Chapter 48
“YOUR SONG” BY ELTON JOHN
Erica had never looked so disgusted by something I’d said in her entire life, and I once told her about a dog at the kennels that shat live roundworms in front of me.
“I am not doing that,” she scoffed.
“It’s her first official practice with the team!” I reminded her. “I thought she was your friend?”
“Yeah, my friend.” Erica looked down at the bench where I dropped the stuff I had made for her to look over. “Q, this is weird. I am not going to tie your trash to her car just because you want to get into her pants.”
“It’s not like that.” I pouted.
“Oh, it’s not?” Erica turned back to her locker and rolled her eyes. “Might I remind you, she’s off limits.”
“I know that!” I fought off a wince.
“Then why are you standing in front of me asking me to do this whipped school girl crush crap?” Erica turned away from her locker again to glare at me. She hadn’t changed from her Ghouls uniform yet, so her shirt and high pony slung around with her. “This is trash!”
“I made this for her.” I explained, digging through the reusable grocery bags. The cans clinked as I held them up, pulling out the sign in the third bag. “Th-there’s a sign and some cans for her car. A few glittery things. And look, Estelle helped me color this for her!”
Erica pinched the bridge of her nose. “Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“Because it’s her firs?—”
“No.” Erica dropped her hands and sent me a look. “Why are you doing all of this? Why her? Why are you not listening to me when I tell you to drop this?”
“She’s worked hard to get here.” I swallowed when Erica’s eyes narrowed. “I . . . I just . . . I care about her, okay? I want her to know that.”
“That you care about her? Your new little friend you watch all around town?”
“She’s my friend!”
“She’s not your friend. Do you even see how suspicious this looks?
” Erica looked around and stepped closer to me, lowering her voice so any other girls lingering in the locker room couldn’t hear her.
“You are obsessed with a girl who shows up out of nowhere. Her father is a cop. Your father is not a cop.”
She flicked my forehead.
“Ow!”
“And you—” She drives her finger into my chest. “You show up to my house covered in blood late in the night. You smell like bleach. You had two guns in the back cubby of your Jeep. And now, you’re doing girlfriend shit!”
“This is not girlfriend shit. I am not anyone’s girlfriend.” I crossed my arms and glared at Erica.
“You drew a picture with your daughter for your friend.” Erica wiggled her fingers in the air and picked up my empty can strings. “And then you made this shit! You are not crafty. When did you turn into a domesticated raccoon?!”
“I am not a raccoon!”
“Then what is it?” Erica hummed, slapping her thighs as her hands fell to her sides. “Why can’t you just leave her alone? Are you hunting her? Do you hunt now? You gonna hide her body in the woods too? You gonna?—”
“No!” I slammed Erica’s locker shut and stepped into her space, a surge of hot rage plummeting through me.
She stumbled back in surprise, eyes wide.
“I am not going to hurt her. All I want is to make her happy, okay? Can you stop comparing me to other people and see how much I care for her? Please? Can you do that?”
Erica took a small step back and scanned me. Her brows furrowed as she turned back to the bags and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Okay,” she mumbled, not convinced. “Whatever, El. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I do. Just do this for me.” I relaxed my body when Erica nodded.
“Whatever. Fine.” She sighed. “Just don’t let them change you.”
My lips tugged downward when Erica didn’t meet my eyes, hugging herself.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I stepped back and raised a brow when Erica slowly looked up.
Her eyes looked disappointed, sadness laced through them.
“I know my best friend.” She opened her locker back up and grabbed her letterman. “And I’m honestly scared for her. You smell like bleach all the time. You have weird bruises on you. Don’t think I didn’t see that silencer in the spare tire compartment the other day looking for Estelle’s baby doll.”
Erica turned and walked down the aisle with her makeup wipes and a tampon. She hung her head and stuffed her hands into her pockets, not turning back.
“Don’t be dumb,” she spat.
“I can handle myself!” I called after her.
The brunette didn’t turn back. It made my heart feel like it was being chipped away.