by Anna B. Doe
“Who’s the girl with Nixon?” Her hazel eyes turn to me.
Shit. So much for that.
“What girl?” I try to play dumb, but if her expression is anything to go by, I’m doing a piss-poor job of it.
“The blonde one. With the…” Tamara touches her neck, her fingers brushing against the side of her face, but not quite reaching it.
With the scars.
That’s what she wants to say but refrains from doing so. Tamara is too prim for something like that.
I grit my teeth, irritated, and I don’t even know why. Why am I so angry for the one person who never gave two shits about me?
“You were staring at her earlier so I figured you know her,” she continues, but I’m only half listening.
Instead of giving her an answer, I just shrug. God knows what would come out of my mouth otherwise, but of course, Tamara doesn’t let it go.
“Is she Nix’s girlfriend or something?”
“No idea,” I grit through clenched teeth, the words chipped.
“Then why…” she persists and I fucking lose it.
“I don’t know, Tamara! It’s not like I give two shits about the Beast, so leave it alone already!”
The silence that falls over the auditorium is almost deafening. I’m panting hard, the blood running through my veins buzzing in my eardrums until it’s the only thing I can hear.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
It can be a heartbeat or a thousand, I’ve lost count. Then people start talking, everybody’s eyes on me. Thinking. Wondering. It takes everything I have not to let it show on my face how their curious glances affect me.
“You were saying, Mr. Watson?” the professor finally asks disapprovingly. The chatter lowers and I don’t know if I should be thankful or curse him into another week for fixing the spotlight firmly on me. I might be a star athlete, but the only attention I ever craved was out on that field.
Liar.
“Sorry.” I offer a sheepish grin as I rub at the back of my neck. “I’m really passionate about the proper use of tenses when learning a new language.”
“Then you should pay attention to what I’m saying, not argue with your colleague.” With another shake of his head and a muttered curse, probably something about entitled athletes, he’s back to whatever he’s been talking about. Thank fuck.
The rest of the class goes on uneventfully. Thankfully, Tamara doesn’t ask any more questions, although I can feel her curious gaze fixed on my profile. As soon as professor Stick-stuck-up-his-ass dismisses the class, I grab my backpack from the floor and get up.
Almost instantly, my eyes connect with hers.
Pale.
Wide.
Hurt.
Fuck.
I want to hate her. I should hate her. But a part of me refuses to get the memo.
BEFORE
Callie 16, Hayden 17
My gaze darts to the sidelines. Once. Twice. Three times. Every time I force myself to look away, my face grows redder with every turn of my head, but I can’t help it. She’s there, on the smaller field right next to ours where we’re running football drills. And when she’s around, my eyes always seem to find her.
Callie Stewart.
Just thinking of her name makes the lump form in my throat. I swallow hard, trying to force it down.
Her blonde hair is pulled up in a high ponytail that’s tied in a blue and gold ribbon that is our school colors. She’s wearing a matching uniform, a skirt that’s so short it shows off her toned legs and a crop top that leaves her belly bare as she, along with the rest of the cheer team, practice their dance routines or whatever they’re called.
“Watson!” Coach yells, drawing my attention. “Where’s your head, son?”
I turn around to find Coach’s disapproving gaze on me along with a dozen or so of my snickering teammates. Except for Benjamin Jones. The quarterback is glaring at me, his bulging arms crossed over his chest.
What the fuck’s his problem?
But I don’t get a chance to think it through. My whole body goes on the lockdown under their attention. I know I’m not the best player on the team, but Coach still took a chance on me. Over the summer I grew five inches, putting me over six feet, but it’s like the rest of my body didn’t get the memo. Still, I hate disappointing the man who gave me a chance. “Sorry, Coach.”
He doesn’t say anything, just goes back into coach-mode. “Let’s do this again.”
We all line up on the line of scrimmage, taking our positions.
Ben calls out the play we’ve been working on, and the ball is snapped into his hands, offense and defense clashing almost in sync. It takes me a second to find an opening, but when I do, I start running, only I don’t get far because somebody crashes into me, making me stumble and fall.
And so it goes. Over and over, we repeat the same play. Once I even get to catch the ball, but I’m tackled so fast I’m not even sure it counts. By the time the whistle blows and Coach calls out the last play of the day, I’m a panting, green-stained, sweaty mess.
The guys are laughing at me when I pass by to get to my position, irritating the hell out of me.
This time I’m going to do it, I grit my teeth and glare at the player across from me.
The play is called.
I see the opening.
Pigskin snapped into awaiting hands.
My heartbeat rises as I run for it just as grunts and insults fly, players colliding.
I don’t think I’ve ever run that fast in my life. My legs eat the distance, my lungs burn with exertion, but I’m adamant to do it. I’m going to catch that ball and run it into the end zone.
In the mass of bodies left behind me, it takes them a moment to realize I’m not there. I glimpse over my shoulder. Ben is still holding onto the ball, seconds ticking by. Our eyes meet for a split second but I know he saw I’m open, he just doesn’t want me to have the ball. Instead, he throws it to the other wide receiver who is also his best friend.
