Pretty Savage

by T. A. Kunz

  My heart sinks. I’m not liking where this is going.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask, desperately wanting him to spit it out.

  His gaze drops to the ground. He rakes his fingers through his hair, pausing at the back of his neck. When his eyes meet mine again, my mind searches feverishly for an explanation as to why he’s acting like this, almost as if I’m looking up symptoms on Web M.D. and come to find I have a life-threatening disease.

  “No one has seen Shaun since last night,” he says at last. “We have no idea where he is.”

  His voice cracks a little at the end. I immediately feel guilty for thinking this had something to do with us. I reach out to touch his arm.

  “Really?” I ask. “No one has seen him? Not even his family?”

  He shakes his head. “We’ve been calling his phone all day, but it just goes to voicemail. With what happened to Lori, we’re all on edge and don’t know what to do.”

  I open the door the rest of the way and step outside to wrap my arms around him. He squeezes me tight and I reciprocate.

  “He’ll show up, I’m sure of it.”

  “I hope so,” he says near my ear. “This is just not like him.”

  “Do you want me to help? I’m almost done here. We could ditch the game and start looking for places you think he might be.”

  He pulls back to look at me. “It’s really sweet of you to offer, but the group’s meeting soon to form some kind of search party.”

  “Did you report this to the sheriff’s office?”

  “Yeah, we did earlier.”

  “I can still ditch the game and help you look,” I offer with a hesitant smile.

  “No, you should go.” He looks exhausted. “I really appreciate you wanting to help though.”

  “Well, let me know if I can do anything, okay?” I say, taking hold of his hand. He gives it a quick squeeze.

  “Thank you. I’ll make this up to you, promise,” he says, and that signature smile finally appears on his face.

  “What about coming to the Homecoming dance with me tomorrow then?” I ask without thinking.

  His smile wavers, and I mentally face palm at my inconsiderate question. Of course he’s not going to want to go to the dance while his friend is missing.

  What is wrong with me?

  “Sorry, that was a stupid question, and horribly timed,” I say. “Damn word vomit.”

  He leans close. “It’s not a stupid question at all. I’ll let you know tonight, okay?” He places a quick peck on my cheek before turning to leave.

  I’m shook.

  My hand trails up to my cheek and lands on the place where his lips just made contact. It’s burning hot, and I stand there dumbfounded in bliss. He sends me a little wave before getting into his truck and driving off. I snap out of it when I hear tapping on the glass door behind me. It’s Marcus.

  “Boy, what are you doing? We got things to do,” he says with a pointed stare.

  I reach for the door handle and then it hits me.

  Wait, Drea wanted to talk to Connor tonight.

  Drea

  Cheerleading used to bring me so much joy. It was one of the few things I looked forward to. It kept me striving for my goals and pushing myself to do things outside my comfort zone. It also introduced me to people I thought I’d never be friends with.

  Lori used to tease me about cheerleading. She always said to watch my back, and if I didn’t, she’d be right there if things ever went south with the squad. It’s true that sometimes people can be too close to something to see the truth. Sitting in the stands at the Homecoming game and watching Sophia and her squad perform their little routine makes me regret spending so much time and energy on them.

  The crowd, on the other hand, is living for them. They’re cheering along with every chant and sending them roaring applause at every tumble and cartwheel they perform. I’m probably one of the few sitting here defiantly not participating. The things they said earlier are on repeat in my mind. I grip the metal bench tight, trying to work through my frustration over the entire situation.

  The ultimate betrayal.

  Donovan has yet to make an appearance. The game is about to begin and there hasn’t even been one text exchanged. I take out my phone and type out a message.

  Hey, where are you?

  A few moments go by before he responds.

  Change of plans. Had to take my bike. Be there soon.

  A cold wind sweeps by, causing me to regret not having my coat. I foolishly left it in the car. This is becoming a bad habit of mine, forgetting things in my car. I was so preoccupied with getting here on time to meet Donovan that grabbing it completely slipped my mind. Now that the sun is all but set, the wind is on cut-to-the-bone setting. I clutch my bag over my lap and pull it closer to my chest to help shield myself from the cruel breeze.

  The band strikes up into the song “Go, Fight, Win,” and the crowd erupts into a chant right along with it. Any other time, I’d be right there with them. Hell, I’d be leading the chant. But my mind is more than just a little distracted at the moment.

  Two of the male cheerleaders flank our team’s entrance to the field with the paper Homecoming banner that hung in the halls stretched between them. Two more cheerleaders join them with large confetti cannons as the band begins to play our school song. The cannons blast off and our team rushes the field. They tear through the banner, leaving it in tatters in their wake. Harrison leads the pack with rest of the players close behind. For a moment I wonder how he’s doing after his little spat with Trent this morning.

  Oh, to have been a fly on the wall in the locker room.

  Then a thought occurs to me. As I trace back to the incident this morning—just before it, actually—

  I remember crashing into Trent and my stuff going everywhere. Like a puzzle piece falling into place, I wonder if Trent took the diary for some reason. He was the only one helping me pick up my stuff.

