by Teagan Kade
It’s Taylor. She’s holding up her cell in one hand, my towel and clothes bundled under her arm.
My worst fears are realized.
She pockets the cell and smiles at me. She’s standing in front of the door, the only way in and out of the bathroom. “Well,” she says. “Now I really don’t know what Asher sees in you. Looking like a Twilight cast member is so ’08.”
I stand up straighter but continue to cover myself. “What do you want, Taylor?”
Someone knocks on the door. “Hello?” they call. “Is anyone there? I need to pee.”
I go to shout, but Taylor taps her pocket in warning.
“Hello?” the mystery girl calls again, an exasperated sigh before she gives up and leaves.
I look past Taylor to the door. She’s locked it. “I want you to stay the fuck away from my boyfriend.”
She’s lost it. What’s she planning to do here? Murder me? I scan for a weapon but come up empty.
Stall her. “Asher’s with me now, simple as that.”
She smiles wide, taking a step forward as I stand there shivering. “You know the thing about Asher, Willow? What he says and what he wants are two different things, and what he wants is me.” She circles my body with a finger. “This? He’s just trying to make me jealous, appreciate him.”
“You’re delusional.”
“Am I? You’re the one who thinks you’ve actually got some kind of relationship with him. News flash, bitch, but he’s using you. He’ll come back to me when he tires of your pale little pussy. He knows what’s good for him. We’ve got a future planned, big dreams.”
I’ve got to get out of here. I extend a hand. “Can I have my clothes, please?”
She holds up the bundle in her hand. “These clothes? Come get them. Let’s see what you’re really made of.”
God, it’s like a scene out of Mean Girls. I’m waiting for Lindsay Lohan to stroll in. “I’m not going to fight you, Taylor. Can’t we be adults about this?”
She throws her head back and laughs. “Adults? You are the one being immature here.”
I almost reply ‘am not’ until I realize I’m falling into her stupid game. I’m not going to give her what she wants, but I am concerned about the picture she took with her cell. If that gets out, I’m screwed. I’ll be lucky if she hasn’t texted it to her entire contact list already.
“Help!” I shout.
She laughs again. “Oh, Willow. Willow, Willow, Willow.”
“You’re crazy,” I say.
She nods. “You bet your skinny ass I am. Say it. Say you’re going to break up with him or I send my pretty snapshot to everyone on campus.”
“I’m not breaking up with Asher, Taylor.”
She lines my clothes up with a puddle on the floor and drops them, crossing her arms. “What a shame.”
“Help!” I call again, loud as I can.
Nothing.
An idea strikes me.
I let my arms fall. “Alright, Taylor. You want to fight? Let’s fight.”
I charge at her. Given the sudden widening of her eyes, this is the last thing she was expecting.
She turns on her heel, making for the door, but I’m already there, driving her up against the wall beside it.
I make myself appear as wild as possible, jamming my arm under her throat, pressing up as close as I can stand to. I channel Amanda, the wild teenager who never backed down from a fight. “Leave me the fuck alone.”
There’s definite fear there before she pushes me back. I go with it, hiding one hand behind my back like I’ve got a weapon, frantically trying to work out what to do next.
“You’re dead,” she says, before the door to the bathroom swings open, the hall director standing there with a key. A girl, who I assume was the one needing to pee, at her back.
The hall director sees Taylor first. “Taylor? What’s going on? This isn’t your floor. It’s not even your dormitory.” She looks to me, sees I’m naked, eyes darting to my clothes on the floor. “Is everything okay here?”
I crouch and collect my soggy clothes, holding them in front of myself. I look to Taylor. She’s seething. “Yeah. The door got jammed, sorry.”
The director widens her eyes at me. “Are you sure?”
I nod. “We’re fine. Honestly.”
I clip Taylor on my way out. She whispers, “You’re fucking dead,” as I pass.
Heads that were snaking out of doors disappear as I walk to my room.
