He did what ?
Chapter 48
Sophia
By the time the final bell rings, signaling the start of last period, my head is spinning. James had to sprint ahead to the locker rooms, muttering that the coach would skin him alive if he was even a second late for gym class.
That leaves just me and Maria walking down the long corridor toward the outdoor sports fields.
"He did what?" I repeat, lowering my voice to a sharp whisper as we push through the double doors into the bright afternoon sun.
"Yes!" Maria insists, her eyes wide with gossip. "I told you about that party, right? The one I wanted to go to, but my mom grounded me?"
"Yes, yes! And?" I prompt urgently, nudging her arm to make her hurry up.
"Well, Lisa went, and she's currently kind of dating Alex. Anyway, she told me at lunch that Lorenzo punched Santos because—"
"Santos?" I stop for a second, trying to place the name.
Where had I heard that before?
Then it clicks. "Oh, wait. The guy from the street race last week? The one who lost against Lorenzo?"
"Yes, exactly! Lorenzo totally flattened him."
"But why?" I ask, my brows furrowing.
"Because of you," Maria says excitedly. She actually jumps up and down, dragging my arm along with her.
"What? No! No way, Maria. Absolutely no way in hell." The hot gravel of the path crunches beneath my sneakers as I shake my head. "Why would he ever do that? It makes zero sense. He hates my guts. Why would he go out of his way to defend me?"
"Maybe you should ask him," she says with a mischievous grin, steering us down the concrete stairs toward the lower fields. "I'm telling you, Sophia, sparks are flying. It was a massive deal because Lorenzo was supposed to race. His team lost, and..."
"Wait, what? I'm so confused." I press a hand to my forehead. "Are we even talking about the same Lorenzo?"
"Yes! And now Santos is getting on his nerves because Lorenzo still got the most votes from the crowd without even participating," she explains, waving a manicured hand dismissively. "Don't ask me how the ranking works."
Suddenly, pieces of a puzzle I didn't even know I was solving fall into place.
"Oh my god," I whisper, freezing right in my tracks. A couple of annoyed soccer players swear under their breath as they navigate around me, carrying heavy boxes of gear.
"His hand."
Maria stops and turns around, looking triumphant. "What about his hand?"
"On the roof. His knuckles were completely split open and bloody."
"See? The story is true!" Maria claps her hands together.
"Maybe... maybe that's why he was still so pissed after I apologized," I muse aloud, my throat tightening. He hadn't been angry at my words. He had been dealing with the aftermath of a literal street fight.
"I'm telling you, he doesn't hate-hate you," Maria says, quickly checking a buzzing notification on her phone. "He hates you because he likes you."
"Maria, stop. This isn't a movie. It doesn't make any sense."
"It makes total sense, girl. You're just too blind to see it." She steps closer and places a firm, grounding hand on my shoulder. "Look, I have to run. I promised to help set up the planning booth for the big game later."
She gives me a quick wave and jogs off toward the stadium seats
Right.
The big match.
The entire school has been hyping it up for weeks, which means Maria is going to drag me to the bleachers later. And that means I'm going to run into him again.
I look down at my own hands, my mind racing faster than the cars at the street track.
Did Lorenzo really punch a guy just because he was talking trash about me?
I mean it would perfectly explain the state of his knuckles, I think to myself.When open the doors.
"Miss Miller! Finally. I was just about to mark you as absent," my swim coach calls out the second I step into the humid, echoing enclosure of the indoor pool.
I give her an apologetic look while frantically rummaging through my gym bag. I can see it written all over her face that she already knows what excuse is coming.
"I'm so sorry, Coach, but."
"What is it this time? A headache?"
"Actually, I got my period," I tell her, secretly satisfied by the fact that it is 100% the truth this time.
"Fine, Miss Miller. Go sit over there by the windows. The rest of you, get in the water!" she barks, turning her attention back toward the massive, chlorine-scented pool.
Relieved that I get to sit out another grueling sports lesson, I toss my bag onto one of the plastic lounge chairs and look out the massive glass windows.
From up here, the view of the football fields is perfect.
In the distance, I can see Maria fully in her element, screaming at two guys who are hanging the school spirit banner completely crooked.
Past them, the varsity team is tearing up the grass for practice. I watch intently as Lorenzo barks out instructions to his team before tipping a water bottle over his head, letting the cool water drench his dark hair.
Oh my god, pull yourself together, Sophia.
Otherwise, you're officially a stalker.
But the thought refuses to leave me alone.
Did he really do that for me? The urge to hear the truth about the party directly from him burns in my mind.
But how am I supposed to corner him? I try to distract myself by opening my biology book, but after staring blankly at the exact same sentence for five straight minutes, I snap it shut.
I march back over to my coach, plastering an innocent look on my face. "Could I go to my locker real quick? I, uh, left my pads in there."
"Just this once," she sighs warningly, her eyes already tracking the swimmers in lane three.
Without wasting another second, I push the heavy doors open and step out into the fresh afternoon air.
Okay.
Now what?
Without a real plan, I let my feet carry me down toward the football field, waving at Maria the moment our eyes meet.
"What are you doing here? I thought you had swim class!"
she calls out, before immediately spinning around to yell at her crew.
"No, hey! Put the coolers over there! This is a nightmare... How am I supposed to organize a pep rally when the guys are having practice right here?"
She groans, tossing her clipboard onto a plastic table.
"I have to ask him," I confess bluntly.
Maria's eyes widen. She understands instantly.
"I need to hear it from him, Maria. I can't concentrate on anything else," I admit, my eyes scanning the field, searching for the number seven jersey.
"And what exactly do you want to hear?"
"What?"
"I mean, do you want to hear that he did it or not?"
I pause, the words dying in my throat. I haven't actually thought that far ahead.
"So you do want it to be true," she smirks.
A second later, she lunges toward a freshman who just dropped a box on the wrong side of the tent.
"I feel like I'm working with animals!" she stresses, turning back toward the field where the guys are just taking a hydration break.
"If you ask me, you should confront him right after practice."
"Yeah, you're right," I mutter, scratching the back of my neck nervously. "Or maybe I shouldn't ask at all."
"If you can live with the mystery," Maria laughs, giving me a knowing, pointed look.
Of course I can't.
"Right, well... I should probably head back before Coach snaps," I say defeatedly.
I steal one last glance at Lorenzo across the field. My heart skips a beat when I see him flinch in pain, subtly cradling his injured right hand against his chest.
Before I can look away, Lorenzo's head snaps up.
Our eyes lock across the vast distance of the field. Even from here, the sheer intensity of his gaze hits me like a physical wave. He freezes, the water bottle still gripped in his good hand, his dark eyes narrowing the exact second he catches me staring.
My heart hammers violently against my ribs, trapped in my throat. For a split second, neither of us moves.
Panic spikes through my veins.
I rip my eyes away, spin on my heel, and practically sprint back toward the safety of the indoor pool.