The Trouble With You

by L A Cotton

Her soft gasp filled the small space and I felt her shiver. “Fuck you,” she spat, trying to move around me, but I pinned her in place, sliding my leg between hers and pressing gently. I wanted to touch her, to test my theory.

  But I knew I shouldn’t.

  Knew if I did, I might want to do it again, and that would be a dangerous thing indeed.

  “Cameron, if you don’t get off me in the next three seconds, I will—” A strangled moan left her lips as if she was fighting her own body when I ground my knee further into her and she practically rode herself against my leg.

  “That feel good, Sunshine?” I did it again and her head dropped back, another soft moan slipping from her lips. But when my fingers dropped to the waistband of her jeans, and one of my fingertips stroked the bare skin above, she froze.

  I felt the shift in the air, the temperature cooling right along with her icy glare.

  “Get. Your. Fucking. Hands. Off. Me.” The venom in her words had me backing away slowly. She looked furious, anger rolling off her in dark waves. But Hailee could deny it all she wanted; I felt the chemistry between us. The push and pull.

  And I knew she did too.

  Her eyes burned into mine, her body trembling. I’d never seen Hailee so worked up and shit, if I didn’t want to believe it was my touch, my kiss, that did it. A beat passed as we stood there, locked in a battle of wills. Eventually though, her eyes flicked to the door and I stepped away, giving her free passage before I did something really fucking stupid.

  Hailee rushed over to it, grabbing the handle, but at the last second she glanced back. “You think you can do whatever you like just because you’re a Raider and it’s fucking pathetic, but you don’t scare me, Cameron. None of you do.”

  Defiance burned in her eyes and part of me was impressed. Even now, in a dark closet with me, she still tried to maintain the upper hand.

  “Is that why you’re running?”

  “I’m not…” Her lips pressed together as she refused to go another round with me, and I smirked.

  “I think we both know you’re running,” I said. “But you should be careful, Sunshine.”

  “Yeah.” She raised her chin. “And why’s that?”

  “Because you can run but we both know you can’t hide.”

  Hailee’s brows knitted as if I was a puzzle she wanted to figure out, but then with a little shake of her head she left, my laughter following her all the way.

  Hailee

  Cameron had kissed me.

  Four days passed and I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around it. We’d gone from arguing, slinging insults back and forth, to him pressing me up against the racking in the janitor’s closet and kissing me. Only, kissing didn’t do justice to the way his lips had felt against mine. If kisses had names, Cameron’s would be called dangerous. It was like he’d taken all the hate between us, all the push and pull, and unleashed it on me. It hadn’t been sweet or tender, or a recognition of long-buried feelings. It was a hate-kiss, fueled by the ongoing tension between us. It certainly wasn’t because of emotions neither of us wanted to feel. Emotions I refused to acknowledge.

  No. I wasn’t accepting that as a possibility.

  He was my step-brother’s best friend.

  A Raider.

  Not to mention, he was one of my tormentors.

  Cameron Chase was everything I hated.

  And yet, I hadn’t been able to forget the feel of his lips moving against mine, the way he’d held me, touched me. So I did the only thing I could—I spent the week pretending he didn’t exist.

  Of course, I didn’t tell Flick; it would only fuel her theory that Cameron actually felt something for me. Even post-kiss I still wasn’t convinced he did. His loyalty to my brother, the fact he was a Raider, the fact he’d spent just as many years taunting me as Jason, told me everything I needed to know about a guy like Cameron Chase.

  But tonight, there was no escaping him.

  “Remind me why we’re here again?” I groaned, trailing after Flick as she moved deeper into the sea of blue and white.

  “Because,” she called over her shoulder, a cheesy grin plastered on her face. “It’s senior year and we’re embracing it, and you agreed to help your best friend fulfil her silly little list, remember?”

  “How could I forget?” I stuck my tongue out at her. “Just so long as you’re aware how painful this is for me. Did I tell you, I really really hate football?” My reply carried a little too loud causing a few people around us to throw daggers at me.

