The Bro Code (Wattpad Books Edition)

RULE NUMBER 1: BROS* BEFORE HOES.

*Any bro shalt be referred to only as "bro**," "dude," "man," "amigo," or "homie." A bro is never a "peeps," "pal," or "stand-up guy." A bro shalt be a bro forever until the end of time.

** "Brother" may be used in some circumstances. Never ironically.

Contrary to what you might have heard, I didn't sleep with Eliza O'Connor. Did I want to? Have you seen her? Could I have? Have you seen me? But I didn't, even though people will tell you that I did, because I attend high school with a bunch of world-class trolls. They'll regale you with other gossip about me too, some of which is true, like the prank I pulled on Mr. Hoover (the purple in his hair wouldn't come out for a week), and most of it is somewhat true, like I once picked up a girl by walking up to her by the concession stand at a football game and saying "No." (I actually said, "No, we haven't gone out before, and I vote we change that.") A few of the stories are definitely not true. And me sleeping with Eliza O'Connor is one of them.

Some dudes will claim I'm the one who started the rumor. I wish I had—it'd have way better details than whatever version you heard. If you find out who did, hit me up, tell them to meet me out back where we can handle this like grown-ups. I do know how it started—not at Jeff Karvotsky's party, like everyone thinks. It really began a few months earlier, as most rumors do: with a bunch of stupidly hot people eating pizza.

It was a Wednesday afternoon and I played air hockey in Straight Cheese 'n' Pizza with half of the senior class, soaking up our last first day of school together. We'd ordered fifteen greasy pizzas and unlimited soda. Our haul was scattered across the countertop bar, pushed-together wooden tables, and a few booths lining the dining room, near the arcade games and infamous Chef Pizzeria. Chef happened to be a life-sized copper statue of a guy in a fancy hat tossing a pizza in the air. And yes, he was absolutely the crowning glory of a Cassidy High School senior prank every single spring. (Most recently, he'd been taken to our school's roof and dressed up in a mustache and wig to look like our principal.)

Cassidy High, of course, was the high school in North Cassidy, Massachusetts. It was the kind of school where the science team got more funding than football, and there were just enough kids for us to avoid being a regional high school. My classmates and I knew everything about each other, from who farted in music class back in third grade to who farted in biology class this morning. North Cassidy was where we'd all get married, stay forever, and then our kids would be friends too. Except me—I was holding out for a soccer scholarship, but that was a long shot anyway (pun intended).

"Yo, Nick! I want to hear that ghost story again," Robert Maxin, the only senior on the soccer team who had never kissed anyone, called to me.

"Promise not to pee your pants this time?" I said.

Robert sat on a bar stool at the counter and had spun around to face the rest of us. He held a slice of pepperoni that was so greasy it dripped onto his lap. He wiped it, staining the jeans his mom had just bought him. Robert was an obvious choice for this year's 'best dressed' yearbook superlative.

I winked at the girl on the bar stool beside him: Hannah Green, the brunette beauty, and one of the few cheerleaders at Cassidy High with straight As. Robert wanted me to tell the ghost story (about how our high school was haunted and one of the teachers turned into a vampire at night) as a last-ditch effort to keep her sitting next to him, but I was occupied with trying to keep my undefeated air hockey record.

Austin Banks, the man, the myth, the legend, and part of our bro trio, lasered the air puck at my goal like this was the most important game of his life. It wasn't, but Austin always played that way.

"Trying to hit a man when he's distracted . . ." I said. My shot glided back with expert spin. Before Austin could register what had happened, the puck clanged sweetly into his metal goal.