by Bailey B
“Logan.” Cooper says from behind, squeezing my shoulder.
Memories flicker like scenes from a movie across my mind, and I fight the urge to throw up again. I haven’t eaten, haven’t slept since yesterday. I can’t. Everything around me unearths a buried demon and I’m more agitated than a rabbit on crack.
I shake Cooper’s hand off and turn around. All I was trying to do was protect Piper, but of course when I play the hero it’s not good enough. Somehow, I fuck it up. I fuck everything up because I’m not the golden boy. I can’t throw the perfect spiral, or get honor roll, or do anything right because I’m. Not. Cooper.
I don’t know why I keep thinking things will change. They’ve been this way ever since I can remember. He can talk some sense into Danika, warn her to keep her distance. Not like anyone ever listens to me anyway.
“You fucking deal with her then. I’m done.”
14
Logan
My fingertips kiss the grass while I wait for Robby—the second string quarterback— to start the play. He’s taking his sweet time, which is pissing me off. It’s the first game of the season and we’re getting our asses handed to us. I’ve done my part, taken down everyone in my way with excessive force, but it hasn’t helped. Anxious bubbles continue to dance under my skin and they’re driving me crazy. I need to do something, anything, to make them go away.
It’s not helping that all night Gunner’s made witty comments, adding fuel to the flames in my veins. I’ve tried to ignore him because Danika is somewhere in the stands. She's doing the supportive girlfriend thing. I also know that her gaze is following me and having her here brings back a nervousness I haven’t felt in years.
“You’ve got a thing for Danika. Don’t you?” Gunner taunts from beside me.
I ignore him and focus on the sound of our fans. Our team might suck balls, but the parents who pay out the ass for their kids to attend St. A’s show up to our games religiously because most of them are alumni. Go Rams!
“We both know she’s out there,” Gunner continues, purposely pushing my buttons. The dude’s got a fucking death wish I’d be happy to satisfy, but I’m trying really really hard to keep my shit together. “And tonight I’m finally going to score.”
“Hike!” Robby yells, catching the ball as I turn and throw all of my body weight into Gunner.
We topple to the ground, but I get the upper hand and straddle Gunner’s waist. I yank his helmet off and my fist connects to his face with a sharp, precise blow. From the amount of red goo gushing out, I’d say his nose is broken.
I let Gunner shove me off him because I want a fight, not a massacre. We’ve got maybe two minutes before the referee blows the whistle, and I plan to make the most of it.
Gunner grins, blood dripping, pooling in his mouth. He looks like a sadistic clown, one that haunts your dreams and carves up kittens or some shit. I fucking hate clowns. He swings, throwing a left hook to my ribs. The pain spreads through my body like ink in water. Slithering its way into every nook and cranny of my soul.
I let him land another shot to my center. Even though I’m sure he’s cracked one of my ribs, I can finally breathe. The anxious bubbles fizzle away and I’m left with the calm I’ve been searching for all day.
Fighting is the only reason I bother to come out onto the dyed green grass anymore. Although, it’s usually our opponents I go after. For the record, I fucking hate football, have ever since homecoming game my freshman year. That was the first game our dad missed. He may have been an abusive prick most of my life, but I still craved his approval. Fucked up, I know. But what can I say? I’m a kid with daddy issues.
That was also the day I completely fell off mom's radar. I saw her in the stands. I. Saw. Her. But she was too consumed with her phone, stressing over Piper returning to her bio-mom’s place.
Mom didn’t see me score the winning touchdown.
She didn’t see the tackle that dislocated my shoulder.
She didn’t notice when I came home with a bag of ice taped to me.
She did notice Cooper’s black eye and tended to him like he was a fucking newborn baby.
That game I realized I never really liked the sport. I played because it was the only time my parents acknowledged my existence as more than a nuisance, until they didn’t. I was pissed and unlike Cooper, I couldn’t walk around campus beating the shit out of people.
But on the field, I can do whatever the fuck I want with little to no consequence.
