Chapter 6 Harper #2
I gape at Marissa. “Okay, insults about my social life are one thing. I came to terms with that a long time ago.”
She nods sadly. “We don’t have a leg to stand on.”
“But attacking my business?” I rip my sandwich out of my paper lunch bag. “That’s hitting me where it hurts! Why is everyone so convinced it’s me, anyway? Why do they even care so much? Can’t they hit it into the goal no matter what? Why does it matter who’s blowing the whistle at them?”
Marissa’s holding her insulin pump to bolus for her lunch, but she’s stopped mid–number crunching to stare at my hands. When I follow her gaze, I realize I’m ripping my peanut butter and jelly sandwich into tiny, bite-sized, rage-induced pieces.
“So you weren’t the evil genius who took down the hockey team once and for all?” She’s smirking, pure delight on her face at the prospect of the jocks getting dethroned.
I can’t access the same joy. “No! You know I’d come to you right away if I found information like that.
No way could I keep it to myself.” I shove a piece of sandwich in my mouth, chewing angrily.
“And honestly, now that I’m public enemy number one, I’ll be kinda pissed if someone ratted him out and isn’t coming clean. ”
“Yeah.” Marissa frowns, focusing on her pump again, and slumps against the trunk of the tree. “Well, I would’ve respected it if it were you, you know. We’ve been shit-talking the hockey team since freshman year. It’s not like it would’ve been a shock.”
“Listen, I may think the players are idiots, but I don’t have time for… for espionage! Getting their coach fired is a whole other level of commitment to scheming.” I shake my head. “I don’t have that level of deviousness in me even for the hockey team, you know?”
Marissa searches in her backpack for a long minute before emerging with a bag of chips. “Well, maybe it’ll make the school pay attention to something other than hockey for once,” she says. “Plus—and you didn’t hear this from me—Coach Red isn’t the only one who doesn’t deserve to stay a Hawk.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Lila told me during newspaper today that she tutored Dawson in English last year.” Marissa leans forward. “She said he was slipping into academic probation territory, but Coach Red let it slide. Fudged some rules so he could keep playing.”
I shake my head in outrage. “Seriously? They really live in another universe.”
Angry blood rushes to my face as I think about Dawson literally skating by on his entitlement.
Asking me to cover shifts with no notice.
Smirking and running his hands through his hair as if it’s some sort of secret devastating weapon.
I don’t care about your flow, Dawson. And maybe everything in the universe doesn’t bend to your will.
“They couldn’t survive without their rising star,” Marissa says, wrinkling her nose. “So maybe that’s part of their loyalty. Maybe they’re worried Coach Dan won’t let things slide anymore. I don’t know. But I have a feeling the team’s gonna be really different without Red around.”
The Lakeside is packed that evening. The sunshine clouded over quickly—it never lasts long this time of year—and rain is pouring down in sheets outside, which seems to have brought half the town in after this afternoon’s football game.
I’m sweating through my uniform, my hair frizzing around my face from self-generated humidity.
Too bad work is an extension of the school day’s torture.
Other than a few allies like Miguel, who comes through for a milkshake and shoots me a sympathetic glance, I get way more dirty looks than tips from the under-eighteen crowd today.
The news spread fast. Before I was overlooked and invisible, and that was insulting enough.
I never wanted to trade that invisibility for this.
I’ve gotten pretty good at ignoring the vast majority of Hamilton Lakes over the last few years, but even I’m not impervious to outright hostility.
This is way worse than being irrelevant.
At least then Marissa and I could keep our heads down to do our own thing, knowing we had futures ahead much bigger than this town.
Now, everyone seems intent on making my junior year as miserable as possible—and maybe ruining that future, too, if they can manage it.
I push that worry away for later. It’s too stressful to even consider.
Luckily, Dawson’s working in the back, prepping ingredients for tomorrow’s service. Whenever he pops out onto the floor or I have to go back for something, our gazes lock. We both must have hatred homing beacons set for the other, because I have this sixth sense for where he is at all times.
Of course he’s playing under different rules. Well, let’s see how he feels this year, having to work like the rest of us.
I shake my head to clear it. I have way better things to worry about than Dawson and the hockey team. I’ve got half a dozen orders to fulfill, I want to figure out a new Beads by Braedon line to launch around the holidays, and I need to brainstorm my application for the Young Entrepreneurs Grant.
