Garrison
“What the hell is it with you two?” Oakley asks as we walk down the hall toward our first class, which we have together.
“What do you mean?” There’s a prickly tone in my voice I didn’t mean to let out, but something about Jameson Bates puts me on edge.
He’s always been a grumpy motherfucker, but since I saw him with Travis Wyatt, his normal grumpy attitude has morphed into hateful rage. The guy can’t look at me without seeing red.
If I’m being honest, it only makes me want to poke the bear a little more. And I don’t know why.
“You know what I mean. He’s never been a fan, but ever since last year, he hates your fucking guts.”
I wince and hate my reaction to what Easton said. That I let it get to me just how much Bates seems to hate me. It’s not like I said a word about him and Travis. Okay—maybe I joked a little bit that day of the now infamous locker-room fight, but I wasn’t implying I was going to say anything.
I was just joking around, and he went ballistic. Since then, I’ve pretty much stayed clear. Except I watch him. A lot.
It’s getting stalker creepy, and I know it.
And one thing I’ve noticed is he hasn’t been around Travis at all. At least not in public. They’ve both been to parties, but they don’t leave the group. They both play football, but it appears to be all business out on the field.
And I’m totally obsessed about it. Wondering if they’re still sneaking off together somehow. If they have this epic, yet tragic, love story no one else knows about.
“The guy’s an asshole,” he says as he parks his ass in a seat near the back of the class.
I sit down next to him. “He’s not. He’s just .
. .” Oakley turns to me with his eyebrows cocked, and I realize I probably shouldn’t have said that.
I need to get it together. The last thing I need is Oakley on my ass about the obsession I clearly have.
“Yeah. He kind of is.” I say it, but I don’t feel it, the words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.
“Exactly. Fuck him.” A girl from our class, MaryAnne Blythe, turns around, giving Oakley a sly smile before he winks at her, and she turns back around.
“This is our senior year. What we’ve been working for,” Oakley continues with the same bullshit I’ve heard from him many times before.
He’s been waiting for this. “We rule the school.”
I snort at that, rolling my eyes. “We don’t rule shit.” That’s Oakley for you though. He’s always been a cocky motherfucker. Some would even say his arrogance rivals my own. As if that’s even possible.
“Yeah, speak for yourself.” Oakley stretches out his big-ass arms and does a sweeping motion that makes MaryAnne and one of her friends giggle next to her.
“We’re the kings of this high school. Last year, sure”—he shrugs when he drops his arms down—“it was Wells and Prescott, but they’re gone, and now, we’re here. ”
“And what?”
“And we rule. It’s our senior year. Next week, you’re turning eighteen.” I hear a whoop from one of our teammates sitting near us. Apparently, everyone is listening to Oakley’s senior-year speech. “We have our first game, and we’re going to kick ass.”
“Hell yeah, we are!” a linebacker from the team shouts and gives Oakley a high five as he passes by him before taking his seat.
Oakley leans in closer to me, grasping my shoulder. “And you don’t need to worry about that asshat. Whatever his problem is, he can fuck off.”
“Mr. Easton.” Our attention is dragged to the front of the class where Mrs. Sparrow stands, looking out over her glasses at Oakley and me, clearly irritated. “Save the locker-room speeches for the locker room and get your textbook out.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He mock-salutes her, but she’s not amused. I’m pretty sure she’s been teaching here since the First World War, and nothing fazes that woman.
Everyone trickles into the classroom, and Oakley looks over at me, his smile as bright as ever, totally unbothered by Mrs. Sparrow. “It’s our time to shine, Dixon. It’s going to be a kickass year.”
That, I’m not so sure of.
Sure. Last year, around this time, I thought the same thing.
I loved playing with Kingston and Wells, but they were the seniors, larger-than-life, and everyone looked up to them.
I was ready to take over. Oakley and I would talk about ruling the school and all the parties we’d throw.
How we’d kick ass out on the football field and be the kings around here.
We wasted way too many hours talking about it.
Now, my stupid mind is on one particular teammate, and only one.
The guy who absolutely hates me and wouldn’t even let me wish him a simple happy birthday.
Fuck my life.
It’s going to be a long damn year.