The defense is on his feet. I wave my hands, signaling I’m open.
He looks at me, then looks around.
Nobody else is there. At least nobody who is as wide open as me.
I can see the moment he makes his decision.
The ball flies only seconds later, landing in my hands.
And then I run for all I’m worth.
White lines disappear underneath my feet. Somebody’s yelling behind me, but I can’t hear who or what they’re saying because my heart is pounding so loudly.
Just when I can see the end zone, I lose my footing.
Fucking hell. Not again.
The ball slips from my grasp, body crashing to the ground.
Everything stops suddenly and I want to die of embarrassment because I can feel their eyes on me.
I know they want to laugh, but they wouldn’t dare. Not with Coach standing on the sidelines.
Then the whistle blows and Coach calls out the end of the practice. Slowly, I scrape to my feet.
With my head hanging low, I walk back toward the sidelines. The last thing I need right now is to see my teammate’s smug faces. I’m so angry I want to punch something, but I won’t let them see me lose it.
But when I come closer, I can hear giggling.
Her giggling. The sound so unique I could recognize it even with my eyes closed.
My head snaps up almost instantly, and then I see her.
Callie is standing on the sidelines with some of her friends, laughing at something one of them said.
Then the unthinkable happens, those violet-like eyes turn to me and she winks at me, giving me a big smile.
My heart stops for a moment and I’m breathless. Completely and utterly breathless.
I just finished the shittiest practice of all time and the prettiest girl in the school is smiling at me.
Callie Stewart is the it girl. Even though we’re only sophomores, she’s one of the most po
pular girls in our school and she just smiled at me. Me, out of all the people.
Get a grip, Watson. It’s just…
A shoulder bumps into mine, making me stumble over my feet. I barely manage to find my balance before I faceplant on the grass.
“Get out of my way,” a pissed off voice grits out. I turn around, only to find Ben moving past me and toward the girls standing on the sidelines. Their practice ended a while ago but a few of them decided to stay behind to watch us.
From the corner of my eyes, I see a flash of blonde.
Callie.
I turn around just to see her run into douchebag’s arms. Rising on the tips of her toes, she plants a kiss on the corner of his mouth, but like the asshole he is, it’s not enough. His arm wraps around her, pulling her closer just as his mouth lands on hers.
He kisses her deeply, his body grinding into hers, claiming her.
My hands clench by my sides, teeth-gritting tightly. My stomach is rolling uncomfortably, but I can’t seem to avert my gaze.
And he can sense it.
Breaking the kiss, Ben looks over his shoulder, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “What’cha looking at?” He steps to the side, but his hand doesn’t move an inch. “If you paid as much attention to the field as you do to my girl, you wouldn’t be eating grass all afternoon long.”
Everybody laughs. One of Callie’s friends that stands closer leans in, whispering something. Both their eyes dart to me for a moment, before they burst into giggles.
Somebody throws the ball and it lands safely into Callie’s hands.
There are some cheers as Callie lifts the ball in victory, and then Ben’s gaze is on me again. Even before the words get out of his mouth, I know I won’t like what he has to say.
“See? Even a girl can catch better than you can.”
And just so she can prove him right, Callie throws the ball at me. Completely caught off guard, I react a moment too late, the damn thing slipping between my fingers.
My face grows beet red as everybody erupts into laughter.
This time I don’t wait around to listen, I turn around and get the hell out.
Chapter Nine
CALLIE
It’s not like I give two shits about the Beast, so leave it alone already!
It’s not like I give two shits about the Beast…
The Beast…
The words are going through my head on repeat. The same words, if you asked me this morning, I would have told you wouldn’t affect me, now do.
At this point, I’m not sure what’s worse. Hearing people whisper them behind my back like my scars make me deaf or hearing Hayden blurt that out loud in the room full of people.
Yes, I accepted the fact that I’ll have scars for the rest of my life. In a way, it was my choice. I had the option to try and remove them with surgery, but I chose not to. Still, it would be a lie to say the petty part of me died in that accident. It didn’t. And hearing people talk shit hurts all the same.
My cheeks burn with embarrassment as I walk as fast as I can out of the classroom. More like run, at least for Callie 2.0 this is considered running, not that I would admit it out loud if anybody asked me.
I’m not even sure how I managed to stay in the class after his outburst. Everybody’s eyes were on me. Observing. Judging. Trying to figure out what the real connection is between me and their golden boy. What did I do to piss him off so much he reacted like that.
“Callie, wait!”
“I’m not in the mood, Chloe,” I say loud enough so she can hear me without actually having to face her.
I thought I survived the worst of the embarrassment, but apparently not.
“Callie!” she calls, yet again, and before I can realize it, she’s in front of me, her arms crossed over her chest.
So much for my running.
I stop abruptly, going on the defense. “What? Can’t a girl tuck tail between her legs and hide in peace?”
