Page 55 of Self Studies

A ball whizzed past us. Alexa grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the playing field.

“It’s not that big a deal. Just tell him yes,” she said, shaking me.

I pulled out of her grip and rubbed my temple. No, I needed to stop. I knew Beryl, and he wouldn’t kill anyone. He needed someone to believe in him like he believed in me. At the very least, he deserved a chance to explain.

Alexa put a hand on her hip and eyed me. “Fuck’n dingbat.”

I hugged myself and focused. “Sorry, kickball?”

Alexa gave me a funny look but stopped talking about Ram and explained the game.

An hour later, I pretty much hated the world. I could barely stand, and I’d yet to time my movements well enough to kick the ball. It didn’t matter what position they put me in; the random nature of the sport made it hard for me to keep track of.

“Catch it!” Someone yelled at me.

I looked up at the sky and put my arms in the air. Moments later, the big red plastic ball flew from my left and nailed me in the chin. I toppled backward, landing hard on my butt. My teeth cut through my tongue and lip, neither of which I remembered putting between my teeth. The metallic tang of blood filled my mouth.

The snap of pictures being taken reminded me of how horrible I’d felt before Metaphysics. My ‘teammates’ scooped up the ball and threw it fruitlessly back toward the middle of the dirt playing field.

“How are you possibly this useless?” A familiar nasally voice asked.

With her phone still pointed at me, I recognized one of the Dealership. Before I could even try to answer, Ram knelt at my side. He cupped my cheek, and I stiffly pulled away.

“Now, is that any way to treat your future lover?” Ram asked, smiling at me.

Before I could respond, Beryl’s fist wiped the smile off Ram’s face. The sound of flesh hitting flesh made me look away.

“Get away from her,” Beryl snarled.

Despite my bruised butt, I scrambled away from the violence. Beryl took two steps to stand between Ram and me, his fist clenched.

A wad of spit and blood hit the dirt, and Ram stood. “Really? You want to pick a fight with me?”

“I really don’t,” Beryl answered Ram’s rhetorical question. “Pretty sure you live on protein shakes and violence.”

Ram punched his open palm and snarled.

“I’m keeping the peace,” Beryl said, holding his hand out. “It’s pretty clear Dot didn’t want your help.”

Ram cracked his neck. “She doesn’t know what she wants.” He took a step toward Beryl.

Before anything could happen, a shrill whistle cut through the air. Coach Robin appeared from the far side of the playing field. Her sharp gaze assessed the scene.

“Ram, go write up your report.” She blew her whistle again. “Mercedes!”

I hadn’t noticed the redhead until she obediently came to Coach Robin’s side.

Coach Robin jerked her head toward Ram. “Go with him and then take over his responsibilities as team captain.”

“I can’t be demoted,” Ram yelled, turning from Beryl.

“There’s no ‘I’ in team,” Coach Robin scowled. “You want to stay a team captain; you can write me a three-page essay on why I had to remind you of that. If I believe you wrote it and not one of your girls, we can talk.”

Ram punched his palm again, turning to Beryl. He glared, his cold eyes promising retribution. I held my breath, but Beryl, hand still hovering in front of him, shrugged.

“Gaha,” Ram yelled. His entire body shook with rage before he stormed off.

I remembered to breathe. Slowly, Beryl knelt and wrapped an arm around my waist to help me up.

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