The referee blows his whistle, flagging us with a fifteen-yard penalty for unsportsmanlike conduct. Coach Riley yanks me back by the shoulder pads while Assistant Coach Greene does the same to Gunner. They escort us off the field, like two pissed off parents, and leave us on the sidelines.
“Sit your ass down, Harris, and don’t fucking move!” Spit flies from Coach Riley’s mouth, spraying his hand and the finger in my face.
I spit a wad of blood-tinged saliva on the neon green grass beside the bench. It would be fun to change the bulbs in the stadium lights to black lights. I bet the field would light up brighter than a Christmas tree with all the chemicals they spray.
“We’re gonna lose the fucking game because of you,” Gunner growls from the other side of the bench. He grabs his blue and white helmet and throws it near the water station. Unlike me, he actually cares enough to try his best each game. Too bad for him his best isn’t worth a damn.
“No. We’re going to lose because Cooper didn’t bother to show up and you can’t block for shit.” I look over my shoulder at the people in the stands.
Even though we’re losing thirteen-to-three, the crowd screams enthusiastically as the play continues without us. Majority of the first row in the stands is full of cleat chasers, anxious to be tonight’s newest playmate. They don’t care which teammate they leave with, as long as they show up to the after party on our arms.
I lock eyes with a pretty brunette with long pigtails and short shorts. She reminds me of Danika back in the eighth grade: awkward and top heavy. I give her a small upwards nod and she and her friends squeal with excitement. Not giving two shits if Coach gets pissed, I strut over to the girl.
The girl grips the rail separating us and looks down at me. Her shirt has 96, my number, scrawled on it in glitter blue paint; something else my best friend used to do back in the day. Tonight, Danika’s probably wearing Gunner’s number and it sets me on fire again. I’ve never been the jealous type, but Danika is changing me. I just haven’t figured out if it’s for better or for worse yet.
“Hey, Logan,” she purrs.
I don’t bother asking for the girl’s name. I don’t care what it is. In an hour, maybe less, she’ll be riding my cock, washing me of my infatuation with my neighbor. But for now she’ll serve a different purpose. “Got a smoke?”
The girl’s smile falls for a fraction of a second before someone hands her a cigarette. “I do now.”
She places it between her cherry red lips, lights it, taking a drag for herself before passing it to me. I grab the cigarette from her but don’t actually want it. My ribs are throbbing now the adrenaline has worn off. I have a feeling that smoking will take this pain from tolerable to unbearable.
The girl beams down at me. “Are you going to Jake’s party tonight?”
“Move!” my least favorite voice says, pushing her way through the bundle of women crowding the rail. I fight a smile, because I know without a doubt Danika is here for me. Not Gunner. It doesn’t matter that I piss her off and push her away, she always comes back.
“Are you insane?” Danika yells.
I shrug, taking a drag off the cigarette in my hand. I was right. Breathing this shit hurts like a bitch. I drop it beside me and vaguely wonder if the chemicals on the grass are flammable. Normally the thought would be amusing, but with Danika in the stands I don’t want to take any chances and step on the wasted cigarette until the cherry goes out.
My red-lipped plaything glowers. “Back off, bitch, I was here firs
t.”
“Shut the fuck up, Lydia,” Danika replies, and I vaguely remember that is the girl’s name. “I have no problem throwing you over this rail to get you out of my way.”
Lydia crosses her arms and raises one perfectly plucked eyebrow. “I’d like to see you try.”
Danika smirks, stepping towards Lydia who flinches. As thrilling as it is watching her fight over me, I don’t want Lydia any closer than she already is. “Dani!” I say, catching her attention with her middle school nickname. “Shouldn’t you be checking on your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Awe, babe. You came to check on me,” Gunner says coming up behind me, oblivious. “This is why I love you.”
Lydia and her friends gasp. As far as I know, Gunner has never said those words to anyone, let alone publicly. It’s a big moment for Gunner’s reputation, and one-hundred percent a shitty, selfish way to drop the L-bomb. I hope Danika can see this for what it is, a move to get down her pants. There’s no way this dickwad fell in love in three weeks.
