Jameson
The beginning of senior year . . .
“Trav, just talk to me.” Travis still won’t look at me as he slams his locker closed with his back to me.
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean you can’t?” I hate the way my voice sounds, shaky and unsure. But it’s the first day of our senior year, and I’m tired of not being able to talk to him. “Travis, come on.”
He turns around to look at me with so much pain and fear in his eyes, it nearly guts me. No one deserves to feel that way. “Happy birthday.”
I don’t give a fuck about my birthday, but maybe I can use it to my advantage a little. “You gonna hang out with me on my birthday? A guy only turns eighteen once.”
“You know I can’t.”
Fuck. “I don’t know that.” I keep my voice low. The halls are crowded, but I doubt anyone is paying attention to us. “Why can’t two friends hang out together?”
He cocks his head to the side, looking around nervously before his eyes land on me. “You know why.”
“I don’t.” I move in a little closer to him, but he flinches and steps away.
It hurts worse than I let on as I take a step back, giving him space.
“I don’t understand why you ignored me all last year and all summer.
I gave it to you, but it’s fucking ridiculous.
” Then I lower my voice even more. “We didn’t do anything wrong. ”
“Didn’t we?” I wince and he sighs. “Look, it’s not your fault. I wanted to go with you that night, but . . .”
“But what?” We both know he blames me, even if he doesn’t say it. “Nothing happened, okay? Nothing.”
“Dixon was there.” He eyes me hard with determination and frustration, looking like he might be sick to his stomach, and yeah, I get that feeling. I feel it too. Because Dixon is a loud, obnoxious asshole, and you never know when he’s going to open his mouth to say something stupid.
“He’s not gonna say anything.”
“I can’t risk it.” He slings his backpack over his shoulder, taking another step away from me. “I just can’t, J.”
My heart squeezes at the nickname. Everyone else calls me Bates. It might as well be my name, but Trav has always called me J. And I miss him.
It’s hard to admit, but I don’t let people in often. I live my life guarded and quiet. But Travis—I let him in a little bit. He was who I hung out with at school and who I hung out with after practice and at parties. Who I trusted enough to try kissing another guy with. And now, it’s all gone.
I feel the emptiness in my soul, and all it does is make the hate I have for Dixon fester.
“I’m sorry. I have to get to class. Happy birthday.”
I keep my jaw tight and give him a clipped nod. “Thanks.”
He looks remorseful as he takes off down the hall, glancing at me once over his shoulder, but then walking away.
And then from behind me, I hear the loud voice that haunts my nightmares, laughing happily with a couple of other guys from the team.
He stops, shooting that blinding white smile right at me.
His blond hair is shaggy, like he can’t be bothered to cut it.
He’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans, looking like the fuckboy he is.
“Hey, Batesy.” I hate that fucking nickname.
I forgot. Trav isn’t the only one with a nickname for me.
Dixon loves adding a “y” to my last name, making it all cutesy and making me want to puke.
“Walk. Away.” I glare at him, but he doesn’t heed my advice.
He saunters up to me with that cocky grin that’s always present on his stupidly handsome face.
Not a care in the world because that’s Garrison Dixon for you.
Too damn dumb to know the world is shitty.
“Happy birthday.” I grimace, hating that everyone knows every goddamn thing about everyone else in this town.
He grins widely. “I can’t fucking believe you beat me to eighteen by one week. ”
I should just walk away. I don’t need this shit. I don’t need to be thinking about Dixon. “As if I can help that. What the hell do you want?”
“You still pissed-off at me?”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve been pissed-off at you since you took my fucking glue stick in kindergarten, Dixon. Now fuck off.”
He chuckles at that, but I see a glimmer of something else there.
Maybe hurt? But I don’t think so. Again, I don’t think anything can hurt him.
He’s too big and too oblivious for anything to hit him deep enough to hurt.
“Jesus fucking Christ. It was mine. You stole it from me. I let you borrow it, and then I took it back.”
“That’s bullshit.” My eyes widen with shock and anger because that’s so not how that happened.
It was my goddamn glue stick, and he knows it.
And fuck, I’m eighteen years old today and getting into a fight about glue.
“It was mine, and you know it. You knew it then too, but in Dixon’s world, no one else exists.
It’s your world, and everything belongs to you. ”
“Is that really so hard to admit?” he asks, and I think he’s actually serious.
“Fuck off, Dixon.” I start to walk away, but he catches my arm, stopping me. I glare up at him, hoping to slice through him with my eyes, I guess. And for whatever reason, he falters.
Dropping my arms, he runs his fingers through his shaggy hair. “Look, I didn’t say anything about you and Travis.”
Goddammit. We aren’t doing this here. “Shut. Up.”
“No.” He’s such a stubborn motherfucker. “I’m not going to shut up. You’ve always been a prickly bastard, even in kindergarten, but this is getting out of hand. I didn’t say anything about Travis and you, and I’m not going to say anything.”
I grab the collar of his t-shirt, pushing him until his back hits the lockers, and look into his eyes with all the threat I can muster. “Nothing happened for you to say anything about.”
“That’s what I’m saying. I didn’t say anything, so this animosity is pretty fucking stupid.”
“Where the hell did you learn that word? It’s awfully big.”
“You talking about my vocabulary or something else? Because if you’re talking about something else, yes, it is.
” He raises an eyebrow in challenge, and I nearly startle at the innuendo.
What the hell is he doing? Not that dick jokes aren’t present daily in high school, but he shouldn’t be talking about dick to me.
A guy he saw kissing another guy. Someone he’s holding a secret about and can hurt anytime he feels like it.
“You two really have to quit the lovefests,” I hear Oakley Easton just before his hand shoves me back, and he steps between me and his best friend, his big arms folded over his chest as if he can intimidate me.
I’m not afraid of Oakley, and I’m not afraid of Dixon. Dixon straightens up, smoothing down the collar I just released and wraps his arm around Oakley’s shoulders. “You know he just can’t get enough of me.”
“Fuck off, Dixon.”
“Stop, you’re making me blush,” Dixon says, pursing his lips in a fake kiss and blowing it at me.
A growl bubbles up in my throat, and I nearly lunge at him, ready to beat his ass again when Oakley directs him away from me and down the hall.
This is my senior year. I should be thrilled and ready for all the things to come, but my stomach is sour as I watch them walk away.
It’s going to be a long year, and I know it.