  Was I that distracted that I didn’t notice? And why didn’t this occur to me before now? My poor frazzled brain.

  I see Donovan out of the corner of my eye making his way up the stands and I wave him over. He’s alone. “Where’s your date?”

  “Yeah, he’s not coming. That was the change in plans,” he replies, and it seems something is weighing on him.

  I make room for him as he moves down the long metal bleacher. “Is everything okay?” I probe as he takes a seat next to me.

  “Not really, no. One of his friends may have gone missing,” he explains in a somber tone.

  “What? Missing? This is all too weird.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it.”

  “Are you going to be okay?” I ask as I pull him in for a side hug. Mostly to be sympathetic, but also partly because I’m freezing.

  “Yeah. It’s not me that I’m worried about though.”

  “Connor?”

  “Exactly. I want to help, but I feel helpless, you know? And it’s not like he wants me too either. It’s making our whole situation confusing.”

  “I’m sorry, Donovan. Believe me, I understand more than you know,” I reply. “Just give him space. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that we’re all going through some serious stuff right now.”

  “I know. You’re right.”

  I’m trying hard not to mention how I still want to talk to Connor and his group about all the questions I have. I realize it’s probably not a good time to bring it up, but when will it be?

  “Did you find the diary?” he asks, shifting out of the side hug.

  I shake my head. “Nope, but speaking of,” I say when my eyes spot Trent standing alone near the edge of the field doing stretches. “Could you hold our seats for a second? I need to go check on something.”

  “Sure.”

  Trent never leaves my sight as I make my descent. I weave through the line waiting for the concession stand and move to where he’s stretching. I have to confront him about the diary. I have to get to the bottom of thi
s. Things just don’t disappear into thin air.

  He sees me and sneers before turning his attention elsewhere.

  “I have a question for you,” I say.

  “Not interested.”

  “Did you pick up a diary this morning when you tried to help me with my stuff?” I ask, even though his body language yells go away.

  He doesn’t answer.

  “Well? Did you?” I ask again, but a little more forceful this time.

  He turns to face me and huffs while taking a few steps forward. He grips the top of the fence separating us as his eyes meet mine. I catch a glimpse of Harrison watching this whole exchange from over Trent’s shoulder.

  “Why would I take your diary?” he replies tersely.

  “It isn’t mine. It belonged to Carrie Phillips.”

  His eyes narrow. His face gives him away. He seems surprised to hear her name.

  “I don’t have time for this,” he says. He releases his grip on the fence and takes a couple of steps back. “Go Nancy Drew somewhere else, all right?”

  “So you didn’t take it?”

  “Again, why would I?” he barks, sounding super defensive. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a scout to impress tonight, so get lost.”

  “You owe me, Trent.”

  He eats up the space between us, flames in his eyes. “I don’t owe you crap, okay? I didn’t do anything to you or Lori, so there’s nothing to owe you,” he seethes in a whisper before storming off toward the bench.

  We’ll see about that.

  Sophia is at the end of the concession line when I head back to my seat. Our eyes find each other’s instantly, and just as quickly, she looks away. I have this sudden urge to slap her upside the head, but instead take the high road and pass by without incident.

  “Hey, Drea, wait up,” I hear her call out from behind me.

  This should be good.

  I spin around and am met by her famous forced cheerleader smile. Actually, it’s just her regular smile. I’m just pissed at her, and every little thing she does bothers me. I cross my arms over my chest and lean to the side, putting all of my weight on my hip, letting her know she better make this worthwhile. To be honest, I’m not even sure why I’m giving her any time after the things she said. I refuse to be the first one to talk.

  “About this morning,” she begins, “I know what we all said was terrible. Unforgivable, even. It’s just how some of us are dealing with the things that are happening around us.”

  A scoff flies from my mouth at her audacity. “Wait. So let me get this straight. The way you deal with death is by being a horrible person?”

  “Okay, I deserve that. You know what? I am horrible. But at least I own up to it. That’s more than I can say for some people.”

  Is she for real right now?

  My face stings from the heat spreading across my cheeks. My heart pounds as I try to bite back what I’m about to say. My teeth clench to halt the stream of choice words forthcoming. I draw in a deep breath and stare her square in the eyes.

  “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

  A whistle sounds, announcing the start of the game. “I’ve got to get back out there,” she says before heading off to the sidelines.

  I’m left standing there with all this pent up aggression, watching her saunter off. I’m seriously at a loss of what to say or do. I rejoin Donovan in the stands with Sophia’s words replaying in my head.

  “What was that all about?”

  Donovan’s question cuts through my thoughts.

  “Which thing?” I ask.

  “Both.”

  I grumble. “Well, it occurred to me that maybe Trent took the diary this morning after the incident I told you about.”

  “Oh, yeah. The one where Harrison defended your honor.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t ask him to,” I say, then shake my head. “Getting away from the point. Trent claims he didn’t take it, but who knows who can be trusted right now?”

  “Truer words have never been spoken,” he agrees. “What about Sophia?”

  “Oh, you know, just a continuation of The Young and the Restless Haddon Falls High edition,” I say in jest, but in all reality, it’s much more serious than that. I guess oddly placed humor is winning out today.

