Chapter 6 #2
Her eyes narrow as she pushes stray hairs back off her temples. “I bet you’re loving this.”
“Is my joy that obvious?” I say, deadpan, then point to the road we were running on. “Now walk.”
“No.” She crosses her arms.
“No?” My brows lower. “You don’t get to say no.”
She lifts her chin. “Well, you don’t get me to tell me what to do.”
I roll my shoulders and try to ease the tension. “So you’re just going to stand here all night because you don’t want to listen to me? Really brilliant move.”
“Obviously, I’m not going to stay here all night. But this is not a ‘you tell me to jump, and I ask how high’ situation. It’s about principle.”
“Suddenly you care about principle?” I laugh. “You joined a sport where you knew you’d make the team by default at the last minute so that you’ll look better for a scholarship that you won’t win.”
She takes a few steps toward me and jabs my chest. My skin burns through my shirt at the contact.
Her cheeks are still flushed, but I think it’s from anger now.
“My joining this stupid team is me trying to make sure I don’t lose what is already mine, or did you not realize there was no way of beating my GPA? ”
I push her arm down so she’s no longer touching my chest. “You mean because you took that secret AP class last year?”
She looks away. “It was available to anyone who cared to look.”
Yeah, only if you knew to look for an online provider, something no one at Citrus Prep ever had or ever will do again. “And now it’s not.”
“I bet that just kills you that there’s no way you could ever beat me. You knew that…” Her voice trails off, and her eyes widen in horror. “Wait,” she says slowly. “Is that why the scholarship requirements changed this year?”
I’m struggling to keep up with her train of thought. My face scrunches in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Everyone knows your family started the endowment that funds the Citrus Scholar. Whenever a Williams is a senior, they win. I bet they changed it because they knew that you weren’t going to be valedictorian.
” She shakes her finger at me. “Of course you and your family would do something like that.” Then she turns and walks away still mumbling something under her breath.
Rage boils beneath the surface. My family may be awful for a lot of reasons, but she doesn’t get to lie about them just because she’s unhappy with the turn of events.
I jog over and put my hand on her shoulder to turn her so she’s facing me again.
“That’s not why they changed it. I didn’t tell my family that I wasn’t going to get it. ”
She steps out from under my hand. “So you admit I deserve to get it?”
Not in a million years. “I admit your GPA is higher, but that doesn't mean you deserve it. Especially not now with the new rules. Everyone knows I’m the ideal student.” I lift my hand and start counting on my fingers.
“I’ve got good grades. I’ve been playing sports this entire time.
I’m president of the student government unless you forgot about how I destroyed you in the election. ”
“I think you mean the popularity contest,” she mumbles and starts walking back in the direction we came from.
Assuming we stop when we get back to the school, she will have made it a grand total of a mile—considerably less than the required 5k we run for meets.
I can’t pretend I don’t love watching her fail at something she thought was going to be easy.
I keep pushing as I fall in step with her. “Call it what you want. I won.”
“As if you’re the only one with accomplishments. You don’t even know what I can do.”
“I know you can’t run.”
Her steps become more stomp-like as we continue walking. “You don’t have to stay with me. You can go on your little run without me. No one has to know.”
“You’re right. I’m sure no one would suspect a thing when we show up at different times.” I pause for dramatic effect. “Sorry, sweetie. You’re stuck with me.”
She gags. “I told you not to mention anything romantic between us again.”
I chuckle and keep going. “It was just a term of endearment, honey.”
“You’re gross and rude and…”
“Going to win the Citrus Scholar.” I lean over toward her. I’m so close I can see each of her individual eyelashes. “So, feel free to work on your concession speech now.”
“In your dreams.”
“We’ve already established that you’re the one dreaming about me.”
“Nightmares, Connor. I have nightmares about you.”
“Well, next time you have a nightmare about me, you can practice what you’ll say when I do win because that particular nightmare will become reality.”
She opens and closes her mouth several times trying to find the perfect retort. When she comes up short, she walks faster. It’s cute—I know she’s trying to put distance between us, but she’s significantly shorter than me, and it takes little effort for me to keep up.
We walk back to the school in silence, though I can hear her breathing become more labored the longer we speed walk. Some of the faster guys arrive at school the same time as Ella and me. They glance at us with questioning gazes but don’t say anything as they gulp water from their bottles.
Eventually, everyone returns, including Coach. She looks surprised to see us and calls Ella over to talk. I’m insanely curious about what she’s going to say, but I don’t speculate for long before Jonathan walks over with Sarah right on his heels.
“That was fast,” he says, wiping the sweat from his face on his shirt.
I shrug.
“Tell me you weren’t a massive jerk to her.” Sarah jabs me in the arm. “Is your ego so fragile you had to scare her off on the first day?”
I lift my hands in surrender and explain that we barely made it a half a mile into our run before she gave up and turned around.
Sarah eyes me suspiciously. “If she quits…”
I think about the determination on Ella’s face when we were arguing. As much as I can’t stand her, I admire her determination. For better or worse, I know the truth. “She’s not going to quit.”
“If she does”—Sarah jabs me in the arm again—“you’re going to convince her to come back.”
I nod absent-mindedly as Ella and Coach continue to talk in the distance. Ella waves her arms and then looks over at me. Coach does, too. I turn back to Sarah, mostly to avoid being under their accusing gazes. “She’s not going to quit.”
“She better not,” Sarah says before walking off.
I hope I’m right because I don’t want to beg Ella to stay.
I already don’t want her to do cross country.
She’s ruining everything. But this team is important to me.
I like Sarah, and I want her to get to compete in the district meet this year even if it means Ella being here.
I close my eyes and send up a silent prayer that Ella decides to come back tomorrow.