Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
It’s still raining sideways when I leave West Jordan’s locker room. We lost our first game tonight, and there’s this gnawing hole in my chest. I wasn’t supposed to play, but Coach needed me, and I let him and my team down. I also took the biggest hit of my life, and I’m sore as hell.
“Fucking poser,” a voice calls from just outside the lighting.
Anger flashes so fast I taste the heat burning up my throat. I squint through the pouring rain, but there are only shadows.
Just as I turn away, a guy steps into the light.
His black hoodie is pulled up against the rain, but I know him.
It’s Shane Riggs, baseball player, punk, and a constant pain in my ass.
He likes to point out all my mistakes. He calls me poser in the halls while purposefully bumping into my shoulder.
Zach says to rise above , and breathe , but I’m fucking sick of this guy.
“You think you can do better?” I fire back.
Shane’s dark eyes flash with a hungry gleam. He takes another step forward. “I know I could, poser.”
I toss down my bag and hit him with a left hook.
It happens so fast I don’t think either of us were ready.
My fist connects with his jaw. Pain erupts across my knuckles and shoots up my arm.
Shane grunts and stumbles back. I hit him again, this time in the neck.
It’s clumsy and he rushes at me like a bull.
“Whoa!” someone calls from behind me just as Shane tries to knock me over.
But I have time to brace, and we end up in a pushing contest, both of us grunting and trying to gain purchase on the wet concrete.
Suddenly there’s movement and shouting all around me.
It’s my teammates, breaking things up. Shane is pulled off me, cussing and swinging.
“Get the fuck out of here!” one of them yells, shoving him into the shadows.
I stand there catching my breath, shaking out my hand.
“You okay?” another teammate asks, his eyes serious.
“Fine,” I say with a hard sigh. Anger is still thundering in my veins. It’s unfamiliar, and powerful, and though I know it’s wrong, a part of me likes it. Talk about a rush.
“That guy’s an asshole,” my teammate says. “Don’t let him get to you.”
“Right,” I say with a nod. And he is right. The last thing I need is to wear out my welcome. Either by failing to perform, like tonight, or making people think I’m some volatile drama queen.
My teammates continue down the access road to the bus, talking in low tones.
I pick up my gear and follow, eager to get out of the rain. And to put this night behind me.
Once I reach the gravel parking lot, I head for the beacons of light coming from our buses.
There’s a line of kids waiting to get on—teammates, band kids, cheerleaders.
The bus engines are on and I start moving faster because I’m fucking freezing.
I loaned my team jacket to Tori after the game because the cheer team’s rain jackets are shit and she was shivering.
Voices carry from the opposite side of the bus. “Stop lying!”
“I didn’t take it!”
I walk around the front of the bus and peer down the side, to where two cheerleaders and someone I can’t see are huddled in the darkness.
“You saw me take it out of my bag.” Recognition fires in my brain—it’s Tori. Still wearing my jacket. It’s so big on her, she’s got it wrapped around her body like a robe.
“So did half the bus,” the girl in shadow replies. Panic hits my bloodstream. Charlotte. What the hell is going on tonight? First Shane starting shit, and now, some kind of catfight?
I hurry over. “Hey. What’s this all about?”
Tori whirls around. She’s not using the coat’s hood so her soaked hair stays plastered to her face. “This grubby little geek stole my Chanel eye liner.”
The insult burns. I glance at Charlotte. She’s doing her best to stare the cheerleaders down, but she’s also shivering so bad her teeth are rattling. “Go get on the bus,” I say to her. It comes out harsh, but it’s the quickest way to end this bullshit and get her warm.
She sends me a glare. “I didn’t steal.”
“I know.” I jerk my chin toward the bus. I still feel like shit for my little temper tantrum in the library last week. Not that this could make up for it, but at least she’ll know I’m not about to let anyone fuck with her.
Still glaring, Charlotte marches past us.
“William!” Tori says, stomping her foot.
“What the hell is your problem?” I say. Maybe I’m still stewing from that scuffle with Shane, or maybe my patience snapped the second she insulted Charlotte.
Tori’s mouth drops open. “You’re taking her side?”
“If you’re accusing her of stealing, yeah, I guess I am.” From the bus windows above us, a couple of my teammates have noticed what’s going on, and everyone’s crowding in to watch. Great.
Tori’s eyes narrow.
“C’mon, Tore,” her blonde sidekick whines in a babyish voice that sets my teeth on edge. “It’s fucking cold as balls out here.”
Tori slips off my coat and shoves it at my chest as she walks by, purposefully stomping in a puddle to send muddy water all over my shoes.
Awesome .
The rain turns to snow that night and it storms all weekend. Tori doesn’t call, making it clear that I’ve fucked something up. But what was the alternative? Letting her bully Charlotte? Insult her? I couldn’t stand by and let that happen.
On Monday, I’m on edge as I walk the halls, but I don’t see Shane. We do a lab in biology. Charlotte’s in the group behind mine, so in the noisy few minutes it takes everyone to get out the microscopes and check out the materials, I lean back.
“So what was that Friday night?” I ask.
Charlotte gives me a one-shoulder shrug. “Surprised your girlfriend has a mean streak?”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
Charlotte’s gaze locks on mine. Maybe because she’s mad, but her eyes are more green than hazel, with yellow flecks that remind me of sunlight. “Oh. You broke up with her?”
