“What do you mean?” I ask.
“He talked to Coach. Promised to do a complete one-eighty and start taking the game seriously.”
My heart skips a beat. “When?”
“Yesterday, maybe?” Holden says. “Who knows?”
I wonder if it’s because of the talk in our dream.
And the longer I stick around, the more Holden’s words are confirmed. Marcus is playing Jason’s usual position on Friday night. Even I, with my minimal understanding of soccer, can see that the coaches are treating Marcus differently than they normally do. Usually, he is on the bench, a substitute for Jay or one of the other forwards, but right now the coaches are watching Marcus like a hawk and nitpicking everything from his footwork to the way he makes contact with the ball.
Marcus looks miserable, and I don’t blame him.
He’s playing with his shirt off, and my eyes can’t help being drawn to his toned abs. Sweat has made his blond hair darker than normal. If someone called Marcus a skinny Thor, they would, technically, not be incorrect. But Jason is definitely more my type. Clean-cut, sweet, disciplined.
“Psst, Marcus!” I say, trying to get his attention as soon as Coach Kyle walks away. “Marcus!”
“Is it dream time?” he asks when he finally comes off the field.
I glance around, horrified. “Would you keep it down?”
Marcus grins, lowers his voice. “I doubt anybody’s going to know what that means.” His bad mood dissipated as soon as the coaches let up on him.
“You never know,” I say, irritated by how paranoid I sound.
He gives me a questioning look, and I take the opportunity to say, “I have to talk to you.”
“Zadie Cartwright wants to talk? Iamdreaming. I don’t even have a good This or That prepared.”
“Stop it,” I insist. He grins as he takes his hair out of the ponytail he plays with and runs his hand through it.
“Am I upsetting you? I really wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing.”
Oh my God. I turn on my heel as I lament what a shitty plan this was. “Okay, I’m going.”
Marcus chuckles and catches up to me. “Fine. I just had to get that out of my system. So?” he says, after we’ve been walking together a millisecond longer than is comfortable. Last time we were both in this parking lot, he was threatening me, telling me he knew Jason had broken up with me.
“It’s not you, is it?” I suddenly feel the need to ask.
“Is what not me?” Marcus looks genuinely confused as he bites into a granola bar.
“The Instagram bully.”
Marcus rocket-laughs, a fizzy, unexpectedly delighted sound. Frankly it feels so disrespectful and cruel that I storm ahead and don’t stop walking until he catches up to me.
“Hey! Hey!”
“Is everything a joke to you?”
“You know I don’t evenuseInstagram, right?” Marcus asks.
The truth is, I don’t think Marcus sent me that message. I don’t know why, but it doesn’t seem like something he would do.
That being the case, I still hate that he’s the only one I have to turn to for help.
“Someone’s harassing me.”
Marcus’s face loses its glee. “Explain.”
