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“Here’s the thing about that. I know I can. So, what you’rereallysaying is you don’t think you can get past this.” It’s twisted logic, and I can tell he’s a little confused by it thanks to the squiggle on his forehead.
“Whatever. Listen, this is my senior year. Me and the guys have plans. We want to make memories, and you coming in with your big fucking head is just messing up our rhythm.”
Big fucking head?
I laugh and quirk up the side of my mouth, and maybe it’s subconscious but I also drag my hand through my hair, sampling the size of my noggin. I think he was being metaphorical, but also, I don’t think Toby’s that bright.
“You know what? You’re great at the run,” I say, a total lie because he’s average at best. And our running backs are slow compared to most of the public schools. The only thing great about our running game with Toby at the helm is he doesn’t have to throw so there’s a lower chance for an interception.
“I am great, and you’re shit. So how about you stop taking favors from daddy and quit the team?”
Wow. That escalated quickly. I wonder if he’s like this when he sits down for college interviews. Those checks his dad writes must be enormous.
“Right. Okay. Well, Toby”—I run my palm over my chin and get to my feet. It’s a total power move because I’m much taller—“I’m not going to quit the team. This is everything to me, and I am going to work my ass off to see it through. So, like I said, either you can get past this and maybe I’ll let you run the ball a little here and there, oryoucan quit the team. How’s that sound?”
Okay, my buzz is hitting my head. Nothing too strong, but enough to drop my filter and let my inner thoughts loose. It’s kind of nice saying those things you really want to say out loud.
“That might be hard when your dad gets fired,” he says, and suddenly I’m stone cold sober.
“Excuse me?” I tilt my head and step into him.
“Oh, you must have heard the stories. You know . . . about Morgan Bentley and the last coach? They had a thing.” Toby actually holds up his hands, making a fist with one then moving his fat finger in and out of it with the other.
“Watch yourself,” I seethe. Theo is on the other side of the room, so I’m in charge of stopping myself from going too far. I know what he’s doing. He’s provoking me. Maybe I’ll take a swing and get expelled for assault, and he can report Theo’s secret lair and ruin life for everyone.
Keep it together, James.
“Just, I noticed her in his truck the other day when I was working the security booth. They were coming in pretty late, just the two of them. I could show you the picture if you want.” His lips can’t hold back his gleeful smile as he grins at me like a psychotic clown.
“Maybe I ask your dad about their relationship? Or I could ask around campus, see if anyone else has seen them together.”
I hold his stare, studying his eyes and looking for the weak link in his game. This school is toxic. These people are toxic. And more than his accusations ruining my life, they’d implode my parents’ marriage.
“Go ahead, ask around. Ask my dad, or his assistant coaches for that matter. My father can’t stand Morgan Bentley. And you know what? Neither can I.”
The words leave my mouth before I have a chance to evaluate them. They inflate on my tongue and choke my windpipe. I smell the way they burn up in the air. It was a pretty harsh lie, but I sold it. Only problem is that lie was Toby’s end goal all along. I was too furious to see it coming, too proud to slow down and simply stand my ground. I let him take me low.
“I see. Whatever you say, James. Hey, nice game today,” he says, his lips puckering into a pretentious and tight grin that dimples his cheeks like the sour of a lemon.
I stand pinned in place, my feet lead on the floor as he winds his way back to the exit, not bothering to provoke another soul on his way out of the fire. The only thing left for me to do is look down at the floor and follow the trail of glitter to the glass office door, shades drawn and lights off.
I hold my breath. I hold out hope. And then I hear the click of the lock.
Chapter15
Morgan
He isn’t going to leave.
It would have been better to run out of here in front of everyone, under the cover of a small gathering. It might have caused a scene, and James probably would have gone after me or tried to make me stay so he could explain, but if I had just left, this would be done by now.
Instead, I waited. I cried—I hate crying—and nothing is done. Everything lies ahead. I’m considering living out my days in this old office and digging out that weird bag of pot to get by.
“Morgan, please open the door.”
It’s four in the morning. His parents have to wonder where the hell he is. My roommates are wrapped up in their own happiness and probably don’t even miss me. Not that I’ve been there much for them. Lily’s big swim meet is soon. I should be doing those little things Anika would have done—leaving little notes of encouragement for her to find, stopping by her practice to cheer her on and embarrass her in that loving way, or organizing a party for after she competes. And Brooklyn . . . I think she’s hooking up with Cameron, which scares me because he takes absolutely nothing in life seriously. I haven’t been a very good friend. I’ve been busy wasting time, thinking I was falling in love with a stupid boy.
I can’t very well sit in here for an entire weekend, and I really want to take a shower. Lifting my tired body from the floor where I have been wallowing for the last hour, I use the door handle to stand the rest of the way, flipping the lock as I do. I step back and a second later James pushes it open an inch.
