The Quarterback's Toy

Summer always smelled different in our neighborhood.

With someone grilling cheap hotdogs two houses away and stuff, I had always liked summer holidays, but not for the reasons most kids did.

Other teenagers my age were out doing things like pool parties, beach trips, and loud extrovert gatherings—I spent most of my summers the way I spent the rest of my year: inside my room with a book pressed against my nose.

And honestly? I liked it that way.

My name is Reet Cole, and on that particular summer morning, I woke up seventeen years old.

My mom was already up when I shuffled into the kitchen that morning, with my hair still messy and my brain only half awake.

Our small apartment smelled like toasted bread and chai—her usual breakfast combination that came from some strange fusion of her New York upbringing and my dad’s Indian roots.

The kitchen was tiny like two steps from the counter and you were already at the fridge. But somehow it always felt warm in a way that bigger houses never did.

Mom glanced up from the stove with a smile. “There she is…my birthday girl.”

I groaned and dropped into the chair at the small round table. “Mom, please don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?” she asked innocently.

“Like I'm five.”

“You’ll always be five to me.” she shrugged.

Dad chuckled from behind his newspaper.

He worked long hours, and most mornings I only saw him for a few minutes before he rushed out the door, with his tie crooked and coffee half finished.

But he looked relaxed today.

“You ready for your big day?” he asked.

I squinted at him. “Define big.”

He lowered the newspaper slowly. “Well… seventeen is kind of a big deal.”

“Not really.”

Mom placed a plate of toast in front of me.

“Eat before you start arguing.”

I grabbed a piece automatically, though my eyes had already drifted back to Dad.

“You remember your promise, right?”

His eyebrows lifted. “My promise?”

“Yes.” I leaned forward. “The bike.”

Mom smirked quietly into her tea and Dad scratched the back of his neck. “About that…”

I narrowed my eyes. “Dad…”

“No, no—listen,” he said quickly. “I didn’t forget.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t.”

“You absolutely did.”

He raised both hands defensively. “I was just… delayed.”

“That’s called forgetting.”

Mom laughed softly. “Reet.”

Dad leaned forward on the table, his voice lowering slightly like he was about to reveal some secret. “Tell you what,” he said.

I paused mid-bite.

“Go to my office today.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Come by this afternoon,” he continued. “After lunch maybe. I’ll give you the bike there.”

My brain needed a second to process that.

“You’re serious?”

“Completely.”

“Like… an actual bike?”

He raised an eyebrow. “No, a cardboard bike.”

I gasped dramatically. “You wound me.”

Dad laughed and reached over to ruffle my hair. “Happy birthday, kid.”

I smiled.

By early afternoon the heat had settled over the neighborhood like a heavy blanket. I had tied my hair into a loose ponytail and slung my small backpack over one shoulder before stepping outside.

Seventeen—it felt like the day was excited for me.

But I still felt like the same awkward girl who preferred libraries over parties.

I walked down the sidewalk, already mentally picturing the bike in colors and walked halfway down the street.

“Well, well, If it isn’t the neighborhood’s genius.”

I turned to see Kevin, my neighbor. He was leaning against the mailbox across the street with a crooked grin.

We're the same in age but he goes to a different school. He's annoying and somehow always appearing exactly when I least wanted to see him.

He pushed himself off the mailbox and jogged over. “You look thrilled to see me,” he said.

I crossed my arms. “I was having a peaceful day before you showed up.”

“That's harsh.”

“You deserve it.”

Kevin tilted his head. “Where are you going all dressed up like that?”

I glanced down at my baggy jeans and t-shirt. “This is dressed up?”

“For you? Yeah.”

I rolled my eyes. “Go away.”

He gasped dramatically. “On your birthday?”

I froze. “…How do you know it’s my birthday?”

Kevin looked offended. “Reet, we’ve lived across the street from each other for eight years.”

“That doesn’t mean you remember my birthday.”

“I remember important things.”

“Like ways to annoy me.”

“That too.”

I tried to walk past him but he stepped into my path immediately.

“Seriously though,” he said. “Where are you going?”

“To my dad’s office.”

Kevin’s eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

“He promised me a bike.”

His grin widened. “A nerd on a bike.”

“I will run you over with it.”

“I’d like to see you try.” I started walking again.

He walked backwards in front of me.

“You’re seventeen now.”

“Kevin.”

“Yes?”

“Move.”

He laughed and finally stepped aside.

“Happy birthday, Reet.”

I paused.

He said it casually, but there was something genuine in his voice that caught me off guard.

“…Thanks.”

“Try not to crash the bike.”

He saluted me lazily before heading back toward his house.

I shook my head and continued walking.

Sometimes Kevin was unbearable but sometimes, he was oddly entertaining.

The office building came into view about fifteen minutes later.

The large glass front reflected the bright sunlight, and above the entrance hung a bold banner.

ZENTRO ENTERPRISES.

Dad always said the company handled logistics and distribution. I never fully understood what that meant, but it sounded important.

I was just about to walk toward the entrance when I caught sight of Dylan Carter leaning against the wall with a cigarette between his lips.

Even from a distance he looked exactly the same as he did at school—untouchable, confident, and completely out of place among normal people.

He wore dark jeans and a black shirt, his sleeves rolled slightly up his arms. He looked relaxed like the entire world was beneath him and it actually is.

Dylan Carter was the popular exclusive guy everywhere he went.

Which meant that I absolutely did not want him seeing me.

So I turned my face away quickly and lowered my head slightly, adjusting my backpack strap like it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

My brain briefly wondered what he was doing here but after a second, I shrugged it off.

Not my business—I had a bike waiting for me.

I stepped closer toward the building and noticed people gathering near the entrance.

What was going on?

“Move back!” Someone shouted.

My heart skipped.

Then I heard sirens—Police cars were parked in front of the building and officers stood near the entrance.

A strange unease crept into my chest as I took another step forward.

The crowd shifted slightly and suddenly I could see the doorway clearly as two police officers emerged from the building dragging someone between them.

My brain didn’t understand what I was seeing at first.

Because It took a horrible second before I saw my father stumble between them, his wrists locked in handcuffs as the officers pulled him down the steps.

My breath hitched. “Dad?”