Page 99 of The Venom We Bleed

Minutes later, I pull into the school’s student parking lot and spot Mads’ familiar head of white-blonde hair. She's waiting on the sidewalk near the path that leads around the school to the football field. Parking the truck towards the back, I hop out and head in her direction. Her eyes widen as she watches me approach.

“What the hell happened to you?” she says.

I frown and follow the direction of her eyes. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

“That looks like blood on your jeans,” she states. “Did you get into a fight?”

I sigh. “It’s not mine,” I say.

She narrows her eyes on me. “Somehow, that’s not reassuring.” Mads shakes her head. “You can’t show up to the game like that.”

The sweat cooling on the back of my neck makes the tendrils of my hair stick to my skin. I blow a lock out of my face andfrown. “I don’t have anything else to wear.” And I’m certainly not putting on that stupid cheerleading uniform Gio left for me. I’d burn the stupid thing before giving them the satisfaction.

Mads reaches out and grabs my hand. Looping the strap of her camera over her neck, she pulls me in the direction of the building. “I’ve got some extra clothes in my locker,” she tells me. “You can borrow them.”

I eye her much shorter frame with doubt, but let her pull me along anyway. In hindsight, with how much the Scorpion Kings have been hovering, I wouldn’t put it past them to lose their shit over a little blood. Not that I care how they’ll react. Nope. Not at all. But it’s easier on me when I don’t have to defend myself.

That’swhy I’m letting Mads do this or so I tell myself.

39

JULIET

The bleachers on the home side of the football field are filled with a sea of indigo blue and white. Mads and I stand to the side as a raucous group of guys with their shirts off and the same colors painted on their bodies barrels past, screaming, “Fuck the Spears!” My lips twitch in amusement. Tonight, the Silverwood Scorpions are facing off against my old school, the Silverwood Spears.

Even before my family lost their prestige and money, I never cared for football or school sports. My mother had insisted I be on the cheerleading squad for two reasons—it would look good on college transcripts to be involved in school events, and more importantly to her, it would keep me from getting fat. I glance down at my current body, covered in a pair of longer boy’s basketball shorts and an old jersey with the number ‘35’ stamped on it.

Mads told me it was her ex-boyfriend’s football jersey. I didn’t really care then, but now I wonder why she’d bother to keep the jersey of the guy who supposedly made a sex tape of her for the whole school. I side-eye her as she waits for another group to bypass us up the bleachers before she waves for me to follow her.

“Come on, I have to head down to the field,” she says.

Without a word, I glance out to the green below and trail after her. I’ve neither seen nor heard from the guys since this afternoon and it feels odd. I’d been excited by the prospect of being away from them, but now it’s starting to worry me. It’s difficult to go from being with three people twenty-four-seven to not talking to them for several hours.

Mads and I make our way down the main part of the bleachers to the field below. Wet grass gets crushed beneath our sneakers as we stop and she lifts her camera, snapping a few shots of the students filling the stands. Across from our side, the silver and white colors of Silverwood Prep shine like a beacon under the field spotlights. I close my arms around myself and try to focus on anything but looking in that direction. Irritation creeps along the back of my neck and down my spine. My skin feels stretched over bones that are too big. My stomach rolls.

Mads moves forward, striding down the length of the field towards the big banner as the speakers crackle to life with the team announcements. I watch as Mads gets to her knee and aims her camera. Music plays, nearly drowning out the roar of the crowd. It’s too loud.

The paper banner with the words “Silverwood Scorpions” scrawled across it in big, block letters rips in half as the team comes sailing onto the field. The response from the bleachers at our backs is deafening. I wince.

Looking up, I scan the seats, noting the teachers who have arrived and the parents with their arms laden down with popcorn and drinks from the concessions. There are little kids too—dozens of them, all dressed in jackets and some even with their faces painted to represent the Public school. My breath comes out in little white puffs in front of my face, and I wish I’d thought to bring a jacket.

“Alright.” Mads stands up. “I think I got enough for the paper. Let’s head up and take our seats. I’ll take a few more from the front row."

Thank fuck. I pivot back towards the bleachers when Mads reaches out and stops me. She points behind us and I follow the line of her finger. Three bodies separate away from where the team is gathered and head in our direction. I’d know those bodies anywhere. I watch as Nolan, Lex, and Gio approach.

Nolan is the first to take off his helmet, followed by the others, but Gio is the first to speak. “Hey, where’s the outfit I left you?” he asks.

Mads shoots me a look that I ignore. “I’m not a cheerleader anymore, dipshit,” I say. “And I’m not your doll.”

Gio continues to frown at the jersey. He reaches for me as if he means to tug at it and I easily dodge him, sliding around Mads to her other side. “I don’t like it,” he snaps. “Take it off.”

“No!” Even if I wanted to, there’s no way I’m undressing in front of more than half of the school. I can feel sharp gazes on the back of my neck anyway and it sends tingles up and down my spine. I don’t care what they think of me but I’m tired of feeling like I’m trapped under a microscope every second of the day.

Gio reaches down, gripping the hem of his own. “If you wanted to wear a fucking jersey?—”

Just before he can pull it off, Nolan reaches out and smacks him upside the head. “Keep your fucking clothes on, asshole.”

Gio lets go of his jersey but narrows his eyes on me. “Whose fucking jersey is that anyway?” he demands.

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