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I told her I would, and then Liam and I went to get in line. While we waited, I noticed Alyssa sitting by herself. I wanted to ask her to dance, but I had a feeling that would piss Stacy off.
Alyssa glanced in my direction, so I quickly turned away.
And saw Mark Thompson laughing as he walked into the bathroom.
A white-hot ball of lava formed in the pit of my stomach, growing hotter with every second. I couldn’t ask Alyssa to dance without upsetting my date, but maybe there was something else I could do.
“Hey, you’re my friend, right?” I asked Liam.
The New Zealander snickered. “That a joke? Of course I’m your friend.”
“If you get a chance tonight, can you dance with Alyssa?” I asked.
Liam blinked in surprise. “Huh?”
“I feel bad for her, sitting there all alone. But Stacy doesn’t like her, and it’ll make her mad if I ask Alyssa to dance. If she keeps sitting there without anyone to dance with, will you ask her? Just for one song?”
Liam clapped me on the arm. “Sure thing, bud. Consider it done.”
“Great. I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?”
“To right a wrong,” I replied.
Behind me, Liam muttered, “What does that even mean?”
I pushed open the door to the boy’s bathroom and stepped inside. Mark Thompson was taking a piss at one of the urinals, while one of his lacrosse buddies washed his hands in the sink.
“Hey,” I demanded. “What happened with Alyssa tonight?”
Mark zipped up his fly and gave me a funny look. “Why do you care?”
“Answer the question.”
Mark’s friend stiffened. He knew something was wrong. But Mark apparently had the situational awareness of a cardboard box.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, chuckling. “It’s a thing we do every year. One guy on the lacrosse team has to ask a girl to prom, then stand her up.” He grinned, inviting me to share in the joke.
“Why Alyssa?” I asked quietly.
“Shit, I don’t know. I guess I heard she didn’t have anyone to go with? Besides, she’s kind of stuck up. She deserves it. Why do you care?”
“Hey, man,” the other guy warned. “If you have a problem…”
I took two steps forward and struck Mark with a vicious right hook, knocking him to his knees. I cried out in pain—it felt like my fingers had been broken. It was the first punch I had ever thrown in my life.
Mark’s ally grabbed me around the midsection and threw me into the sink. Fists pummeled me from behind. I was used to being punched, but it was usually by the forty year-old man whose roof I lived under. High school punches were nothing compared to that. I turned, ducking under one punch and sending my left fist up into the lacrosse player’s gut. He groaned and fell to the side, but Mark was on his feet again, face red and full of fury. I held my ground, waiting for him to come forward. As soon as he did, I stepped sideways and grabbed a handful of his hair, then drove my knee up into his nose. Something cracked.
That was the last good blow I got in. The door to the bathroom opened and three more lacrosse players hurried inside, cornering me.
“Apologize to Alyssa,” I demanded.
Mark’s nose was a faucet of blood. “Huh?”
“What you did to Alyssa was fucked up,” I insisted. “Go out there and apologize. Now.”
The newcomers looked at each other and laughed. “You’re not in a position to make any demands, faggot.”