Me on the other hand…nope. Not going there.
All color drains from Danika’s face. She looks sick but forces a smile that’s more of a grimace. “Gunner—”
“I thought I told you sorry sacks of shit not to move!” Coach Riley yells, saving Danika from a publicly humiliating conversation. “Get your asses back to the bench before I ban you from next week's game!”
15
Danika
The stadium goes dark, the glow from the scoreboard the only light on the field. I like the darkness. I can hide in it and avoid Gunner’s admission because love…so not ready to deal with that. Everyone around me, not so much. There’s a collective murmur of “what’s going on” and “is this supposed to happen” buzzing about.
Suddenly the stadium lights fade back on and AJ Mitchell’s song Slow Dance blasts through the speakers. As soon as the music starts, St. A’s players pair up and begin to literally slow dance on the field. People around us start laughing because it’s a sight to see, but the worst part hasn’t happened yet.
Gunner has a microphone in his hand and lifts it. He smirks, staring directly at me. “If you stay for a minute, girl I’ll never let you down.”
“What the fuck is this shit?” Coach Riley yells, throwing his clipboard to the ground.
I cover my face with my hands, peeking through my fingers. I don’t know what’s happening, but it’s so embarrassingly sweet I can’t help but smile. Gunner’s a good singer and has a whole routine, dancing like he’s in freaking High School Musical while serenading me. He takes a slow step toward me. I look over my shoulders as the girls around me begin to jump and scream like he’s a rock star. This is too much. Too ridiculously much.
By the end of the chorus, Gunner stands directly below me. The music stops and he gets down on one knee, earning another collective gasp from the stands. “Danika, I know it’s not prom, so this very well could be the first of three proposals, but will you go to homecoming with me next week?”
Hands touch my arms and shoulders. The girls around me lean closer, probably hoping to be the first to hear my answer. Homecoming is a big step in our kind-of-relationship and this is by far the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.
I nod and attempt to say yes but my voice has run away.
The girls around me scream in excitement and the song starts to play again. Coach Riley throws his hands in the air, frustrated, and storms off the field. The referee blows his whistle, calling the game and people file out of the stands. Gunner stays on the grass. Staring. Waiting.
When enough of the crowd has left, Gunner jumps the barrier between the field and the stands. He waits at the bottom of the steps, an infectious grin on his face, arms out wide. He pulls me into a hug, swinging me around in a circle. Setting me back on the ground, Gunner kisses me with a passion reserved for Nicholas Sparks movies.
As beautiful as this moment is, my stomach twists. Everything feels wrong. I should be melting into Gunner’s arms, soaring sky high with elation. Instead, my feet are weighted to the ground and I’m drowning in regret.
Every fiber in my body knows I should’ve said no.
16
Danika
“Rachel’s going with Jake, you’re going with Gunner, Melody’s going with some trust fund college freshman. I‘m going to be the loser all alone at the Homecoming dance tomorrow night,” Sarah whines sifting through a rack of dresses at a store I can’t even begin to afford. She pulls a short feathery blue one off the rack and holds it in front of her.
I shake my head. “You'll look like a peacock.”
“But I’ll be the best damn looking peacock at that dance,” she giggles, putting the gown back.
I pretend to sift through dresses. Even though Dad would probably let me splurge on a new one, things are still pretty tight. We’re living off his credit cards until his first check comes, which should be any day, but I don’t want to add any extra stress. My closet has a handful of fancy gowns no one on this coast has seen. I’ll wear one of those.
Sarah puts her hands on her hips and looks around, her lips pressed into a tight line. “Why does everything have to be so hideous?”
“Because you have unrealistic expectations for what this mall has to offer.” The tiny shopping complex is half empty, barely surviving with a few chain stores and a handful of small-business ones. It’s a miracle the building hasn’t gone bankrupt considering how many empty storefronts there are.
