Xavier glances over from the screen. “Hey, ready?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Did you have detention today? How’d it go?”
I hold up my poorly bandaged finger. “It was a fucking riot.”
Ansel laughs, but never looks away from the game. “I bet Adams had a good time, too.”
My teeth clench together at the sound of her name. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Because, you know.” Ansel shrugs. “You may be an asshole to all of us, but to her? You’re just downright evil, bro. That’s gotta be like the double-decker taco of punishments for—aw, you fucking son-of-a-bitch, Xave!” He throws his controller down before picking it right back up.
I stare blankly at the side of his head. “Did some obscure paint-based neurotoxin make it into my bloodstream this morning, or are you seriously defending Adams?”
Ansel’s avatar explodes once again, but when he tosses down the controller this time, he doesn’t bother picking it back up. He looks up at me. “I just think she bothers you way more than the rest of us.”
“He’s got a point,” Xavier says, putting down his own controller. “You’ve got a real hard-on for fucking with Gwen. It’s not like it’s a secret.”
Well, I don’t have a hard-on anymore, I’ve already taken care of it. But, I exhale, trying to release a little of the building anger that’s so close to the surface right now. This is the last thing I need. If the guys have noticed I’ve lost control, then the teachers and administrators can’t be far behind. If Coach James catches wind of it, then I can probably kiss that captainship goodbye. And that won’t do.
It’ll be better when I make captain.
“Listen,” I say, “I need to do something before we go. Meet you at the car?”
“Sure,” Xavier’s already booted up the next game and Ansel’s grabbing for his abused controller.
I head back down to the athletic field, knowing Adams should be long gone by now. If Mr. Dewey finds the mess I made, he’ll give us another day of detention—or worse. If this morning was proof of anything, it was that I can’t handle being around her any longer than absolutely necessary. Why can’t people see that? Why does the universe keep trying to throw us together?
It’s obvious even from a distance that the supplies I’d thrown around like the Hulk have been cleaned up. Same with the drop cloth and all the mess from scraping the walls. On closer inspection, it seems the walls themselves have been cleaned, Adams having obviously done the work alone.
What a fucking martyr. Hopefully someone will let her down from that cross soon.
A text buzzes on my phone, informing me that the car has arrived.
I’ll find out soon enough if Adams told the dean I’d walked out earlier, and what sort of fallout will come from it. I mean, of course she did. Snitching really is her forte. I’m sure it gave her nothing but pleasure to rat me out for a shiny new opportunity to look better than me.
I jog across the campus toward the limo waiting for us. Xavier’s driver opens the door and I slide inside. I’ve barely settled in my seat before Ansel pushes a beer in my hand, and something within me slowly begins to unwind at the promise of hedonism laid out before me. I screw off the cap and take a long drink.
There will probably be hell to pay tomorrow for walking off like that from detention, but until then I’m going to enjoy the rest of the afternoon with my friends, a good soccer match, and a lot of beer.
The campus is dark when we get dropped off, hours later. United won, which only added to the celebratory energy on the way home.
“I can’t believe Menendez got that final penalty kick. I thought for sure Duncan would stop it.” Ansel steps back to recreate the kick while Xavier plays the goalie. An imaginary scene follows. I play the part of the adoring crowd, cupping my hands around my mouth to simulate raucous cheering.
“Menendez is unstoppable,” Xavier says. He loops his arm around Ansel. We’re stuffed with free food from the box and pretty drunk. Well, I’m drunk. I don’t know about the others, but I’ve got enough of a buzz that I stop on the way back to the dorm to take a piss right against the giant tree where the sidewalk diverges into two.
“Ham, come on,” Xavier calls, “if Buster finds you…”
Buster is the campus security guard. He’s pushing 80, and I’m pretty sure there aren’t even any bullets in his gun. What’s he going to do, call my dad? The thought makes me laugh as I rest my forearm on the trunk and relieve my bladder. My phone vibrates as I’m zipping up.
It’s a text from Dean Dewey, thanking me and Adams for our hard work that morning. Evidently, he was impressed with our progress, particularly with the level of care we took cleaning up.
Confused, I look up from my phone only to see that Ansel and Xavier have run across the quad and are headed toward the soccer fields—probably to go recreate the game. I stumble clumsily forward, not even realizing I’m on the wrong path until I reach the dormitory and can’t get the code to work. I jam in the digits again, and again, and a third time, having the fleeting thought that somehow, I’ve been locked out. Or am I so drunk that I’ve forgotten the code?
Two girls approach from behind, giving me looks of combined wariness and gawking as they sidle up to me.
That’s when it hits me.