Back in safety, I press myself against the wall breathing hard, gasping for air. I knew Taylor was a little off-kilter, but she’s well past that now. She’s dangerous.
I sit on my bed, placing the soggy pile of clothes beside me. From it, I take out the cell I managed to swipe from Taylor’s pocket when I was pressed up against her.
That’s right, biatch.
She has no idea what I used to be. I shoplifted for fun back in those days, never even got caught.
I hold Taylor’s rose-gold iPhone in my hand. The first thing I do is set it to flight mode.
My finger hovers over the home button. Should I?
What the hell?
There’s no passcode lock on the phone, not that it would have been a problem given Amy’s penchant for phone snooping. I found that out the hard way when I accidentally left my cell on the desk one night.
I go to the gallery first and permanently delete the shot Taylor took of me. Scrolling through the rest of the gallery reveals selfie after selfie, followed by countless photos of her and Asher, but Asher doesn’t look happy in any of them. He seems more peeved than anything.
Worse, many of the recent photos have old shots of Asher pasted in, bad chop jobs of the two of them on yachts or in exotic locations stolen from Instagram. It’s actually pretty sad.
There are videos of the two of them, but I’ve seen enough. Instead, I go into Messages.
It’s insane. Every second one is to Asher, hundreds and hundreds of them in the last week alone, shifting between profuse apologies to all-out anger. There’s not a single reply.
Asher blocked her number when we first started going out. Why hasn’t she gotten the hint?
That’ll do. I tuck the cell away in my drawer and dress, trying not to dwell on it.
I’ve got far more important things to worry about than Taylor Vaughn.
*
“Wow.” That’s Asher’s reaction when I tell him about what went down last night. I made sure to wait until after our exams. I didn’t want to distract him in any way.
We’re at the Grindhouse, a light breeze forcing the odd napkin to swim and dance through the air. I usually prefer to sit inside, but it’s nice out today.
I look around expecting a knife-wielding Taylor to leap from the shrubbery, but she’s nowhere to be seen.
Asher shakes his head. “I mean, I knew she was insane, but this is next level, like Kanye crazy. What do you want me to do about it? I can talk to her, try to get her kicked off the squad, maybe—”
“No,” I cut in. “It’s not worth it.”
“What about the picture? You said she took a picture of you when you came out of the shower, right?”
I look around again to make sure no-one is watching, taking Taylor’s cell out of my pocket and sliding it across the table.
Asher scans the area before picking up the cell, eyebrow raised. “Holy shit. Is this what I think it is?”
I nod. “I swiped it off her in the bathroom.”
Asher looks surprised. “You swiped it off her? Like what? A pickpocket?”
“Something like that. Call it a skill I perfected at the mall during my more turbulent years.”
He continues to shake his head. “And just when you think you know someone.” He holds the phone up. “You deleted the picture?”
“I did.”
He flicks through the screens. “You know she’s got a ‘Find My iPhone’ app here, right?”
I take the phone back, looking down in horror. “Crap.”
He h
olds out his hand. “Here.”
I hand it over and he stands, throwing the cell as hard as he can into the man-made pond on the far side of the quad. “Find that, you fucking psycho.”
I’m speechless for a moment. “Okay. That’s that then.”
“You don’t want to get caught with that thing, trust me.”
He’s right.
I pick up my coffee, my hands still a little jittery. “What about you? Are you okay? You know, not being able to train and everything?”
He exhales, looking down between the table. “I won’t lie. It’s been hard, but I’ve been working out as much as I can at home, drilling in the cages.”
“You should speak to the Dean, just lay it all out.”
“Apologize?”
“Yes.”
He scoffs. “Like that would work.”
“What do you have to lose?”
He nods to himself, considering it. “You really think so?
“It’s worth a shot, isn’t it? What’s the worst that could happen?”
We both remain silent.
I decide to change the subject. “How did your exam go?”
“Great. It should make for a nice bump to my GPA. You?”