Sarah sighs with a chuckle. “You’re right. We should head down to West Palm. Their mall is way better than ours.”
“How far is it?”
She twists her cherry red lips, thinking. “Maybe forty-five minutes. If we hurry, we can probably make it back in time for tonight’s game.”
I won’t be buying anything there either, but what the hell. Tonight’s game is bound to be packed. No one will notice if I’m not there. “I can miss one game.”
“You don’t think Gunner will be mad? They’re doing the whole homecoming court thing tonight.”
I shrug. Gunner isn’t who I’d be worried about, it’s Logan. Even though we haven’t been on the best terms since I’ve been back, there is still an unspoken agreement that I’ll be at every game. But we aren’t close like we used to be and most days he acts like I don’t exist. Truthfully, I shouldn’t even be thinking about him, and yet here I am. “Does it matter? I’m not on the homecoming court.”
“Oh, before we leave, I want to check out Merlot’s. The new limited edition Louis Vuitton bag is due out any day and I’ve gotta have it,” Sarah says strutting over to the tiny store.
“Oh. My. God. Sarah? Is that you?” Melody's voice rings like nails on a chalkboard as soon as we walk inside. My insides cringe at the exaggerated show of excitement she’s putting on. I don’t understand why people have to be fake. The girls in California at my old school were the worst; friend to your face but foe to your back. Melody would have fit in perfectly there.
Sarah’s gaze flicks over to me. A look of “sorry” dances across her face before turning her attention back to Melody and Rachel. She adjusts the strap of her oversized bag on her shoulder and forces a smile. “Melody, what are you doing here?”
Melody leans in for a fake kiss on the cheek and stares me down, gaze unwavering as she makes the kissing sound with her lips. I narrow my eyes on her, fully prepared for a battle of wits if necessary. Although it would be more of a massacre than a battle. Melody is about as sharp as a bag of cotton balls.
“Rumor had it my favorite Harris was going to be wandering around somewhere. So, Rachel and I thought we’d do a little shopping.”
I roll my eyes and walk over to a display of purses I can’t possibly afford, pretending to find one that I like. I need a job. Better yet, I need a new school where things of monetary value don’t make or break you socially. Because if I’m being honest, I care what people think of me. I want to be liked by my classmates. I want to
look back at my senior year and smile. I can’t say that for last year.
“EEEK!” Melody squeals. “It’s here!” She looks around and spots the only employee on the floor. “Ma’am! Ma’am! This isn’t a social hour over there. You’re on duty and I want that purse.”
The sales associate says an apologetic goodbye to her customer and walks over to us with a forced smile. “How can I help you, ladies?”
“Are you dense?” Melody snarls, pointing up at the new-arrivals display. “I want that purse. The sign says it was released last week.”
The woman’s forced grin turns into a sly smile as she says, “I’m sorry but all the ones we have were sold as pre-orders and at this time the company isn’t releasing any more. Perhaps try eBay.”
“Well un-preorder one and give it to me!” Melody demands with a stomp of her foot.
“I’m sorry Miss, but that’s not possible. If there’s anything else I can get you please let me know.” The sales lady turns her back to us and saunters to the counter.
“That bitch has more,” Melody insists, digging through her purse for her phone. “She just doesn’t want to sell one to me. Wait until Daddy hears about this, he’ll have her job and she’ll be sorry.”
“For crying out loud, Melody. Not everything is about you.” From the look on everyone’s face, I said that out loud and not in my head. Oops. Oh well.
Melody squares her shoulders and steps towards me. “Excuse me, bitch?”
I put down the purse I was pretending to look at and turn towards everyone. Melody’s fuming to the point I’m surprised smoke isn’t coming out of her ears. I fight a smile, loving how riled up she is and amble over the jewelry display. “I’m just saying, that’s not how retail stores work. If the woman had one available, she’d sell it to you. You shouldn’t try to mess with someone’s livelihood just because you didn’t get your way.”
