Page 3 of Foolish Games

“It was on the cheek,” he points out.

“And?” I ask. “I don’t kiss Jerome every time I say goodbye.”

Jerome stammers something about a tardy and slips past us and into the classroom. He could play the stereotypical nerd in every teen movie and show, the Urkel with glasses and a nervous habit of pushing them up, who’s never had a girlfriend in his life because he freezes up whenever anyone of the opposite sex speaks to him. For the first six months that I was dating his best friend, he could barely look me in the eye. Now we’re friends, but he still gets flustered at the mention of so much as a kiss.

I feel bad for embarrassing him, since he’s a total sweetie in addition to being the second-smartest boy in school after my boyfriend.

“I told you, there’s nothing going on between Krissy and I,” Chaz says in his overly-patient tone, like he’s tired of indulging my insecurities, even though I’ve only brought it up a few times before.

“I know that,” I say. “I trust you. Her, not so much.”

“Come on, Viv,” he says. “Don’t make a big deal out of nothing. You’re imagining things. She’s not into me, and even if she was, you have nothing to be jealous of. I’m into you.”

He takes my hand and pulls me in to plant a kiss on my lips, and my irritation melts. How can I stay mad at a guy who says things like that?

two

#1 at the Box Office: Cop Land

Sebastian Swift

“Yo, what’s up, Ms. P?” I ask, dropping into the chair across from the guidance counselor. “You needed to see me? I know a scout’s not sniffing around here asking to see my transcript. Coach would have told me.”

“Actually, it is about your transcript,” she says, circling the desk on her high heels to close the door behind me. “But not a scout.”

I drop my head back and groan. “Please don’t tell me I have to take another hard class. It’s senior year, and I have football.”

“I am aware,” she says, smiling as she minces back around her desk to sit across from me. She opens a folder and picks up a sheet of paper. “Don’t worry, though. We’re not changing your schedule. Your coach just thought maybe you could use a little extra help in a few core classes, so I’ve signed you up for tutoring. You’ll meet in the library twice a week during your study hall, starting tomorrow.”

“But… I go to the gym during study hall,” I protest. “That’s when I get extra time on the weights.”

“And how’s that schedule worked out for you?”

“Great,” I say, cracking a smile. “Look at these guns.”

I curl my arm, pulling up the sleeve of my grey t-shirt so she can see my bicep swell when I flex.

“Very impressive,” she agrees. “Which tells me you can do anything you put your mind to. Remember when you came in here as a freshman, not a scrap of meat on your bones?”

“I don’t need tutoring,” I assure her, ignoring her comment. “I’ll study when I get home. Honest, I will.”

“Just give this a shot,” she says. “Nine weeks, and if it isn’t helping, you can quit. But I’m sure you’ll be as successful at this as you are on the field. And we need to make sure you stay on the field, don’t we? Can’t have Willow Heights whipping our tails again this year.”

She tries to soften the blow with a wink and a grin, but my stomach is churning.

“But tutoring is for…”

I don’t finish the sentence. I don’t have to.

Everyone already thinks I’m stupid. They already make fun of me. This will only make it a hundred times worse, and Ms. Peterson knows that. I can tell from the sympathy in her smile, the way she’s trying to make it seem like no big deal. But it is a big deal. The next step is remedial classes, and everyone treats those kids like garbage. I know because I’ve had to kick a few asses when I caught some dickwads making fun of my sister.

They’re the stupid ones. If they had any brains, they’d know better than to mess with Sebastian Swift’s family. Not to mention my sister isn’t dumb at all. She’s fucking brilliant. She’s just not wired for sitting in a desk and memorizing shit and spitting it back out like a robot. None of us are, but she’s just defiant enough to refuse to conform, and just apathetic enough to lack any motivation to please people who try to make her.

“It’s for students who need a little help focusing,” Ms. Peterson says gently. “Just like you focused on the weights to get those muscles. Now we need you to use that same focus for your grades. If they slip, Coach will be required to bench you, and we can’t have our star sitting out a game. Which is why we’re all here to give you as much support as we can, in whatever way we can.”

“Can’t I just sleep with his daughter and blackmail him?” I ask. “Or you? You could change my grade, right?”

“Sebastian,” she scolds. “You most certainly are not getting out of this by sleeping with anyone.”

---