I raised a finger toward her, icy cold rage pounding through me. I could have shoved her clear across the room and into her desk. I almost did. Instead, I clenched my teeth and grated out the words. “You don’t know a fucking thing about me.”
I was about to say more, but I turned and slammed the door behind me.
Gage was waiting for me outside. He saw the look on my face, squinted a little, then grinned. “What? Did you take personality tests and you got ‘rock?’”
“Funny.” Methodically, I took all the anger I felt threatening to consume me and shoved it into every corner of my mind I could find until I felt calm. Sometimes, I could tap into all of it on the football field, like background heat that I could make boil over. Most times, it just made it feel like I was always on the brink of exploding.
Gage had short, dirty blond hair and always wore a look on his face like he was thinking about something deeply troubling. He also played linebacker for the defense and was a hell of a backup QB when our starter, Tristan Blackwood, was getting himself into trouble.
Gage hooked his thumbs in his backpack straps as we walked. “I heard the party is at your place tonight.”
“Congratulations.”
He shook his head. “Do you have to try to be an asshole, or does it come naturally? I’ve always wondered.”
I gave his question some serious thought. “Does a rock try to be heavy?”
He chuckled. “See? You can be funny when you try. Sort of,” he muttered.
Gage was saying something about this girl he was planning to hook up with at the party, but I barely heard him.
We were between classes and the hallways were jammed from shoulder to shoulder with kids. But I stood at least half a head taller than almost all of them, which meant I had a clear view of her.
Charli.
It had been almost ten years, but there was no doubt in my mind it was her. She had short, raven black hair that barely made it past her lips. She was the one I used to sneak around the woods with. We’d climb up to the top of the cliffs over the lake and fish for hours without catching a thing. For a while, we’d been inseparable.
“You good?” Gage was frowning at me, eyes narrowed.
I realized I’d stopped walking to stare at her. She had just disappeared into a classroom. “Just my imagination.” My voice was distracted, though. Part of me almost thought it really must’ve been my imagination. That all the rumors were false, too.
Charli wouldn’t dare to come back after what happened, would she?
Gage laughed softly. “Okay, then.”
With a shrug, I started walking again. I couldn’t think about anything else. I kept seeing her face. It was a pretty face, too. She’d had soft lips and sad eyes, like a perfect billboard model for the tragic teen meant to tug at your heartstrings. Good thing my heartstrings, if I had such a thing, were about as immovable as a brick wall.
All I could think about was hurting her. Making her pay for what happened. Except I realized the kind of pain I wanted her to feel wasn’t physical.
No. I wanted her to feel even half as broken as I had—like her world was about to cave in on her. I wanted her to look back and wish she’d never been arrogant enough to walk back into my life like nothing ever happened.
Gage stopped outside my class. “So is the party still on for tonight? Or does that creepy ass look in your eyes mean you’re going to go murdering instead?”
“What? I have to choose?”
Gage shook his head, then laughed. “Seriously psychotic, man. You’d probably make a good character for one of my dad’s books. I picture a Ted Bunny type. Did you see that movie version they did with Zac Efron? You kinda look like him, you know.”
“Did you just compare me to the guy from High School fucking Musical?”
Gage looked up, squinting. “Yes. Yes, I did. Try to hold in your murderous intentions, by the way. We have a game this Friday and Logan hasn’t been quite the same since he tweaked his ankle. We need you.”
“No shit, you do.”
“You’re great at taking compliments, too.”
“Fuck off.” I waved over my shoulder with a grin as I headed into class. I actually liked Gage, despite how it probably seemed to him at times. Logan was a little too saintly for my tastes, but I tolerated him well enough. And Tristan was too much like me. We had always clashed because of it. Gage, though. I always thought he had a little bit of his dad in him, even though I’d never heard him so much as mention wanting to write anything himself.