Page 29 of Love Me Steadfast
“But I’m supposed to do it online.” I nod at the mostly blank document on the screen.
“Mrs. McGinley said paper is fine,” she replies with a shrug.
My neck heats. “You asked her?”
“Yeah. I thought…it would be easier for you.”
I huff a breath through my nose. “I’m not stupid.”
A little wrinkle forms on her forehead. “Of course you’re not.”
I don’t like the idea of Charlotte talking to Mrs. McGinley behind my back. Suddenly, I don’t like the idea of sitting here either. Before I know what I’m doing, I push back my chair and shove my things into my backpack.
“Where are you going?” Charlotte asks, heat lacing her tone.
“I’ve got some things to do.” It’s lame and though not a lie,saying it out loud stings. Which just makes me want out of here faster. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and head for the door.
Behind me, Charlotte makes a disbelieving grunt.
Outside, I gulp a breath of the cool, thick air. Maybe it’s that stupid dickhead’s comment—coming right at a time when it’s becoming clear just how much I don’t belong here. Or maybe it’s the idea that I’m being monitored. By my fucking tutor. What the hell did she say to Mrs. McGinley? Does everyone know her assignments put my brain in a blender?
Damn it! How do I fit in when every time I turn around, I do something that makes me stand out? All I want to do is play football. But I can’t without my team, without their acceptance.
It’s fucked, but those are the cards I’ve been dealt.
Chapter Ten
WILLIAM (AGE 15)
It’s still rainingsideways when I leave West Jordan’s locker room. We lost our first game tonight, and there’s this gnawing hole in my chest. I wasn’t supposed to play, but Coach needed me, and I let him and my team down. I also took the biggest hit of my life, and I’m sore as hell.
“Fucking poser,” a voice calls from just outside the lighting.
Anger flashes so fast I taste the heat burning up my throat. I squint through the pouring rain, but there are only shadows.
Just as I turn away, a guy steps into the light. His black hoodie is pulled up against the rain, but I know him. It’s Shane Riggs, baseball player, punk, and a constant pain in my ass. He likes to point out all my mistakes. He calls me poser in the halls while purposefully bumping into my shoulder. Zach says torise above, andbreathe, but I’m fucking sick of this guy.
“You think you can do better?” I fire back.
Shane’s dark eyes flash with a hungry gleam. He takes another step forward. “I know I could, poser.”
I toss down my bag and hit him with a left hook. It happens so fast I don’t think either of us were ready. My fistconnects with his jaw. Pain erupts across my knuckles and shoots up my arm. Shane grunts and stumbles back. I hit him again, this time in the neck. It’s clumsy and he rushes at me like a bull.
“Whoa!” someone calls from behind me just as Shane tries to knock me over. But I have time to brace, and we end up in a pushing contest, both of us grunting and trying to gain purchase on the wet concrete. Suddenly there’s movement and shouting all around me. It’s my teammates, breaking things up. Shane is pulled off me, cussing and swinging.
“Get the fuck out of here!” one of them yells, shoving him into the shadows.
I stand there catching my breath, shaking out my hand.
“You okay?” another teammate asks, his eyes serious.
“Fine,” I say with a hard sigh. Anger is still thundering in my veins. It’s unfamiliar, and powerful, and though I know it’s wrong, a part of me likes it. Talk about a rush.
“That guy’s an asshole,” my teammate says. “Don’t let him get to you.”
“Right,” I say with a nod. And heisright. The last thing I need is to wear out my welcome. Either by failing to perform, like tonight, or making people think I’m some volatile drama queen.
My teammates continue down the access road to the bus, talking in low tones.