The rumor will blow over soon, and then I can get back to my regular, invisible life as planned.
It takes a little more effort than usual, but everything clicks into place in my mental to-do list. Get table six their drinks, bus table ten, check with Lindsey on the waitlist…
then home, shower, study for the precalc test, update my website, fulfill an order before bed while finishing my podcast.
Deep breaths. You got this, Harper.
I swing past Lindsey on my way to table six, and she holds her hand out for a fist bump. “Thank God you’re here tonight,” she says, grabbing the menus I hand her and blowing her bangs out of her face with a relieved puff of air. “We’d be drowning without you. Luke’s an idiot.”
“He sure is,” I shoot back without thinking. Then: “Wait, what?” I squint at her. “Why wouldn’t I be here?”
Lindsey rolls her eyes. “He was on some trip about how you aren’t trustworthy? Tried to talk to my parents about firing you. Don’t worry, they weren’t having it. We all know you’re indispensable.”
My mouth falls open.
That fucking puck fucking—
“I’m going to take my break,” I say through a tight, polite smile.
Lindsey opens her mouth as if to protest—and yeah, it’s not ideal timing, so sue me—but I’m already headed into the back.
“You tried to get me fired?”
My voice comes out louder than I intend, and the cooks exchange wide-eyed glances.
Dawson freezes in front of his vat of pasta salad, looking around desperately. “Can we do this somewhere else?”
He grabs my elbow and tugs me around the corner, evading the curious eyes of the cooks, until we’re tucked away in the alcove leading to the walk-in.
His hand burns against my skin, and by the time I yank my arm away, his fingerprints have already left their searing mark.
There’s not much space here, between the crates of pop and broken-down boxes.
I hold my breath so we don’t accidentally brush into each other.
I don’t want to have any more contact with him than absolutely necessary.
When I look up at him, his eyes widen. They’re more hazel than brown. I never noticed that before.
I swallow hard, blinking to clear my head. He tried to get me fired. Who cares what color his eyes are?
“Well?” I say. “Are you going to deny it?”
“I… Listen, I don’t trust you. Okay? You have a really good reason to be sabotaging the team, and I just don’t think my parents should be employing someone like that.”
I almost can’t breathe from anger. “Who’s sabotaging whom?
” I snap back. “Listen, Dawson, I didn’t get your precious coach fired.
I didn’t know anything about him until this week, honestly, and I wish it had stayed that way.
But you know what else I learned this week?
That he was ignoring the fact that you should’ve been on academic probation last year. ”
Dawson pales beneath the remnants of his summer tan.
His eyes dart behind me, as if Principal Castillo is eavesdropping, waiting to catch him in a lie.
“I brought my grades up,” he says in hushed tones.
“It was a tough moment, okay? I was stretched thin. I needed more time, and if I’d gotten pulled from the team… ” He trails off.
For a minute I almost feel bad. I understand being stretched thin.
Home from this shift to shower, cram for a test, update the plug-ins on my site, and catch as many hours of sleep as I can before rolling out of bed and downing bottomless coffees to get through the day—and I’m not even waking up before dawn to practice before school.
Then I remember who I’m talking to. Someone with as many privileges as Dawson doesn’t get to blame his bad choices on how hard things are for him.
“I need this job,” I say through clenched teeth. “All I want is to be left alone at school, okay? So call off the rumor mill and stop trash-talking me to your parents.”
A lump forms in my throat at the idea of becoming even more of an outsider this year. At what that might do to the tiny niche I’ve carved out for myself and the path I’m paving out of here. I swallow past it and jab a finger into Dawson’s chest.
“I have no interest in narcing on you, but if you keep trying to fuck up my life, I will. I can’t imagine you’ll face too many consequences—the school’s too busy kissing your ass—but they’ll have to do an investigation, and that won’t look good.”
A muscle twitches in Dawson’s jaw as he looks down at me. His expression is shadowed. I hold my breath, remembering the week of my life when I’d thought he had a nice smile, when I’d thought I was lucky to work with the guy half the school was crushing on.
He’s not smiling today. You don’t smile at the piece of gum clinging to your shoe. “You don’t leave a guy many options,” he says.
Triumph flares in my chest. Something about this battle between us only hardens my resolve. Whatever Dawson tries to do to me, I’m going to come out on top. He won’t ruin my chances to get out of here.
I’ve always thrived on proving people wrong.
“Exactly. You stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours.”