Page 7 of Pieces Of You

Young lady? Yeah, this isn’t the place for me, and as soon as I get the chance, I’m bailing.

“I got a seat right here.” My stomach turns at the sound of a familiar voice, and I glance around the room filled with twenty or so students—until I find Holden, who’s sitting on a desk, patting his lap like the cocky little germ he is.

“Shut it, Eastwood!” the coach booms. Then lowers his voice to a more appropriate level. “As I was saying… I’m Coach Griffith.” Griffith?Nooo. I slump down in the nearest empty seat, doing everything I can to avoid slamming my head on the desk over and over. “And you all know my son, Dean.” This cannotbe happening. I inconspicuously look around the room, searching for the hidden cameras, because thismustbe a joke—asickone. Just when I think things couldn’t get any worse, I lock eyes withher.Dull blue eyes on my hazel ones. Bethany frowns, but she doesn’t look away. I do, though, and this time, I drop my head on the desk. Once. And then again. It’s merely a tap, but it’s enough to have Coach Griffith singling me out and asking, “What’s wrong with you?”

I reply, “Nothing,” at the same time Holden cracks, “I think she swallowed some razor blades.”

I hate him.

And Dean.

And this entire school.

MinusBethany.

Sitting taller, I lift my head and force a smile. “Sorry,” I mumble. “I’m just tired.”Sotired.

“Well, buckle up, princess, because it’s just getting started.” Young ladyandprincess. This man is going to kill me.

I force a nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Now…” He tears off a sheet of paper from a notebook and asks, “What’s your name?”

“Jameson.”

Coach Griffith makes quick work of writing what I assume is my name on the paper, then folding it up and dumping it in one of the two ball caps on the desk in front of him. “Let’s get this started then.”

“Why can’t we choose our partners?” some guy in the back of the room asks.

“Because we don’t want you goofing off and collecting hours for smoking weed in the back of your van,Dwight.” Laughter fills the air and dies down just as fast when Coach grunts. I have a feeling I’ll be hearing that grunting a lot this year. He reaches into both hats with each hand, taking out two names, then unfolds the first one, his lips turned down in concentration. “Holden,” he states.

Whispers, mainly from girls, float across the room while I send out a silent prayer.

Please, not me.

“You’re going to be paired with…”

Please, not me.

Please, not me.

Please, not me.

“Jameson.”

This time, Islammy head on the desk, and I don’t bother lifting it back up. Not even when Holden busts out a laugh. “Game on,Grandma.”

5

Holden

I’m prettysure Jamie hates me, which is bullshit because she doesn’t even know me. Of everyone in the club, besides maybe Dean, I’m positive I’m the absolute last person she hoped to be matched with. Sucks for her. Me too, I guess. I’d prefer to be paired with any other girl in that room. At least then, there might be an extrabenefitto the outreach we’ll be providing.

We’re sitting on one of the tables in the school’s courtyard, going through the notes provided by Dean about our upcoming project. This club was Dean’s idea, and it goes with all the charitable work he does through his church. Again, Dean and me, on paper, are complete opposites.

“So, I guess we’ll be doing yard work for some old lady.” I look up from the notes and quirk an eyebrow at the girl sitting opposite me. “Maybe you know her from bingo.”

Jamie’s eyes are on me, void of a single emotion, and I’ve concluded that she genuinely gives zero fucks about anything I have to say to, or about, her.

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