Page 57 of Beautiful Defiance

19

LEIGH

On Monday, it’s back to the status quo at school. I stay out of Seven’s way until the last bell rings. Then I trudge to his football practice, not looking forward to sitting on my duff out in the cold and on metal bleachers wet from the rain.

At the gate to the football field, I hitch my backpack higher on my shoulder, tug the hood of my jacket over my head, and open my umbrella.

This girl is going incognito.

I find a semi-dry spot on the bleachers, wipe off any leftover wetness with my sleeve, and sit. The boys are practicing on the field. The cheerleaders are in the gym. Hannah avoids me like I have a contagious disease, but her avoidance doesn’t stop her from openly glaring at me during lunch.

We have the same lunch period. She sits at the table reserved for cheerleaders. In front and behind their table is half the football team. The other half has the other lunch period. Lucky me, Seven also has the same lunch period.

He ignores me too. Except he doesn’t glare or stare or do anything that resembles interest or hate. Not toward me anyway, but Ginger? He goes over to the cheerleaders’ table and talks to her. Makes her laugh. Has her touching his arm in this intimate way that has me wanting to rush over and yank out her hair.

Him showering her with attention has me disappointed and hurting after what happened between us this weekend. But I don’t forget my promise to help him with his parents’ situation. I called Maddox and left a message.

He hasn’t returned my call, and I’m not surprised. He’s probably taking part in an orgy of epic proportions, cutting off more guys’ dicks who dare mess with him and his family, or he’s adding more million-dollar sportscars to his collection.

I rest my elbows on my knees, and setting my chin in my palm, I blow out a breath. Being right sucks. I’m a new toy, and that’s why Seven swindled me into giving him a piece of my heart when I told him of my parents and life back home in Oakland.

I should regret telling him those personal things. Or letting him see and kiss on my scars. Or let what he did mean something to me; that gets my heart pitter-pattering every time I think of us talking and touching while rain pitter-patters on the skylight. But I have no regrets. And what he did and said means the world to me.

The wind picks up, and I fold into myself and hold the umbrella closer to my head. A shrill ringing cuts into the silence. I hold on to the umbrella handle with one hand and fumble in my backpack for my phone with the other.

I glance at the screen. It’s not Maddox. The call is from an unknown number. What if it’s Eleanor? What if something happened to Thomas?

I answer. “Hello?”

“Leigh?”

“Um, yes, who is this?”

“Leigh, it’s me, Henry.”

Growling, I hang up on him.

He calls right back, again and again. After the fourth time and Seven’s coach glowering at me, I pick up the call.

“What do you want, Henry?”

“Look, Leigh, I’m sorry if I hurt you. I feel bad.”

“You’re apologizing because you feel bad? I came down with pneumonia from swallowing pool water. Was admitted overnight.”

“Shit. Send me the bill.”

One problem out of the way.

“Again, what do you want?”

“To ask a favor. I’ll understand if you say no. You didn’t exactly accept my apology.”

He gets me on a technicality, and now I’m the one feeling guilty? “Apology accepted,” I begrudgingly tell him.

“Thank God. It was all I thought about, Leigh. You could have died.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

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