Page 107 of Just a Little White Lie

“Good job, you guys.”

“Whatever,” Dante mutters, shaking his head. “We were shit.”

“No you weren’t.” I shake my head. “Yes, you missed a few little bits, and—”

“We sucked!” Maverick shouts, and the deathly silence that follows is hard to breathe in. “I told you we shouldn’t have done that! I told you!”

I raise my hands to calm him. “Maverick, I’m sorry. I thought it’d be a great—”

“Yeah, we know exactly what you thought!”

“Stop yelling at her, man.” Arlo moves in front of Maverick. “She did her best.”

“She doesn’t get it! She wouldn’t listen!” Maverick rages. “As if it isn’t bad enough, now they think we’re a bunch of sad losers. Try-hard dancers who don’t know what the hell we’re doing!”

I close my eyes, the urge to cry overwhelming me. “I’m so sorry.”

“We’re not losers.” Arlo gives Maverick a shove. “Stop saying that shit.”

“Don’t push me,” Maverick warns him, but Arlo doesn’t listen.

The tension in the room is a toxic gas, and Arlo has just lit a spark.

He shoves Maverick again and starts mouthing off. Before I can say a word, Maverick’s growling like an angry bear and lunging at Arlo.

“Stop it!” I shout, running into the fray. “Maverick!” I try to get his attention, but he’s blinded by the need to pummel his friend. He has Arlo on the floor within seconds.

“No!” I shout, leaning down to stop him, but the move is a mistake. As Maverick lifts his fist to rocket a punch into Arlo’s face, his elbow cracks me in the eye.

“Ow!” I stumble back, clutching my pulsing face and tripping over something. I land with a thud on my hip and elbow.

Someone gasps, and I squeeze my eyes shut, reconciling with the pain radiating across my face, up my arm, and down my leg.

“Are you okay, Miss Fillion?” someone squeaks. I think it’s Trixi.

I creep my eyes open and spot the gaping faces. My eyes trail over the crowd until they land on Maverick. He’s breathing like he’s on the verge of a full-blown meltdown. Not the angry kind, the sobbing kind.

His eyes bulge, a look of shame washing over his expression before he bolts from the room.

“Maverick.” My feeble attempt to call him back is ignored, and I hurt too bad to chase him down.

Arlo hovers above me. “Sorry, Miss.”

“It was an accident,” I croak.

He helps me up and looks about ready to cry. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t worry about it,” I murmur, lightly patting his shoulder.

“What is going on in here? I heard yelling.” Ms. Howlett, the head of music, storms into the room, takes me in, and immediately frowns. “What happened?”

Her snappy voice is hardly confession-inducing, so I just shake my head.

“Nothing. We were just getting a little rowdy after our performance. You know how it is.” I force a smile and point to the floor. “I tripped over that bag and landed funny. Arlo was helping me up.”

The Misfits all share perplexed glances while I force a weak smile.

Marjorie Howlett does not look impressed. With a little huff, she stares us all down. “I have a class in ten minutes, so get whatever it is out of your system quickly and keep the noise down.”

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