Page 21 of Enemy Crush
“Well, you know, maybe she’s just immersing herself in the Snow Ridge High experience,” Elise said, which sounded like misplaced optimism.
“By taking the bus?”
“I don’t know.” Elise shrugged good-naturedly, suggesting a simple solution. “Why don’t you ask her? You see her everyday.”
I scowled, not happy with the practical notion ofspeakingto her. Nor the realization that I was a hypocrite—no better than the kids on the bus, fueling gossip about Quinn.
Elise cooed with sincere appreciation after I showed her the before photos of the car. “Wouldn’t it be awesome arriving to prom in this?”
“Prom?” I faltered, a strange tingle shooting through me, because at the mention of that word, Quinn Devereaux flashed through my mind. Like, just appeared in my brain, an image of her in the short blue and white dress and the clean, white sneakers she’d worn on the bus today, and her hair tied up like a ballerina.
Weird. Too weird.
I pointed to the passenger door, desperate to change the subject. “Just waiting for a handle to arrive,” I said. “It was a heck of a search to find one to match.”
I rambled on about how we’d had to check dozens of websites to find some other parts we were waiting on, fooling myself that Elise was even the tiniest bit interested in wiper blades and sun visor brackets. At the first break in conversation, she said she should get going. I was kind of relieved, annoyed with myself for babbling and annoyed with Quinn Devereaux who was somehow still locked in my brain.
Chapter 7
QUINN
The overwhelming thought wasDo not cry.Under no circumstances could I show any weakness. Imagine the gossip if the prep school girl got all teary. Bad enough that Mom had made me cry over a Squishmallow. I wouldn’t let these girls do that. Their bullying words were just that—words—and they couldn’t hurt me. Only the truth could hurt me and so far the secret was safe.
It was no surprise that kids on the bus turned out to be so mean. Just a general stereotype that prep school kids had about public school kids. Yeah, in the real world our opinions were exactly the same but in reverse. They thought we were snobs; we deemed them rude and classless.
I was glad for the second day of tryouts which meant I’d miss the bus ride home. With my Brizendine Prep shirt in the laundry, I’d brought a plain sports t-shirt to wear. I had no expectations anyone would be friendly to me, keen only to work hard and show I should be selected for the team.
So it was surprising when Livvy and Tori, who’d definitely been two of the better players, stopped me in the locker room.
“I remember seeing you play last season,” Livvy said.
“Oh?” Thinking she was being friendly, I smiled and was about to congratulate her for being the Sonics’ leading goal scorer last season, stats I’d researched last night, “I see that—”
But she cut me off. “You really rate yourself, don’t you?” she said with a sneer, mirrored by Tori. It sent a jolt rippling throughmy chest, like I’d been pierced with a dagger. “You come from your rich prep school and think you’re better than the rest of us with your fancy boots and your gold chains and your fake eyelashes.”
I instinctively clasped at the necklaces around my neck, a gold leaf clover which had been a 16th birthday present from my parents and a dainty gold chain, formerly my grandmother’s, that I’d worn for years. I never took them off. As for my eyelashes, hadn’t she heard of mascara?
Livvy’s eyes dropped to my boots, and though they’d been top of the line, they were last season’s pair. Though I doubted that pointing it out would appease her, not as she crossed her arms over her chest and her glare intensified. Bumping Tori’s elbow, they simultaneously looked down their noses at me, which felt like a warning of sorts.
Didn’t they want me on their team? Couldn’t they see that I’d be a valuable team member? I clamped down on my lower lip to steady my quivering chin and fight back the prick of tears behind my eyelids. Spinning around to hide my face in my locker, I pretended to be searching in my bag, seriously considering whether I should abandon tryouts. Perhaps I should forget about playing soccer. I’d loved it at Brizendine because of the team camaraderie, but now, twice in one day I’d been on the cusp of crying. Bullied...for coming from a prep school—and all this without anyone knowing the reason why.
If word got out, I imagined I’d be completely vilified and humiliated.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” For a second I thought Livvy was still talking to me, but a locker door slammed across the room. “You’re back?”
With my shoe bag in my hand, I spun around to see Livvy, Tori and a girl wearing a fluorescent green headband in front of the blonde girl who had spoken to me yesterday.
“You’re never going to get selected, Sadie, so why don’t you spare yourself the embarrassment.” Tori’s supercilious voice rung around the locker room and was accompanied by cackling that sounded like it belonged to witches stirring a bubbling cauldron.
“Yeah,” the other girl chimed in, “Sonics aren’t that desperate.”
“I dunno,” Livvy said, “there might be a position for her—Left Right Out.”
Like canned laughter at a comedy show, the three of them burst out in unison before clanking out in their cleats.
With trembling fingers, Sadie fixed her shin guards and socks and I watched as she took a couple of deep breaths. I’d literally been on the verge of walking out, ready to take off my cleats and forget about trialing, but seeing Sadie’s resilience buoyed me on. Walking out is what the bullies wanted...and expected.
“Hey,” I said, joining her, “we should go. Don’t wanna be late.”
