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“Then you need to tell him.”
“What do you think I just did? He won’t listen. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. Face it, Mom. He’s selfish.”
“I’ll talk to him.” Her mouth pressed into a firm line, and I could see that she believed she could make a difference.Oh, Mom.
“Thanks,” I said because what else was there?
She squeezed my hand once more, then pulled away, leaving me with a bitter taste in my mouth.
My phone chimed as she backed out of my room, so I pulled it out of my pocket, along with the Bucknell letter, casting the envelope with one last look of longing before setting it on my nightstand and checking my phone.
Gabby. She wanted to talk, which was code for she wanted to get back together and hook up. But I wasn’t in the mood. I was tired of the same relationship. Tired of my role as King, and so I clicked off her text, set my phone down, and laid back in my bed, hands clasped behind my head.
I closed my eyes, focusing on my breathing.
In. Out.
The tension in my muscles eased, and I allowed my thoughts to drift . . .
. . . to Bucknell and water polo. School and my friends. A cascade of chestnut locks. An uneasy smile and eyes dark enough and deep enough to sink deep into your soul.
Oddly enough, I thought of Penelope Ewe.
Chapter 6
PENELOPE
InsteadofridingintoschoolwithScarlettthenextmorning,IhadmydaddropmeoffsinceIneededtobethereatthebuttcrackofdawntotalktoPrincipalBellandgetmytutoringschedulepriortothestartofclasses.
After an inordinate amount of time spent on my makeup and hair for a boost of confidence, I entered the office armed in my vintage Alanis Morrissett t-shirt, a pair of cut-off shorts, and the black converse I bought over the summer with some of the money I made slinging cones at the local Dairy Whip, only to be informed Principal Bell had gone to the pool to talk to Coach Paul, the water polo coach. When I suggested I stop back later, she insisted I find him, that he was expecting me and had my schedule in hand.
So it was with a sinking in my stomach that I made my way to the indoor swimming pool. If Bell was talking to Coach Paul, that meant one thing. The water polo team was practicing and seeing as how they were ninety percent Royal, I wasn’t particularly ecstatic at the notion of having to see Topher’s smug face first thing.
Wasn’t it bad enough that I’d have to see them in econ and spend my free time tutoring one of them?
I yanked open the door and a blast of humid air hit me in the face. My shirt stuck to my skin almost instantly, and the scent of chlorine surrounded me as I stepped inside.
My shoes squeaked on the tile floor as the pool came into view. Across from them stood Coach Paul and Bell, engrossed in conversation, so I gingerly made my way toward them, careful not to slip and fall on the wet floor.
I’d never been to one of the school’s water polo matches before. In fact, I’d never really gone to any of our sporting events, for that matter. You tended to avoid social functions with your classmates when you were a social pariah, which is why as I drew closer, I watched them with rapt interest.
More than a dozen boys thrashed in the water in front of a large net. They wore a simple head covering, sort of like a swim cap but thicker and tied underneath their chin, with padding over the ears.
One of the players grabbed another one from behind while his teammate flung him the ball, and if I didn’t know any better by the violent bear hug going on, I’d think he was trying to drown him.
Wide-eyed, I continued to watch as I stopped behind Bell, waiting for him to finish his conversation. From where I stood, it was hard to make out their faces. Half of their backs were to me and they were moving too quickly to get a good look, but one boy in particular drew my eye and I prayed it wasn’t Topher, because man-oh-man, he made my palms sweat.
Water beaded down the hard plains of his chest, tanned a golden brown from what I imagined were hours spent in the pool all summer. He had muscles I didn’t even know existed, and they moved in a graceful dance as he slung the ball, blocked goals, and maneuvered through the silky blue.
He effortlessly caught the ball, then lifted his arm, his chest rising above him. The muscles in his shoulders flexed as he pulled his arm back. Just below the surface of the water, I caught a glimpse of something tiny and green. Is that . . .? Were they wearing Speedos?
Beside me, Coach Paul blew his whistle and asked them to line up, which I assumed meant practice was over.
One by one, they spilled out of the pool to the sound of him barking orders, and sure enough, each of them wore little green Speedo briefs.
My eyes instantly found Mr. Perfect Chest, and it was just as impressive out of the water as it was in. A fireball ignited in my chest and my cheeks flamed at the sight of him.
A snort of laughter came from somewhere down the line, followed by snickering. It was about that time I realized I had been ogling Mr. Perfect Chest pretty hard, jaw halfway to the floor.
