My voice is thick and low. “Move.”
“I thought maybe we could go over the new roster, divide up the duties and shit.”
“I’ll do whatever. I don’t care,” I say to his sternum.
There’s a beat of silence before two fingers press under my chin, forcing my eyes upward. His hard gaze wavers when he takes me in, face going slack. My nose is probably neon-red by now, and I can’t stop my eyes from swimming. He grows blurrier with each passing second, until finally, the tears run over, tracking hot, embarrassing lines down my cheeks.
His jaw tics, the muscle in the back tightening into a hard ball, then he drops my chin like he’s been burned and steps aside.
I bolt out the door like an animal being released from a cage, instantly catching sight of Tyson and darting toward him.
“Hey, whoa.” Throwing his arm around my shoulder, he quietly asks, “You okay?”
“No.”
“Did he say something to you?” His voice is harder now, dark with the promise of retaliation.
“No,” I promise. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.” Tyson frowns, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “But I told you. I’ve got your back. You can do this, got it?”
I nod, hating how this feels, but thankful I have a friend supporting me. A couple months ago, this would have been unbearable. But I’m not alone anymore. I may not have on my mask, but Tyson provides a shield, one I won’t refuse.
Stairway to Hell, 3pm
I take a slow, incredulous glance around the hallway, but no one’s watching me to see it. The note was sitting on top of my history textbook, had obviously been slipped into the slats on my locker. I don’t need to really wonder, though.
I know exactly who it’s from.
I crumple the paper in a tight fist and spike it into the locker before slamming it shut. I don’t know what possibility makes me angrier about Hamilton summoning me to the Devil’s notorious campus make-out spot—the thought of him actually trying to schedule a hook up with me, or the thought of him just wanting a nice private place to rub salt in my wounds from yesterday’s co-captain announcement.
Weirdly, it’s the first possibility that vexes me most of all. Like I’d ever be one of his playthings. Like I’m just going to drop what I’m doing and climb seven flights of stairs in the south wing’s bell tower for the privilege of hooking up with him. I’d sooner gouge my own eyes out with a spoon. It’s completely vile.
I’m planning to tell him this and so much more as I stomp up the steps of the tower. I have a whole essay planned in my head. A lot of it goes into the fact that he might not be used to girls who actually harbor even a trace of self-respect, but here’s what it looks like. And that our last time together wasn’t even all that good—who cares if it’s a lie—and that I know what he’s doing. He saw that one moment of weakness from me as I left practice and thinks he can wriggle in and get another piece of me, but he’s wrong.
“You’re wrong,” I seethe as I enter the top of the tower. He whips around from where he’s standing, gazing through one of the open arches to the campus below. There’s a pile of leaves in the corner, but I can still see where someone tossed a spent condom. Gross.
“I’m probably not,” he answers, lounging casually back against the wall. It’s windy up here and his hair is all mussed. “But what am I not being wrong about, specifically?”
I drop my bag, feeling sweaty and sore from the long climb up. “I’m not one of your fucking bimbos, Bates. You can’t
just call me up here like I’m some rank booty call. For one, it’s disgusting, and for two, the answer is no.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “You think I asked you to come up here so we could fuck?”
I open and close my mouth a few times, stunned a little speechless, because that—us fucking—hadn’t even crossed my mind. I just figured he wanted to make out or something. But now the idea of it invades my mind, the thought of the two of us up against this stone wall, my legs wrapped around his waist as he—
I try to shake it from my head. “Whatever you wanted, it’s not happening. That’s all I came here to say.”
Before I can even pick up my bag, Hamilton is laughing. “You’re really full of yourself, Adams.”
I whip up to gape at him, open-mouthed. “I’m full of myself?!”
“I didn’t bring you up here to fuck you,” he clarifies, eyes dragging snidely down my body. “I can get pussy any time I want, I don’t need to waste my energy arguing with you to get some.”
“Then what?” I swallow, my face heating. “What the hell do you want, Bates?”
He pushes off the wall, loping toward me. “Yesterday, at swim practice—”