I sigh, trying to decide whether it’s more humiliating to talk about it or not talk about it. “You said you didn’t see what Jason saw in me. I believe your exact words were ‘Why would he be interested in her?’ ”
When you’d met me one time, and I’d stupidly poured my heart out to you, I almost add.
Marcus blinks, and I wait for a denial. But it never comes.
“That was only because…”
“Oh my God. So you admit it,” I say, vindicated but also weirdly hurt, despite knowing all along that Marcus sucks as a human being. “You think I’m not good enough for Jason.”
Marcus turns so he is more fully looking at me in his truck. “Why the fuck would you not be good enough for Jason?”
I cross my arms over my chest, embarrassed by the sudden impulse to cry. “I don’t know. You tell me.”
“No, seriously,” Marcus insists. “Why the fuck would you not be good enough?” And I realize for the first time that he’s looking at me as though I have three heads. “You’re smart and funny and beautiful as fuck. You’re the person everybody in this school wantsto be, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. When I asked why he was interested in you, I was asking because you’re not his usual type.”
My mind is still stuck on the words “beautiful as fuck,” but with a concerted effort, I say something else.
“You said he was out of my league.”
“No,” Marcus says. “I saidyouwere out ofhisleague. Where the hell did you hear all this?”
“Word gets around, Marcus.”
“Whose word gets around? Give me a name.”
All my intel obviously comes from Amber, but I lie. “I don’t have a specific name. It just got back to me.”
Marcus looks furious now. “Why would you not come to me with that shit? Why wouldn’t you ask me straight out?”
“We barely know each other,” I point out.
“Ask me whatever else you want to know,” Marcus implores.
But my brain is acting like it’s been taken over by a swarm of bees and all I can hear is those words again.
He thinks I’m beautiful.
“Those are all my questions,” I say, undoing my seat belt. All my bark and bite are gone. “So, um, keep me posted if you hear or see anything suspicious. Like, with the Instagram bully.”
Marcus looks like he’s fighting a smile. “That’s their name? The Instagram bully?”
“What else am I supposed to call them?”
“I don’t know, the Ring Bandit, maybe?”
Despite myself, I laugh. “We are not calling anyone the Ring Bandit.” I push open the door of Marcus’s truck.
“Fine, I’ll ask around. Keep you informed if anyone has a push pin with your face on it.”
“Ha ha,” I say, sliding out of the truck. On the signboard in front of the school, the details of this week’s game are displayed for all to see. “You know, everyone is talking about you.”
“Who’s everyone?” he asks, with none of the panic I would have at such a statement. “Same person who told you I hate you?”
I roll my eyes. “No, everyone means theentirestudent body,” I say. “Rumor has it, you’re starting in the match on Friday, and I for one am excited to see it.”
Marcus groans and scrubs a palm over his face.
I laugh. “Who knew Marcus Riddick could be shy?”
