatch when suddenly there was knocking from underneath it and a muffled yell from Connor.
“You guys up there?” I managed to make out from Connor yelling.
I rushed to place my mouth down near the door. “We’re here!”
Ford was right next to me, our faces merely inches apart. “We can’t pull it, can you try shoving your shoulder up against it?”
We were both breathing heavily waiting for Connor to reply.