14. Lilah #2
A guilt-ridden look flashed across her face along with a heavy swallow and she hooked her arm through mine. “It’s senior year. We should enjoy it.” Eyes searching for approval, she tugged me closer.
And I felt like a total jerk for getting in the way of her excitement.
The last time we’d gotten to have any fun outside of school, I’d ended up knocking myself out, gotten blood on her sister’s clothes, and she’d had to take me to the hospital.
Crushing her good time now felt cruel. I’d suck it up, even if it meant being carried on the tide of students into the Hawthorne Hawk gym.
The smell of lacquer and rubber mingled in the air along with overly celebratory student body hormones. The gym was a powder keg of excitement over missing class and another chance at wearing a Hawthorne Hockey jersey at the next game of the undefeated champs this season.
Banners hung from the rafters, chronicling the history of the hockey team. Five state championship banners, conference champion pennants and a few retired jerseys as well.
We found a spot on the bleachers close to the exit, not too close to the floor, and I hoped we’d fade into a sea of people.
All the overhead lights dimmed and the whole school got to their feet screaming the second the music started and the announcer blared over the speakers.
“Get on your feet and make some noise for the undefeated Hawthorne Hawks.” The voice on the mic was nearly drowned out by the rumbling of feet on the bleachers and cheers from the crowd.
One of the cheerleaders walked past with a basket of rolled up jerseys and handed them out to each player.
What this school spent on swag would probably rival what other schools spent on the arts or sciences.
The cheerleaders tossed out rubber pucks that people literally crawled over each other and lunged down the bleachers for.
That had to sting for the football players, but the most coveted Hawthorne Prep item was one of the red-and-white jerseys. The hockey players wandered through the stands to give theirs to the most unhinged fan or just a girl they wanted to sleep with after their win.
Galen tossed his into the crowd first as if he wanted this whole display to be over.
Erik stood on the top railing of the bleachers, pointing like an auctioneer.
Calder didn’t move from his spot, even though girls screamed his name like this was a concert.
The other fifteen-ish team members completed their own ritual to determine who wanted their jersey most.
I sat, though Paige tried to tug me to standing. I was happy with my view of the backs of the people around me. But through the undulating masses, he searched for me.
My heart sputtered and stuttered. Maybe that was why I hadn’t wanted to stand. I gauged the drop from the edge of the bleachers to the gym floor. Could I make it? Not if I didn’t want another head injury.
Instead, I sat still and tried to make myself even smaller in my seat as bodies bumped into me, lunging for a piece of Hawthorne Hockey merch or attention. In my spot, I had a chance to stay anonymous in the stands.
But luck was not on my side. Come to think of it, when was the last time she’d given me even a dime of attention?
Mason’s gaze tracked me through the bodies shifting between us, and people seemed to evaporate from his path instead of blocking me.
My heart tripped and then thundered, pounding in my ears.
Seconds stretched on, and with each glimpse of him, his face changed.
Determination, nervousness, longing, it all flashed between each window of his approach.
Even when I couldn’t see him, it felt like he could still see me, as if the students between us didn’t exist. The magnetic tug strengthened, almost drawing me out of my seat as a raw ache bloomed in my chest, lapping at the confusion and hurt.
His progress was easy to follow by the way people moved, parting to give him space, so many pairs of eyes shining with hope that they’d end up with the jersey until he was in front of me.
One knee on the bleacher in front of me, he held up the rolled red offering like the jersey with SHAW stitched above the #11 was a medieval tribute.
“Lilah.” He said my name like he’d slain a dragon to get to me. His eyes filled with a shaky hope so bright it hurt.
Hurt because he didn’t get to do this to me.
He didn’t get to change his mind and decide that he cared about me now that he’d found out I wasn’t some Verona High super spy. And I hated how much my traitorous heart wanted to take the jersey and pretend the past three months hadn’t happened.
My lips stuck together when I tried to speak. I licked them and peered at the students surrounding us, all exchanging their own looks of confusion and overly loud whispers.
Didn’t he hate her? Weren’t we supposed to hate her? He hasn’t given out his jersey all season. Why the hell is he giving it to her?
So instead of speaking, I did the only thing I’d gotten better at. I ran. Snatching up my bag, I pushed past a sea of surprised faces, bolted from the gym and took off all the way home.
Seemed like that old plan still worked well when it came to Mason. Avoid. Run.
This wasn’t the end. Stupid, stupid Lilah. How would tomorrow go after I’d rejected Mason’s offer in front of the whole school? Mason was relentless in everything he did and now my escape felt short-lived because I was tempted to jump straight into the dragon’s den with him.