It is not an act I do alone.
Oh, I’m physically by myself. Ryan and Jesse took off like they always do—the girls they once chased now waiting for them next to the flagpole, books tucked coyly against their chests.
And so, I face down every set of eyes.
They watch me like I can’t watch back. Like a tiger in a cage—unable to strike, no matter who’s pressed against the glass with a steak in hand.
It’s exactly what I pictured last night. I’m the villain. I’m the new girl who got in a public shouting match with a popular senior in front of half the school.
I’m the best gossip in town.
Head up, armor on, I push through. Through the junior-senior parking lot and over the orange paw prints. Through the stutter in my heart as I skip past the spot where Grey always waited—half smile at the ready, khakis pressed and perfect.
He’s not there now, and both disappointment and relief catch at the base of my throat.
The hallway is full of more eyes. Faces I don’t recognize but ones that know every inch of me. Staring without filter. Pity seeping into whispers.
I want to punch their pity in the face.
I enter Spanish and here, too, my presence is dissected by every student in the room—any remaining conversation becoming a distant remnant, lost to a new, shiny, O-Rod-shaped object.
I keep it neutral, keep it cool—no game-day scowling here. I blink and another set of eyes has joined the crowd: the pair belonging to Coach Kitt.
I expect her loyalty to her son to lay bare in her tawny features. Instead, there’s the hint of a smile.
“Miss Rodinsky,” she says. “Please stop by my office after the last bell.”
There’s no malice to the request. Nothing to indicate that I’m in trouble—her lips remain upturned, eyes clear. If anything, it’s the warmest total expression she’s everaimed in my general vicinity. Still, my heart sinks and my blood pressure rises, my lungs suddenly sapped of air.
She must know what happened. That I accused her son of using me. And then softball will be over—no junior year for the scouts to see. Nothing. Nada.
Still, because my sister taught me well, I nod like I do any time I’m asked to do the impossible.
In a way, this day has been exactly like I expected my first day at Northland to be.
Quiet, awkward, cold.
Jake came late with a doctor’s note and downturned posture, saying nothing to me—or anyone—during Spanish. Rather, he spent the entire class running a hand through his fresh buzz, head still ringing from that hit, his eye looking even worse than Saturday.
If Coach Kitt knew about the parking lot, she didn’t show it. She just taught, like she wasn’t Grey’s mother. Like she wasn’t the softball coach. Like she didn’t call my butt to her office. Like she wasn’t anything to me at all other than a vessel for the preterit ofser.
Lunch happened not in the bathroom of my summer daydreams but with my back pressed to a locker outside of Coach Lee’s classroom. Not a single teacher who passed me said a word as I plowed through my turkey sandwichand mealy Red Delicious, though I’m sure eating in the hallway isn’t technically allowed.
When the bell rings, I head to my seat for calc and wait.
Topps and Lily Jane appear first. As they approach, Topps looks away, cheeks blazing atop his man-beard. Coward. Lily Jane has far more balls than that. She doesn’t just make eye contact, shesmilesat me.
And when Topps drops into his chair, Lily Jane not only keeps upright but takes a few more steps until she’s standing right in front of my desk, her impish face still split in two by a grin so fierce I can smell the strawberry soda she shared with Topps.
Five little fingers pat the meat of my forearm and squeeze as she leans down, gold tiger paw pendant swinging in front of my nose. Her voice is low and fast like she’s about to be caught. And maybe she is.
“You’re my hero, Liv. A goddamn hero. You were right to call those boys on their shit. All of them owe you an apology, even my Tobias.”
“Um, thank you?” I say, blinking.
“Just wanted to make sure you knew that.” She winks, but somehow it looks different from the one in Grey’s arsenal. “And I would’ve given you a heads-up about Grey and Stacey that first day at lunch, but I thought you knew—I really did.” With a hummingbird wave, she switches topics, clearly flustered at unintentionally keeping me inthe dark. “Anyway. You’re a badass. A hero-badass warrior princess.”
One more squeeze of my forearm and she’s gone.