  “Hails,” Flick said, coming up beside me and shoving her arm through mine. “We’re here to have fun. I know you hate football,” she lowered her voice. “I know it’s really hurting you to be here, but this is the last time we’ll ever get the chance to do this. In four years time, you don’t want to look back and regret not coming to one of these things.”

  I couldn’t imagine a scenario where that ever happened.

  My eyes scanned the football field, taking in the excited gaggles of girls, the ear-splitting noise, the marching band playing their little hearts out to a distracted audience. The air was electric, charged with the energy of eight-hundred kids all gathered to pay homage to their team. But the only thing it stirred inside me was a mild stomach ache and a bad case of eye rolls.

  “Don’t look so glum.” Flick snickered, thrusting a handful of glow sticks at me.

  “Am I supposed to know what to do with these?”

  She shook her head, amusement glittering in her eyes, and held up her wrists. “Snap them and wear them.”

  “But why?”

  “You’ll see,” was all she said as she grabbed my hand and pulled me deeper into the crowd, and it hit me how at ease she was with all of this.

  The section of the bleachers we’d been ushered to sit in was crammed. Homemade signs littered the crowd, and kids spilled out onto the edge of the field. The cheer squad was gathered near the raised stage where Principal Finnigan and Coach Hasson were standing. It was football fanaticism at its finest, everyone waiting to get a glimpse at this year’s Varsity team; the team they hoped would bring them home the State Championship.

  Flick managed to find us two seats halfway up the bleachers next to a group of junior girls sporting the all too familiar Raiders logo on their cheeks. They were proudly waving their homemade signs for ‘I heart Jason’ and ‘Call me Cameron’. They offered us spirit-worthy smiles but the nicest greeting I could muster was an eye roll and pursed lips. Even though they knew, like every other girl at Rixon, the most attention they could expect from my step-brother was a drunken fuck and tap on the ass on the way out, it didn’t matter. I guess you got a free pass for being a cocky, conceited asshole when you were a five-star recruit, holding numerous season records, chasing the all-time State passing yards record. I only knew because Kent kept a board in the kitchen totaling all Jason’s stats. Every morning as I enjoyed my coffee and Pop-Tart, I got a little reminder that Jason—football—was part of my life whether I liked it or not.

  Only for another few months.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t make something.” I nudged Flick, motioning to the girls. “Since you know… you’re embracing this and all.”

  “Behave,” she replied around a sardonic smile. “Oh look, it’s about to start.” Flick gave a little clap and I grumbled beneath my breath.

  The marching band moved into formation, but it was impossible to hear them over the roar of the crowd. The force of it slammed into me, sending my heart freefalling, electrifying the hairs along my arms and the back of my neck. “Holy shit,” I said to no one in particular. Glancing at Flick, I saw she was grinning, her eyes set firmly on the band as they performed the school’s song. The team mascot, a giant blue Viking head, waddled onto the field facing off against a red and white Eagle. The crowd booed, laughter carrying across the bleachers like a wave.

  “Is this for real?” I asked Flick out of the side of my mouth, aware of everyone around us being completely engrossed, watc
hing a foam Viking try to take down a foam Eagle. Thankfully, the cringeworthy display didn’t last too long, and they sauntered off the field, the Viking victorious, of course.

  I was just about to ask Flick what we needed the glow sticks for, when the floodlights cut out, plunging the whole place into darkness.

  “What the—” Adrenaline coursed through me, my heart catapulting into my throat, as neon lights stood out against the inky backdrop, and the opening beats of Get Ready for This blasted out through the PA system. I realized now all the signs and banners were painted in neon paint, and the cheerleaders were dressed in white shirts, blue neon Rs splashed against their chests, glow sticks around their wrists and ankles. Even I couldn’t deny the black light set up was effective.

  When their display ended, the crowd erupted again, sending tremors reverberating through the place, and I slipped my arm through Flick’s. “This is crazy,” I said, nestling into her side.

  “It’s something all right,” she breathed out, and for a second my stomach sank. Surely, I wasn’t going to lose my best friend—the one person who had always understood me—to football?