Now it’s my turn to shrug. I guess I should have been more upfront about not wanting to be a couple, but it’s a moot point now. “She’s not talking to me. And I…don’t really care.” The moment the words are out of my mouth, their truth is like having a weight lifted off my shoulders.
Charlotte’s lips twitch with the hint of a smile. “Tried to warn you, QB.”
I laugh. “Promise I’ll listen to you next time.”
On the first day of summer practice, Theo offers to pick me up, but when I head outside, Charlotte is in the backseat with a guy I don’t recognize.
For a split second, I’m annoyed. Why is Charlotte riding in the back like some second class citizen?
Then I realize who the guy is, and I’m even more annoyed.
“We gotta drop Charlie and Crosby at the Pavilion,” Theo says.
I toss my gear into the bed of Theo’s truck and climb in the front seat.
When I went back to tutoring second semester, Charlotte wasn’t there.
Theo admitted they had some family stuff going on, but wouldn’t say more.
I wanted to ask Charlotte about it, but I’m not one to pry.
I know what it’s like to want privacy. When my family fell apart, and Zach and I ended up in foster care, the last thing I wanted was to fucking talk.
But seeing her now makes me wish I had tried. I miss her sass. And that warm smile of hers. The one that lights up her eyes.
How is it that girls I barely know want to hang out with me but the one girl I could actually see myself with is off limits?
Theo backs out of my driveway and cruises out of the neighborhood.
“What’s going on at the Pavilion?” I ask, risking a quick glance in the rearview mirror.
Charlotte’s wearing a pale green sleeveless button down shirt that shows off her tanned shoulders, and white shorts.
She looks…dressed up. Pretty. But that’s nothing new.
It’s her eyes, and that regal nose—even though sometimes it’s pointed a little too high in the air—and those adorable freckles.
Stop fucking thinking about her freckles.
“Summer Youth Symphony,” she replies, glancing out the window. It shouldn’t piss me off, but damn it, why won’t she look at me?
“Henrik Massey is the conductor,” Crosby says. “He’s well connected.”
I don’t have a clue what any of this means, but Charlotte gives a nod.
“Charlie made second chair,” Crosby adds. I catch the flush on his cheeks when he glances at her. “And we’re gonna be in a quartet for the season finale.”
Wait, is this Crosby guy into Charlotte? Fuck. I make a fist and tap it against my knee.
Theo pulls into the large turnaround adjacent to the pavilion. Before he’s even stopped the truck, Charlotte is poised to jump out, like she can’t wait to get away from me.
She and Crosby clamber down from the truck, toting their instrument cases, and head across the expansive grassy lawn toward a covered stage facing rows of white chairs shaded by giant artsy-looking triangles stretched between tall poles.
Crosby moves closer to Charlotte and says something that makes her laugh.
I tap my fist a little harder.
Theo pulls away and we descend to the four-way stop.
“What’s second chair?” I ask, resting my arm on the windowsill. Already, the metal is hot.
He gives me a curious glance. “Huh?”
“Charlotte made second chair. What’s that mean?”
“Oh. They get ranked or some shit. First chair means you’re the best.”
“How many kids are in this symphony?”
He shrugs. “Hundreds of kids try out, even some from out of state, but they only take about forty, I think.”
“So out of hundreds, Charlotte’s number two?”
“She’s really good,” Theo says, pride edging his expression. “She’s always practicing.”
I want to know more—how many instruments does she play? She’s in the choir too, what does she like better, playing or singing? What the hell is a quartet? Can we go to this concert?—but my questions all jam together on my tongue in a jumbled mess, so I just nod.
“Where’s Morgan today?” I ask.
His jaw tenses. “Community service.”
“Oh? What for?”
“She figured out how to open the fire hydrant on our street. The firefighters were cool with it, but their captain gave her a big lecture. We compromised on her doing community service instead of him notifying the sheriff’s department.”
Morgan’s always been a bit of a handful. “High energy” Theo calls it. I know he worries about her. I guess if I was her big brother, I would too.
“Our mom’s…off the wagon and headed for the land of self-destruct again,” he says with a heavy sigh. “It’s not a coincidence that Morgan’s acting out.”
Off the wagon echoes through my thoughts. Is she an alcoholic? “That sounds rough.”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to unload on you.” He picks at a loose thread on the steering wheel.
“It’s okay.” I’m glad he told me. I may not be able to do shit, but at least he’s not in this alone.
“My mom has…substance abuse issues.” I don’t think about Mom so much anymore.
Last summer, when Zach told me that he lost track of her, I wondered if she was still alive.
When Kristov went to prison, it meant that Mom was truly alone.
Zach and I tried to get her help, but she refused.
It sucks, because even after everything that happened to us, the least she could have done was try to live.
But she chose to feed her demons instead.
“…it started after my dad passed. She met this creep, and things got out of control pretty fast.”
He winces. “God, I’m sorry.”
I run my thumb along the hot windowsill. “It’s okay. Things are good now.” It’s a thousand percent true. I stopped yearning for our old life long ago. It’s gone, and what matters is making now count.
It makes me think of Charlotte, and everything I’m keeping inside. Things I cannot say or do without fucking everything up.