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She was wearing the same black jersey, white shorts, and yellow bib that I was, but unlike me, her training clothes actually fit her body. Her long blond curly ponytail swished from side to side as she moved. Her cheeks were red, her eyes alight with excitement. She was disgustingly stunning.
“Isn’t this the best way to end the day?”
“Uh, yeah, sure!” I feigned a smile and gave her two enthusiastic thumbs up.
“You hate this, don’t you?” She laughed and rested her elbow on my shoulder. The fact that she could do that with ease only drove home how small I was. “Don’t worry. There’s only another ten minutes left.”
“Soccer isn’t really my—” I paused to duck, narrowly avoiding a ball to the face. “It’s not my thing,” I began to say, but Claire was already chasing after the ball, screaming at our teammates that she was “open.”
Moments later, a stampede of teenagers came barreling up the court toward me, hunting down the rogue soccer ball. So, I did what any sane five foot zero person in my position would do; I ran over to the wall and flattened my back against it. Narrowly avoiding another trampling, I decided that I had quite enough of P.E. for one day. I’d had a horrible, niggling pain in my stomach all day, and running around wasn’t helping matters.
My body was in pieces.
I was in so much pain that I could hardly stand it.
To be honest, I had a feeling the stomachache I was suffering was anxiety induced and father related.
We were finishing up school on Friday for two whole weeks, and every time I allowed myself to think about all those days stuck in my house with my father, the pain grew worse. Most people were looking forward to getting away for the holidays. Meanwhile, I was a trembling mess.
Exhausted, I pulled my bib off and searched the hall for Mr. Mulcahy to ask him if I could be dismissed early and sit in the changing room. My heart jackknifed in my chest when I found him standing in the entrance to the hall, talking to none other than Johnny Kavanagh.
Oh god. How long had he been standing there?
Certainly long enough to see my pathetic attempt at evading death.
All day, I felt him watching me. Everywhere I went, I swear I could feel eyes on me. I knew he wanted to speak to me, which was why I had spent the day ducking and dodging him.
He would have questions about last week. He would want to know. And he wouldn’t believe my lies.
That was terrifying.
Because he was too clever for a girl in my position to hang around with.
When I was with him, I forgot about lying and hiding. I forgot about everything.
Mr. Mulcahy was tapping the clipboard in his hand, deep in conversation with Johnny—whose attention was flickering between whatever was on that clipboard and, well, me.
I was exactly opposite him, with the court between us, but I swear I could feel the heat of his stare right down to my toes. Every time he switched his attention from the clipboard to me, I was hit with a gaze so heated and full of intensity that I couldn’t figure out what I was seeing.
Was it anger? Was it frustration? Was it something else?
I couldn’t tell.
I didn’t have to think about it too much, because a few seconds later, Mr. Mulcahy blew his whistle and instructed our class to leave the court and get packed up. Coach and Johnny remained in the entrance, deep in discussion as our class trudged past them to the changing rooms.
Feeling like it was the safest option, I made a beeline for Claire, hooking my arm with hers and asking her a bazillion pointless questions about the game we’d just played—well, the game she’d just played. I kept my eyes on her face, listening intently to her responses, when we passed them. It wasn’t until I was safely tucked away in the girls’ changing room that I released the tremulous breath I’d been holding in.
“Ouch… Shannon, what the hell is wrong with you?” Claire demanded the second the changing room door slammed shut behind us.
“Huh?”
“My arm?” Claire squeezed out. “Are you intentionally trying to cut off my circulation?”
My gaze shot to her arm, more specifically to where my fingers were digging into her skin. “Oh my god!” Releasing her, I slapped a hand over my mouth. “I am so sorry.”
“What’s the matter?” She took a step closer, concern splashed across her features. “You look really freaked out.”
“Nothing,” I quickly replied. “I’m fine. It’s just…” I shook my head and blew out a ragged breath. “I wasn’t expecting him to be out there.”
