Page 64 of Offside Angel

I pull out my phone and text Taylor. You’re going to be late.

One minute away, she responds immediately.

Yeah, right. She’d text that whether she was actually one minute away or still standing in line at the coffee shop.

I’m going to tell Jordan where you’ve been. She’ll be so disappointed.

The three dots appear and then: Snitches get stitches, Mimi.

Jordan is the only trainer at the gym that Taylor hasn’t been able to woo into post-class protein shakes at the bar. Taylor has a weird obsession with proving that she’s every trainer’s favorite client. Something about paying for their time bothers her, but that’s for Taylor and her therapist to work through. The fact remains that Jordan is intense about punctuality and thinks caffeine is an addictive drug. Taylor is definitely not her favorite client.

I drop my phone in my bag and dig around for the key to my locker. After around the twelfth time I showed up to class without my gloves, Taylor rented us both permanent lockers. I resisted the handout, but I have to admit it’s been nice.

I’m debating splashing some water on myself before I head out so Taylor will think I’ve been here long enough to work up a sweat when I pull my locker open and freeze.

I blink, trying to decide if I’m seeing what I’m actually seeing.

Red. Everywhere.

It’s coating the walls of my locker, dripping from my gloves.

Blood.

No.

I shake my head, trying to logic this away. It can’t be blood. Why would there be blood in my locker?

I lean in and I can smell it—not the metallic tang of blood, but something… fruity.

I swipe a trembling finger across the sludge at the front of the locker. It’s thick and cold and—I bring it to my nose—strawberry-flavored.

Someone put jelly in my locker?

“What the fuck?” I mutter, carefully pulling my gloves out. They’re absolutely slathered in jelly. This wasn’t an accidental jar explosion. Someone meticulously painted strawberry jelly onto every inch of my gloves.

I carry them over to the sink and do my best to wipe the jelly away with a towel before I start rinsing it down the drain.

The whole time, my heart is thundering in my chest.

It’s just jelly.

My hands are shaking.

It’s just jelly.

I’m trying to talk myself back from the ledge my brain is galloping towards when the locker room door beeps and then careens open.

“I still have three minutes before I’m late!” Taylor screeches. “I can make it!”

Screw the napkins and the gym’s pipes—I blast the water and start scraping the jelly down the drain as fast as I can.

“I might pee my pants during class because I absolutely chugged my iced latte on the way here, but I made it!” Taylor skids to a stop in front of her locker… which is right next to mine.

My locker is like a red, gaping mouth next to Taylor, but she’s so busy peeling off layers that she doesn’t notice.

I whirl around and slam my locker closed just as her head pops through the neckhole of a spandex tank top. She looks me over carefully. “You look pale.”

“No, I don’t.”

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