Page 71 of Make Me Mean It

Except Theo is his best friend. They were together yesterday. Theo could have said something. Marcus could have seen us leave the club the other night. He could have noticed something this morning, could have-

I cut the thought off before I make myself insane, my hand clenching around the pen until the plastic digs painfully into my skin.

“What do you mean?”

Marcus looks at me properly, one brow lifting.

“You seriously haven’t noticed?”

My leg bounces beneath the table, heel tapping against the tile as I stare at him, trying to work out what he could possibly mean.

Marcus snorts. “He’s been playing like shit all week.”

The breath I’ve been holding slips out, my fingers relaxing around the pen, relief coming so fast I almost laugh.

Except then the rest of it catches up with me.

Theo’s been playing like shit.

“Couldn’t hit the fucking net if you paid him,” Marcus continues, taking another drink. “He’s been fucking useless.”

I saw it yesterday. Watched him send the puck wide and nearly lose his shit at Marcus afterwards, all that anger written across his face right up until he looked towards the stands and saw me.

I shift in my chair, pressing a hand over my knee to force it still. “Why would I notice that?”

I lower my head and start writing, copying the next sentence straight from the textbook without taking in a single word.

“You’ve been coming to practices more,” Marcus says with a shrug. “Kinda hard to miss the way he’s snapping at everyone.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t.” I turn the page, still having no idea what was on the last one. “I don’t go to practice to watch Knox.”

A low whistle curls past Marcus’s teeth, and I already hate whatever’s coming next.

“What’d he do to piss you off?”

My teeth press together.

Theo hasn’t done a thing. That’s apparently the game now. Barely look at me, barely speak to me, tell me to stay and then walk straight out of the door himself.

My chair scrapes across the tile as I shove away from the table, knocking Marcus’s feet down with it.

“You think I’d waste my energy on someone like Theo Knox?” I spit, snatching up my textbook and pulling it against my chest.

It tastes wrong coming out of my mouth.

I hate the way Marcus is looking at me as though there’s something here for him to figure out, but he’s been playing like shit all week has already lodged itself beneath my ribs.

Theo’s game has nothing to do with me.

So there’s absolutely no reason for yesterday to keep replaying in my head, or for me to be wondering whether he was already playing badly before the lake.

“I have better things to do.”

Marcus’s gaze drops to the textbook I’ve practically folded around my ribs before coming back to my face.

“Yeah,” he snorts, mouth twitching. “You seem super chill.”

I glare at him, walking out his words still pounding inside my skull. And despite every sensible part of me insisting it has nothing to do with me, one question refuses to leave.

Since when?