  My thoughts quickly evaporated when the Imagine Dragons’ Whatever It Takes boomed across the field. Not a single person remained seated. The eight-hundred strong crowd were on their feet, cheering and clapping, hooting and hollering. It was frenzied. Wild. It was high school lunacy at its best. And even I—the most anti-football person to have ever lived in Rixon—couldn’t deny the atmosphere was electric. Infectious. Although I wanted to block it all out, to hate it as much as I’d always hated it; it seeped into me, coursing through my veins like wildfire. And no matter how dangerous you knew it was, how much safer it was to run away from the flames, you couldn’t help but stop and watch them burn.

  But the spell was broken when my eyes landed on my step-brother leading his team onto the field, the number 1 on his jersey lit up with neon paint; Cameron, number 14, on his right; and Asher, number 42, on his left. The three of them stood slightly ahead of the rest of the team. They reminded me of a general and his lieutenants leading their army to war; heads held high, war paint streaked across their faces, helmets hanging at their sides like deadly weapons. Their names pierced the air as girls screamed and guys chanted. Even Flick looked ready to join in the chorus until I pinched her arm, levelling her with a hard look.

  “What?” She shrugged. “When in Rome...” Her brows waggled before she turned back to the field and yelled, “We love you QB One, have babies with me.”

  “Oh my god.” I clapped my hand over her mouth, drowning out her laughter. “You’re demented.”

  “Takes one to know one,” she mumbled, peeling my fingers away from her mouth. “Check out Cameron, he’s looking mighty—”

  “Do not finish that sentence.”

  It was too late. My eyes drank him in. The way his shoulder pads narrowed into his hips, how the tight-fitting pants clung to his muscular legs… and other places.

  “You’ve got a little drool.” Flick pressed her thumb to the corner of my mouth. “Right there.”

  “Fuck off,” I grumbled, swatting her hand away. “Is this thing almost done?”

  She pouted. “You’re no fun.”

  “No, this is no fun.” Now the initial buzz had worn off, I was ready to leave.

  “Let’s just stay for Coach Hasson’s speech and then we’ll go, okay?”

  “Fine,” I huffed, knowing she had me right where she wanted me. “But you owe me.”

  Even though, deep down, I knew it was the other way around.

  An hour later, we still hadn’t left. Flick was having fun and I guess my heart wasn’t completely made of stone because seeing her so happy, kind of made me happy.

  “I’m going to pee,” I said to her as we wandered through the crowd. After Coach Hasson had worked everyone into yet another frenzy, he introduced his Varsity team for the season ahead. I knew each and every name, every face. We all did. The only difference was, I didn’t care.

  “I’ll wait over by the ‘cream the Eagle’ stand,” Flick replied around a mouthful of cotton candy. “This is good.” She sucked her sticky fingers clean, grinning.

  After the pep rally, everyone had moved to the parking lot where the social committee had set up stalls to raise money for the team. They’d kept the blackout theme but had strung up little neon lights between the stalls. It was annoyingly effective, just like everything else about tonight.

  “I think you have to use the restrooms in the stadium.”

  “Great.” Because I really wanted to go back in there.

  I took off toward the imposing structure. Unlike most high schools in the area, Rixon High boosted a five-thousand capacity purpose-built stadium that, come game day next Friday, would be standing room only. The further away from the parking lot I got, the darker it became but I could just about make out the signage for the restrooms. Slipping inside, I hoped to find some other kids, but was greeted with nothing but deafening silence. The automated-lights flickered to life, calming my racing pulse, but I still hurried, eager to get out of here and back to Flick.

  When I was done, I washed my hands and went back into the hall, waiting for the lights to flicker to life. But they didn’t. So I inched forward, waving my hands in the air hoping to trigger the sensors. “Shit,” I mumbled when nothing happened.