  “Connor might be going to the Homecoming dance with me tomorrow night,” Donovan says offhand. Something on the field has the crowd groaning in unison. When it settles, he continues, “So, maybe you can talk to him about Carrie if you go. Or you could tell me what you want to ask and I can ask him for you.”

  “I wasn’t really planning on going to the dance, to be honest. Maybe though. I don’t know. I don’t see why you couldn’t ask him questions yourself though,” I say, just feeling all kinds of conflicted.

  “Okay. Let’s plan on that then,” he says.

  Our attention is drawn to the field again when the crowd erupts with cheers. Our team just intercepted a pass and is running it in for a touchdown. A collective moan rolls through the stands when there’s a tackle before that happens. My response to the reactions of the crowd serves as a reminder of how very little I care about this game. I can sense Donovan’s in the same boat since he keeps staring at his phone every three seconds.

  “Have you heard from Connor yet?” I ask when he pulls his phone out again.

  “No, I haven’t. Is it weird that I’m this worried about someone I’ve only known for such a short time?” he asks, facing me and dropping his phone to his lap. His eyes fill with concern.

  I shake my head. “No, especially with what’s going on. It’s natural to worry about someone you care about. Have you tried texting him?”

  He nods. “A few times. I feel like an overprotective parent or something. I hope it’s not annoying him.”

  “It isn’t, promise.”

  “Hey, I think I’m going to get something from the snack bar. Want anything?” he asks, making his way to his feet. “I think I need to eat my feelings.”

  “I’m good. Thanks though,” I reply and he takes off down the stairs.

  My focus shifts back to the game. Trent snaps the ball to Harrison, who takes a few steps back, surveying the field for an open receiver. I find myself getting sucked into the game all of a sudden. Maybe it’s serving as a good distraction, or it could have something to do with a certain quarterback.

  Quit it, brain.

  Harrison decides to try and run the ball in since they’re close to a first down, but misses it shy of the line and is tackled to the ground. They set up for the next play and Trent goes to hike the ball to Harrison, but it fumbles from the hand-off. Trent stands up and puts his arms out, challenging Harrison. He pounds on his chest with his palm and the next thing I know, they’re going at it, blow by blow. Then they’re on the ground rolling around like one of those fights from a cartoon where it’s just a dust cloud with limbs flailing around. Their teammates try to pull them off of one another, but to no avail. The stands erupt into jeers and boos. Whistle after whistle blares from the referees until they’re able to separate them. One of the referees points at both of them and then off the field. Shock takes hold of the crowd as the jeers simmer.

  Did they both just get ejected from the game?

  I watch as they stomp off the field. The coach holds Harrison back, allowing some space between him and Trent as Trent continues past the stands and back toward the school. The coach tugs on the front grill of Harrison’s helmet and proceeds to say something I presume is heated based solely on his facial expressions alone.

  I hurry from the stands and bump into Donovan on his way back. “Holy crap, did you see what just happened?” he asks.

  “Yeah, and I need to go catch Harrison before he leaves,” I say, patting his arm and moving past him.

  When I reach the bottom of the bleachers, I see Harrison in the distance moving toward the school. He looks to have a death grip on the windbreaker jacket in his left hand. His body exudes rage. I can almost see the steam pouring off of
him.

  “Harrison, hold up,” I call out, but he keeps walking as if he didn’t hear me. “Harrison, please.”

  He stops, but doesn’t turn around. He snaps off his helmet and tucks it under his arm. “What?” he asks, low and breathy. He still refuses to face me.

  “Can you look at me, please?” I ask. I can tell he’s conflicted over it.

  He slowly spins around. His eyes slam into mine before turning away. I expect him to say something, anything, but he doesn’t. Radio silence.

  “What happened out there?” I ask, taking a step forward.

  He takes a step back. “Oh, you mean when Trent and I blew our damn chances with the scout in the stands? That?”

  “Yeah, that.”

  He lets out a frustrated sigh. “That’s between that jerk and myself, okay?”

  “Okay, well, what was with this morning then?” I ask, needing him to answer at least one of my questions fully.

  He goes silent. His hazel eyes shine in the stadium lights as they stare into mine. “Look, it’s no secret that Trent gets around,” he says at last. “He’s always gone after the girls I like, has been doing it since middle school. It’s been this little rivalry between us and one of the main reasons I can’t stand him. He took Sam in sixth grade. Maddie in seventh grade. Carrie in eighth grade. Alex sophomore year,” he explains, counting off each girl on his fingers. “I wasn’t about to let him do that to you too.”

  I’m knocked speechless. Floored. Unable to form even the slightest of syllables.

  “He decided to remind me this morning of when he tried to get with you at the party near the end of the summer. I was the one who found you passed out on the couch, and the mere thought of him taking advantage of you like that tore through me.” He pauses for a moment, his eyes still locked on mine. “I know it’s pretty obvious, but I like you, Drea. Have for a long time. And I wasn’t about to let you fall prey to that asshole. That’s why I did what I did this morning.”

  Did he just say what I think he did?