“Wait,” said Miranda finally. “That was when we were, like, in fourth grade.”
Chris’s eyes darted from Miranda’s face to Jess’s and back. “Yeah? So?”
“So you have no actual idea what Jess is going through!”
Miranda and Chris went back and forth like that as Jess’s mind tuned them out and she saw Greg’s hand slide down Sandra’s back to rest on her butt. The canned peaches on her lunch tray were unappetizing, but she was pretty sure they weren’t the reason her stomach was starting to churn.
A light smack on her arm yanked her attention back to her table. “Hey I got an idea!” said Miranda. She leaned forward, so Jess and Chris leaned, too. Quietly she said, “What if you just do the same back? I’m sure someone on the football team wouldn’t mind pretending to be your boyfriend for a week or so to beat Greg at his own game. You know it would drive him crazy.”
Chris stayed quiet and Miranda looked questioningly at Jess.
It made enough sense. “Okay. But who?”
Chris remained uncharacteristically quiet.
“Well,” Miranda said slowly, then she lifted an eyebrow and nodded at Chris before she and Jess spoke at exactly the same time.
Miranda said, “This guy’s single.”
Jess said, “I bet Quentin would.”
“Yeah,” said Chris hurriedly and a little louder than necessary. “I bet Quentin would be down.”
* * *
“Hell yeah, girl. I’ll be your fake boyfriend.”
They were already suited up, having just finished their warmup run and stretch. Quentin hopped so his back was to her and wrapped his arms around himself, pretending he was making out with someone on the other side of him. He hopped back around to face her. “We can fake get it on all night, boo!”
She laughed and once they’d high-fived on it, it was a deal.
“Hey, come here, though,” Quentin said, his tone turning serious as he grabbed Jess’s wrist, leading her toward where Coach Rex stood at midfield setting up cones for the first drill. “We gotta make sure it’s all cool.”
“Huh?” She wasn’t sure what he meant.
“Coach!” Quentin hollered as they jogged up.
Coach Rex looked up and squinted against the afternoon sun behind them. “What’s up, Jones?”
They stopped a few paces in front of him, and Jess stared at Quentin, unable to anticipate what on earth he was about to say.
“I just want full disclosure with you, Coach.” The seriousness with which he said it made Jess wonder if this was about something entirely different from their fake relationship, like maybe Quentin was going to divulge that he was actually in his thirties and only posing as a high school junior.
Coach Rex appeared slightly concerned as well, which meant that the stoic man was probably deeply concerned that he was about to lose his best wide receiver for one reason or another.
But then Quentin dove right into it. “Jess and I are going to be fake dating for a little bit, and you know how I do, so things might get fake nasty on the field.”
“God dammit, Jones,” growled Coach Rex as he relaxed his posture and rolled his eyes so hard his whole head went with it. “You know I don’t give a shit about that. Get the hell out of here.” He swatted at Quentin, who jumped out of the way with a loud “ha-HA!” before pulling Jessica back toward the bench behind him. She was laughing too hard to sip her water before their drills began.
As she finally managed to take a swig before heading out onto the field for a little conditioning, she felt dread ball in her stomach when she saw that the cones were laid out in the telltale design that meant it was time for suicides, named that for a reason. She always finished at the back of the pack with the defensive line when they did these, and it always left her with a terrible side stitch.
The team jogged out and lined up begrudgingly. At Coach Rex’s whistle, they took off, paused, touched the line even with the cone closest to them, ran back, touched the starting line, ran to the next cone out, touched the line, turned around, ran back to the starting line, and continued, sprinting to the next cone out each time. Suicides never failed to leave Jess reconsidering how important her miracle was.
The faster guys were already starting to get a full length ahead of her, passing her on their way back toward the starting line. As usual, Romeo, with his quick feet, led the pack. Quentin wasn’t far behind him, and when he caught Jess’s eyes, he sent an air smooch in her direction and it shattered through her winded misery and she laughed. Her eyes met Chris’s a split second later, and he looked at her with concern. Well, she supposed it was weird to be laughing during suicides. Seemed a bit maniacal out of context …
She kept sprinting, and each time Quentin passed her, he did something different. The first time he folded his arms across his chest and gave her a cool guy gaze and a quick little nod before sprinting the rest of the way to the line, and it pretty much snowballed in ridiculousness from there until, before she knew it, the suicides were over. The laughing, of course, left her more winded than usual, but she didn’t mind it.
She was still giggling as she clasped her hands over her head to open up her lungs and Chris, doing the same, walked over. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” she wheezed. “Just Quentin.”
“What’s he doing?”
But before Jessica could answer, Quentin hollered from down the line, “Chris! What you doing talking to my girl?”
Chris’s eyes went wide and he turned slowly, disbelievingly toward Quentin. “You better shut your mouth when you’re talking to me!” he barked back.
But then he stopped asking questions, and the rest of practice carried on in that manner, with Quentin sending air kisses Jess’s way, talking trash to the other teammates who talked to her or tried in vain to block her kicks.
It was easily the most fun Jess had ever had at practice, and by the end, she was pretty sure she even saw Coach Rex crack a smile at Quentin’s antics.
When Jess left the locker room, both bags slung over her shoulders, Quentin and Chris were waiting for her and chatting. They didn’t notice her at first.
“For sure, man,” Quentin was saying, “she’s way hotter than Sandra. Dude’s crazy.”
“Hey, boo,” she said, trying the word on for size. Quentin turned her direction, narrowed his eyes, and each shook their head.
“Nah,” he said.
“Yeah, it sounds stupid coming out of my mouth.”
“You just do you, Jess.” He draped an arm around her shoulder and the three of them walked out toward the parking lot.
“So what’s this thing gonna look like?” Quentin asked.