“I think I did okay, enough to get me by.” A thought strikes me. “Say, how does Taylor manage to maintain such a high GPA? She doesn’t strike me as the,” I hunt for a better word but come up blank. “Intelligent type.”
Asher laughs. “You can say that again, but I have no fucking idea. I never saw her studying. She always skipped class. Everyone thinks I have a free pass, but it’s Taylor they should be keeping an eye on. Whatever she’s doing, whatever scam she’s got going on, it’s paying off big-time.”
There’s nothing I hate more than injustice, especially when it comes to grades. “Surely the college has picked up on it?”
Asher shrugs. “Sometimes these things go unnoticed.”
“Maybe she’s paying someone off? Her parents are loaded, right?”
“So are the parents of ninety-nine percent of the Penbrook population, mine included.”
“Should we go to Karen, the Dean?”
“With what? Suspicion?”
“There might have been something incriminating on her cell—the one you just sent to Davy Jones’ Locker, that is.”
“Even if there was,” Asher continues. “How are you going to explain how you got hold of her cell in the first place?”
I slump back into my chair, defeated. “Right.”
Asher moves his chair around to my side of the table, his hand running across my thigh. “Forget about her. Final exams are two weeks away, yes?”
“Yes.”
“So, let’s enjoy ourselves.” He leans close, whispering. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve got an erection that could cut steel.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I definitely do not share said erection. That said, I am a little horny.”
“Shall we take this back to my place then?”
I hold eye contact losing myself in the power of his approaching-storm gaze. “Lead the way.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ASHER
The Dean’s secretary, a thin, rodent-faced woman, seems set. “I’m sorry, Mr. Slade, but the Dean simply doesn’t have time to—”
“It’s okay,” comes a deep voice from the end of the hall. “Send him in.”
I give the secretary my best smile as I pass.
The Dean ushers me into his office and directs me to a chair. “Mr. Slade. To what do I owe this visit?”
I had a whole speech prepared in my head, but now I’m here I’m not sure if it’s right. “I wanted to talk to you about the Hellcats, sir.”
“My favorite topic.” The Dean stands and starts to pace over to a cabinet on the wall of the office. It’s filled with medals and trophies, Hellcats memorabilia. I’m pretty sure I spy a Hellcats thong.
I clear my thoughts. Here we go. “I’d like to resume training if I could.”
He looks over at me, hands behind his back. “Is that so? I would like a million dollars, but we don’t always get what we want, do we, Mr. Slade? As I recall, the punishment you received for your wee altercation with Leon Hunter was light considering the damage done to the college’s reputation… and yours.”
I fold my hands together. This was expected. “I know and I sincerely regret my actions that night. It was unbecoming of a Penbrook student, let alone a team captain. I take full responsibility and want to give you my complete assurance I’ve made amends with Leon and the team. It won’t happen again.”
The Dean stares into the trophy cabinet, thinking it over. “The problem, Asher, is that as Dean I have to maintain a certain fortitude in these matters.”
I’m fucked.
“However,” he says, turning. “I was down at the Litterbox for training yesterday and witnessed first-hand the, shall I say, ‘fragmented’ state of the team. Getting you back out there will benefit the team, or am I wrong?”
“No, sir. My batting alone could get us back in championship running.”
He looks over to his prized cabinet. “I said nothing about playing games, Mr. Slade.”
Hope fades. “I’ll take what I can get, sir, anything to help the team.”
“Hmm,” he murmurs again, pacing back over to his desk. He opens a drawer and takes out a letter, holding it in his hand. “Do you know what this?”
“No, sir.”
He places it on the desk, tapping it once. “This is a letter from a Mrs. Gale Ward, director of the McMahon Center for Disadvantaged Children.”
I brace myself for this new obstacle.
