Chapter 8 #2
“Maybe he made a wrong turn on the way to Hot Topic.”
More laughter.
“Hey,” another guy said. “Doesn’t he wear eyeliner?”
“Pretty sure. Maybe he thought the cheerleaders would be here and he could get some makeup tips.”
That comment got the biggest reaction.
I slowly turned around.
The three of them all wore varsity jackets, and I recognized one as Rowan’s friend and football teammate, Westly Ridgway.
One of the others raised his eyebrows when he noticed me watching them. “What?”
“Nothing,” I replied flatly.
“You got a problem?” Westly asked.
“Nope.”
He moved forward a step. “Then why are you staring?”
“I wasn’t.”
“Sure you weren’t.”
I stood up. “I’m just trying to watch the game.”
The guy in the middle smirked. “Pretty sure this isn’t really your crowd.”
“Pretty sure I didn’t ask.”
The other laughed. “Damn. Emo kid’s got an attitude.”
Westly stood. “You think you’re funny?”
I shrugged. “Not really.”
“Because you’re not,” he continued.
“Okay. Enjoy the game.” I could feel their stares on my back as I headed for the parking lot. I was halfway to my car when I heard footsteps behind me.
“Hey!”
I kept walking, but the steps sped up.
“Hey, freak. I’m talking to you.”
I turned around. Westly stood a few feet away, his friends fanned out behind him.
“You get pissed off easily, don’t you?” He laughed.
“Nope.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
I turned back toward my car. “Whatever.”
“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” Westly taunted.
I kept walking toward my Elantra. I was almost there when he spoke again.
“Why are you even here?”
I spun around again, unable to just let things go. “To watch the game.”
“That’s a lie.”
I rolled my eyes. “Believe whatever you want.”
He gave me a once-over, taking in my black hoodie, the nail polish on my fingers, and the eyeliner I was wearing. “Man, you look like you crawled out of a funeral.”
“At least I don’t look like a walking douchebag.”
I moved to my car, but suddenly he clamped a hand around my arm and jerked me around.
I stumbled half a step before breaking free. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
He smirked. “Or what?”
My hands curled into fists. “Try it again and find out.”
His grin grew wider. “You really want to do this?”
“No,” I replied flatly. “But you seem like the type who needs to learn the hard way.”
He apparently didn’t like that answer because he reached out and shoved me hard. I staggered back a step, but the moment he stepped forward again, I swung and hit him on the side of the jaw. His head snapped back, and he stumbled into the side of a parked car.
For a split second, he just stood there with a shocked expression on his face. Then he lunged at me and swung. I ducked and punched him in the stomach. He grunted and yanked my hoodie, throwing me to the side, where my cheek hit the side mirror of the car.
Pain exploded behind my eye.
I shoved him back and threw another punch, connecting again. He wobbled a bit.
Then someone shouted from across the lot. “Hey! Break it up!”
Westly wiped blood from his lip and glared at me. “This isn’t over,” he spat, then took off with his friends.
Not wanting to get into trouble for fighting again, I hopped into my car and drove off. At a red light, I flipped my visor down and checked myself in the mirror. It didn’t look too bad, but when I pressed my fingers against my cheek, I knew I’d have a bruise there soon.
Later that evening, I was lying on my bed with an ice pack pressed against my face when I got a text from Rowan:
Where’d you disappear to? You left before the game was over
Turns out baseball really isn’t my thing
Well thanks for trying I guess
Now I felt like an asshole. It wasn’t his fault that Westly and his buddies ruined the game for me.
Want to come over and play video games? My dad isn’t home and my mom’s in her room for the night
Give me a few and I’ll be right there
Just like when I went to his house, he knocked on my window instead of going to the front door. I pushed it open, and he climbed inside. He took one look at my face and froze. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s not nothing.” He stepped closer, getting a better view of my cheek.
“It’s just a bruise.” I moved to my bed and sat down.
“How did you get it?”
“I tripped,” I lied.
“You tripped?”
“Yep.”
“Into someone’s fist?”
It wasn’t the first bruise Rowan had seen on me, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. He knew about my fights, but until now, it had never involved one of his friends.
“It was my car mirror actually.”
His jaw tightened. “Keaton.”
“What?”
“Who did that to you?”
I turned away. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Was it your dad?”
“Drop it.”
He ran a hand through his short hair. “Just tell me who it was.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I handled it. It’s done.”
He studied me for a minute. “Fine, but if it happens again, you better tell me.”
I nodded, even though I knew I wouldn’t say anything if I had another problem with Westly. After all, I could only imagine two potential outcomes if I told Rowan: (1) he’d confront his friends and ruin his social life; or (2) he wouldn’t take my side and ruin what we had together.