Page 50 of Wicked Dreams

A cheerleader next to her, in front of Liam, shoots her a look and leans away. Her nose wrinkles, as if Margo smells, and I chuckle.

I was actually starting to like her for a second there. A spark of the old Margo had come through, and the innocent child in me had risen to her call.

For a while, we were happy, carefree kids. Inseparable, even.

Imagine that, knowing how far we’ve come.

Mr. McGuire starts explaining a new formula. We did this same exact thing the week prior, so I zone out and spend the rest of class staring at the back of her head.

What’s going on in that little brain of hers? What will the next bomb she’ll drop be?

A game. Playing games with her is almost as fun as hockey. Kiss her and see when she’ll give in to me. Kiss her enemy and wait for her flinch. Fuck her where?—

“Dude.” Liam jostles my arm. “Class is over.”

I shake my head, banishing thoughts. Margo is gone, as is half the class. Even Mr. McGuire has packed up and left the room, leaving Liam and I alone.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I get up, taking the textbook with me.

“Because…”

I raise my eyebrow. “Spit it out, why don’t you.”

He groans. “Don’t punch me for this shit, okay? But what’s your issue?”

“With Margo?”

He throws up his hands. “You’re on a first-name basis with her? That’s fucked up, man. You won’t even tell us why you hate her so much.”

Irrational possessiveness overtakes me. The fact that he wants to know about Margo?Bad. He shouldn’t even be looking at her, much less saying her name.

Wait. He didn’t say her name.

But he implied it.

I glower at him. All my secrets surrounding Margo are locked up tight. There is no risk of them slipping out—but I might deck my best friend.

Liam and I are the fighters of our group. We’re the two with the most friction and the most likely to end up playing a game of testosterone chicken. We’re also too reckless to get out of the way when we should… which means we crash more often than not.

Our other two friends, Eli and Theo, balance us out.

But seeing as they’re not here, and I’m itching for a fight, I throw back my shoulders. “I don’t need to tell youwhy.”

“You can’t fight every battle on your own.”

“What?” I square up to him in the hallway.

Even though it’s packed and we’re between periods, students automatically veer around us without making contact.

Liam and I are an even match. Coach sometimes puts us on opposite teams for practice to keep things fair. Although since we play on the same line, we do practicetogether. Scrimmages or not.

I’m a center, Liam is a left wing. Eli is our right wing, and Theo plays left defense. When we’re all on the same page—together with Ian, Theo’s partner on defense—it’s magic.

But right now, I want to throttle him.

He’s almost the same height as me—an inch shorter, if that. Around the same build. If not for the wildly different features, people might think we’re related. His hair light, mine dark. His skin golden to my paler complexion. Hazel eyes contrasting my blue.

Minus the fact that I play hockey better than him, we could be carbon copies.

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