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about. He’s the one who’s acting like a complete douche. What’s his problem anyway?”
“You’ll have to ask him that,” I mutter, walking around her. I don’t want to be anywhere near that building when he comes out.
Unfazed, Chloe just starts walking next to me. “I mean, the guy has a nice ass, but he’s a pain in my rear all the same.”
“Chloe?” I interrupt, not the least bit interested in listening about Hayden and his attributes. The guy’s a jackass, nice ass or no ass.
“Yeah?”
“I really don’t want to talk about him.”
“Sure thing.”
“Great, now if you’ll excuse me I’ll go back to…” I start to pick up my speed in an attempt to get away from her, but her hand shoots out, her fingers wrapping around my wrist.
“Where are you going?”
“Ehh…” I look around, confused. “Home?”
I needed to be alone so I could wash away the feeling of everybody staring at me, maybe even lick my bruised pride in peace.
“Oh no, you don’t! We’re going to grab that coffee. No hot, presumptuous football player will get between us and our sugar fix.”
“I’m so glad you have your priorities sorted out,” I say dully, but when she pulls me in the other direction, I don’t stop her. I could use a coffee, even better if it has a shot of whiskey thrown in.
HAYDEN
“Dude, what the fuck?” Nix glares at me still standing next to his seat. His arms are crossed over his chest, jaw rigid.
“Me?” I ask, slipping my backpack over my shoulder. Thank God most of the students already left the auditorium so they won’t be around to see this spectacle. One per day is more than enough. “What about you? What the fuck were you thinking?”
Nix lifts his hands in the air. “I was just sitting next to her, what’s the big deal?”
I grit my teeth. “Big deal is that you know better than to mess with her.”
“Like you didn’t mess with her last weekend?” His brows lift in question, challenging me.
“That has nothing to do with last weekend.”
Doesn’t it?
I can see he doesn’t believe me one bit, but I’m not required to explain myself to him. Or anybody else for that matter.
“Did you really have to be such a dick to her?”
“I didn’t say anything to her!” I protest defensively, although my conscience eats at me.
You weren’t just a dick, you were an asshole.
Not like she deserves better. Not after everything.
“It’s not like I give two shits about the Beast.” He throws my words back at me, shaking his head. His voice is an irritating high-pitched mock that irritates the hell out of me. “You all but put her on the stage, pointing a reflector at her so that people could see the big fat B written on her forehead.”
He grabs his backpack forcefully, swinging it over his shoulder before he climbs down the stairs until we’re at the same level.
“Not everything is about Callie Stewart!”
“Isn’t it?” Nix tilts his head to the side, watching me carefully. “Because contrary to everything you say, she gets under your skin. What’s the deal with her anyway? Did she bruise your ego or something?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You don’t know shit so don’t—”
“I know what I saw, Watson!” He interrupts me. “Both today and the other day. I don’t really give two shits about what it is with you two, but you better do something about it before it blows up in your face.”
We’re standing toe to toe, facing each other, neither of us wanting to back down. My breathing is hard, chest rising and falling rapidly with every intake of air.
I’m pissed at him for going against me, at Callie for coming here and messing with my life yet again, but more than that, I’m pissed at myself for losing my cool when I knew better.
I’m not sure how long we stand like that, but suddenly voices fill the space, breaking our s
tare-off.
“Whatever, I don’t have time for shit like this.” With that, I turn around and storm out of the room. But no matter what I do, those violet eyes follow me everywhere.
Chapter Ten
CALLIE
I have to admit, Chloe was right. Cup It Up is the cutest café I’ve seen in my life. And even more important, their coffee is out-of-this-world delicious.
It’s a five-minute walk from the campus which makes it pretty accessible to everybody, including me so it’s not strange I made it my go-to spot and I’ve only been here two weeks.
Need to go somewhere between the classes? Cup It Up it is. Don’t feel like staying in my room like a loser in the evenings? Look, Cup It Up is still open. If I continue this way, by the end of the semester I’ll become a part of the inventory. After all, it has my two favorite things in the world: coffee and solitude.
The space somewhat reminds me of Starbucks only it feels more… homey. It’s decorated in beige and light peach with dark wood accents. The bar takes one side of the room. There are two wooden shelves on the walls behind it with a whiteboard with today’s specials written in the middle. The list always ends with a different quirky or inspirational quote. There is a glass window that holds a few different types of pastries and sandwiches every day and they even make smoothies! Talk about all in one. Who needs to go to the school cafeteria when you have a place like this? Sure as hell not me.
The little bell chimes when I step inside. Scanning the place, I see only a few people sitting around. One girl is on my left, sitting at the high top table overlooking the street outside, headphones on her head and book in hand. A couple of older guys are sitting in lounge chairs discussing something quietly.
Huh, weird.
I know I said I like this place for solitude, which I do, although usually it’s packed. People come and go all day long as they go to classes and do whatever normal students do in their free time.
Slowly, I make my way to the bar, finding a familiar face on the other side.