  Wrapping my hands around my waist, I started toward the exit when a hand hooked around my mouth, yanking me into the shadows, drowning out the scream that ripped from my throat. A wave of fear washed over me as I was shoved into the wall, my eyes wild, straining against the darkness, searching frantically for something, someone… anything. But when a figure stepped in front of me, I pressed back against the cool cement, desperate to melt into the shadows and become invisible once more.

  “Jason?” I snapped, the tremor in my voice betraying me. “Is that you?” Silence. “This is low, even for you.” When the figure still didn’t reply my voice cracked, “J- Jason?”

  Even in the darkness, dressed in a black hoodie and sweatpants, a black mask hiding their face, I knew it was a guy. He was too tall, too broad and muscular… too deadly, to be a girl.

  “Jason quit the Friday the Thirteenth act,” I said trying to school the panic in my voice. “You got me, I concede.” I held up my hands in surrender, but the figure watched on.

  A little voice at the back of my mind whispered, What if it’s not Jason? What if it’s a serial killer and you’re about to be gutted like a fish? But I stuffed down the thoughts. It was a knee-jerk reaction to the situation, to the fear clawing up my throat. It was Jason.

  It had to be.

  “Screw this,” I murmured, steeling myself to run. But as I went to take off, another two figures rushed out of the shadows, grabbing my arms and pinning me against the wall.

  “Jason,” I hissed as my brain tried to process what was happening. “This isn’t funny anymore. Tell your fucking idiot friends to back down before I scream.”

  Their hands tightened and I thrashed against them, but they were too strong, and I was probably going to have bruises tomorrow. “Cameron, Asher, you’ve done a lot of messed up things to me in the past, but this is—”

  The figure—Jason—ate up the distance between us in long sure strides, stopping mere millimeters from my body. “Jason?” I breathed, no longer convinced it was him and that I wasn’t about to be gutted like a fish.

  Fear gripped me, as he dug his hand in his pocket. I sucked in a sharp breath as he began to lift his arm, waiting for the glint of metal. But it never came. Instead my vision went dark as something was shoved over my head and this time I did scream. The silence had been eerie enough. But this was worse.

  This was fucking terrifying.

  “Calm the fuck down,” someone said, but the blood pounding between my ears made it difficult to distinguish if it had been Jason or Asher or Cameron. Or someone else entirely. My heart crashed violently against my chest, making it difficult to breathe
as every possible scenario of what was about to happen flooded my mind.

  “Please,” I cried. “Just stop. Just—”

  A hand fixed over my mouth again, and I gasped, fighting for breath, the smell of polyester overpowering my senses. But it all stopped when I felt something move against my stomach, painting torturous patterns. Oh God. My fight response withered and died, rendering me paralyzed, as I waited for the flash of pain. But it never came as a blunt object moved over my t-shirt. Confused, and drowning in a tsunami of fear and paranoia, I let my body go completely lax as my captors began to pull me away from the wall, guiding me to who only knew where. Seconds ticked by, my legs stumbling to keep with up them. And then the world came back in an overwhelming blur of color and noise as the hood was ripped off my head.

  “W- what?” I blinked rapidly, sucking in greedy lungful’s of air, as I staggered toward the sounds.

  But as my vision began to settle, I realized something was wrong.

  Very wrong.

  I was on the fringe of the parking lot, looking out over the pep rally. And everyone was staring back at me.

  Everyone.

  The laughter started like a storm. The rumble of thunder far off in the distance, creeping closer with every crack of lighting. Until it was right on me; each rumble like a violent shiver up my spine, each crack like a jolt to my heart.

  “Hails?” Flick pushed her way through the crowd, her eyes alight with panic. “What…” Her eyes dropped to my chest and she gasped, “Oh shit.” The color drained from her face.

  My fingers reached for the hem of the tee, stretching it out so I could just make out the words. There, painted in blue pen, was the words ‘I ride Raiders for fun’.

  Embarrassment burned through me, flaming my cheeks, as I met my best friend’s sympathetic gaze. “I will fucking kill him,” I ground out, not caring who could hear me.

  She took a cautious step toward me. “Jason didn’t do this—”

  “Of course he did,” I hissed, already searching the crowd for his smug face.