The Dean holds the letter out. “Mrs. Ward wrote this letter to inform me of your ‘exemplary’ and ‘dedicated’ work ethic at the home. In fact, she says here you regularly attend the home after hours, work overtime and, if I’m reading this right, adopted a puppy the home was unable to take in. All this after your community service was complete. Is that right?”
I smile. Good ol’ Gale. “Yes, sir. Happy to help.”
The Dean places both hands down on his desk, chewing his cheek. “I’ve informed the editor of the college paper to do a piece on the home and, of course, your presence there. That little ray of sunshine—” he picks up the letter “—combined with this, should be enough to warm over any naysayers about your return to the team.”
“For training, sir?”
“Games too, Mr. Slade. We can’t let a fourth championship slip through our fingers now, can we?”
I shake my head. “No, sir. Does this mean I’ll be taking on the role of team captain again, sir?”
“Jesus. Drop the ‘sir,’ Slade. We’re not in high school here. As for captain? I’m afraid not—not for now. Consider this a tentative reprieve granted only by my mercy. The slightest slip-up and…
“I get the picture.” I stop myself from adding ‘sir.’
The Dean leans over his desk. “Good, because the last thing I want, Mr. Slade, is more scandal. I’m running a school here, not a Hollywood studio. Now go on. I think that’s quite enough ass-kissing for one day, don’t you?”
*
Willow is overjoyed when I speak to her. She knows how much being able to play means to me. I think I’ve been taking some of that energy and frustration out in the bedroom, not that I haven’t enjoyed every single second of that training.
I swing by the field and deliver the good news to Coach. He looks over at the other Hellcats drilling on field. “Just in the nick of time, too.” He claps me on the shoulder. “I’m sure as shit happy to have you back—captain or not.”
“So am I.”
He glances to the sidelines. “What’s that oversized cotton ball you brought with you?”
I look over. “Oh, that’s Bailey. She’s a Maltese terrier.”
Coach bellows with laughter. “That thing’s yours? You lose your balls during the last couple of weeks?”
“Don’t let her deceive you. Her bite’
s bigger than her bark. In fact, I was hoping you’d let her stay and watch training.”
Coach nods with understanding. “Because you haven’t got anyone to look after her, correct?”
“You’re still the sharpest tool in the shed, Coach.”
He laughs again. “As if your nose wasn’t brown enough from being buried up the Dean’s a-hole.” For a moment he looks distant. “My wife had one of those things, Maltese or whatever they are. Damn thing dropped dead a day after she did.”
Everyone knows the story. I don’t want to let Coach dwell on it.
On cue, Bailey gives a little yap and stands up on her back legs. I swear to god she’s waving at us.
Good girl.
Coach pulls off his cap, swatting it in the air. “Ah, hell. Why the fuck not? I’ll even take care of her myself. How’s that for a deal?”
“Sounds great.”
“You’re really taking care of business today, aren’t you, son?”
I have to smile at that. “Yes, sir.”
*
Coach wasn’t kidding around. The team’s in dire straits. I know I’m technically no longer their captain, but I do my best to pull them together and get us back on track. Thanks to a shortened suspension, Leon’s back and pitching at his best. He’s tossing down fastballs so quick I’m surprised they don’t catch fucking fire.
It feels incredible to have a bat in my hands again. I tell Leon not to hold back, and he doesn’t. Soon the other players are falling into line. As for Coach, he seems smitten with Bailey, making her hop for treats I brought along, playing catch. The two of them actually make a pretty cute couple.
Leon glances down at my dick in the showers. “Can’t say I’ve missed having that thing around.”
I take hold of it. “Why? Jealous? Happy to swing you an inch or two, but I don’t think even that would be any help to your shortstop there.”
Leon looks down at his crotch. “We get by, don’t we, pal?”
I almost expect his cock to talk back. The stories that thing could tell. My god.
Leon turns the tap, water and steam jetting down around us. “So you’re back in everyone’s good graces then?”
I stand aside. “Something like that.”
“And Willow?”
I towel off my legs. “She’s great. We’re in a good place.”