“I don’t know,” Jess said. “I honestly haven’t thought that far.”
Chris walked around to stand on Jess’s other side. “I mean, you probably don’t have to go all out to sell it.”
Quentin leaned forward to look past Jess to Chris. “I don’t know, Riley. With a girl like Jess? I might have to go pretty far. We might have to get fake freaky.”
“And she might have to fake like it,” Chris shot back, “but that’s probably nothing new for you, is it, Jones?”
Jess laughed but wondered why Chris was getting so protective about all this. He knew this was just a ploy to get back at Greg.
“But seriously, Jess,” Quentin said, as they stopped by Chris’s towering truck. He pulled his arm from her shoulder and moved in front of her. “What do I gotta do to make this Greg creep crawl in his skin?”
Chris threw his bag into the back of his truck, then grabbed Jess’s from her and did the same.
“Hmm … I’ll have to think about that. Do I have your number? I’ll text you later.”
Quentin pulled out his cell from his backpack. “Give me your number, and I’ll text you so you have mine.”
“Guys,” Chris said. “I think you’re taking this a little too seriously …”
Jess gave Quentin her number.
“Sent,”
he said. Then he stuck his phone in his pocket and looked up at her. “Making out? Is making out too much?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“Fake making out is fine, I guess.”
“Girl, there ain’t nothing fake about the way I make out.”
“Seriously,” Chris said, stepping between Quentin and Jess. “It’s just pretend, dude. Ease up.”
“What,” Jess said, trying to hold back a smile. “We can’t fake make out? You of all people have a lot of nerve to tell me who I can’t make out with.”
That stopped Chris in his tracks. His mouth hung open, and when she glanced at Quentin, his mouth was agape too and he motioned from one to the other. “Wait. Y’all made out?”
Chris continued staring at her disbelievingly and didn’t answer.
“It was nothing,” she said.
Quentin frowned and shook his head. “Yeah, Chris, if you’ve already got to make out with Jess, you sure as hell ain’t telling me I can’t.”
“We gotta go,” Chris said, and he opened the passenger door for her.
Quentin laughed and then flashed Jess a grin. “See you tomorrow, girl.”
She waved and climbed into Chris’s truck.
Once he’d started up the engine, he said, “Maybe you should pick another fake boyfriend. Quentin is kind of a womanizer.”
“You buy that act of his? Wasn’t it you who told me he’s actually a closeted science geek? Besides, it’s kind of fun. And what better way to get the word out to Greg than to fake date the biggest loudmouth on the team?”
Chris sighed. “As long as you remember it’s just fake dating.”
Jess wasn’t sure what he was implying, but before she could ask, he leaned forward and cranked up one of the local country stations, and they drove back to Jess’s house without talking any further about it.
Whatever. She had more important things to think about, like sweet revenge. Already a master plan was forming in her mind. Who knew this came so easily to her? Now all she needed was to text Quentin once she got home and fill him in on her scheme …
* * *
Only two minutes until first period, which meant it was rush hour on the steps outside Mooremont High School. Despite the time crunch, though no one appeared to be in a real hurry to get to class.
It was usually Jess’s least favorite time to day to find herself heading into school because the larger the group of peers around her, the more likely one of them would be someone who thought she was the Antichrist. If anyone outside of her teammates and Miranda believed she was God’s daughter, she certainly never heard that mentioned in crowds. Nope. Just random, generally anonymous shouts of “Antichrist!” and “go back to Hell where you belong!” Things of that nature. And the cat calls had become more frequent in the last week or so, causing her to wonder if it was Eugene or Jimmy who was spurring them on.
It didn’t matter this morning, though. Bring on the crowd. More people to bear witness to her plan.
Already it was off to a rough start, though, as she’d had a difficult time dragging herself out of bed after a mostly sleepless night. As much as she hated to admit it, she missed Greg, and every time she thought about missing him, she thought about him writhing naked with Sandra, a worst-case scenario that was most likely happening.
“Jess!” She heard her name over the crowd, and for a moment she couldn’t figure out who was calling it, then she saw Quentin pushing his way against traffic until she met him on the top step. She knew what was about to happen because they’d orchestrated it once Chris had dropped her off the night before.
“Hey, boo,” he said loudly. A small group of softball girls stutter-stepped when they heard those words come from Quentin’s mouth, and they looked around for who on earth he could be talking to. When Jess was the only possible candidate, they appeared thoroughly confused, and that expression remained until they were passively carried onward by the tide of the crowd.
“You seen him this morning?” she asked quietly.
“Nope. Been here since early, and haven’t see him yet. We should be good.” He paused and narrowed his eyes at her. “Did you … ? I mean, you sounded pretty pissed last night, and Chris mentioned this thing you can do.”
She shook her head quickly. “No, I don’t think I can smite over distances.”
“Okay. My bad.”
“I forgive you,” she said, biting back a smile as she watched the shiver run down Quentin’s body and out his arms and legs as his eyes rolled back in his head for a fraction of a second. Then he stared at her wide-eyed.
“That I can do,” she said.
It was like he’d never truly seen her before. “Damn, Jess.” He stared down at her, unsure of himself, then he said, “Do it again,” and closed his eyes to savor it.
“I forgive you.”
“Mmm …” Once he opened his eyes again, he said, “Oh shit. There he is.”
Quentin didn’t waste any time placing his hand on her cheek and leaning down until his lips locked with hers. She tried to sell it, but the chemistry she’d felt with Greg, and even Chris, wasn’t there. He was an experienced kisser, though; that much she could tell.
He placed a hand on her waist and turned her so that her back was against the wall. That way, when she came up for air, she could see Greg’s expression. And what an expression it turned out to be. She wished she could get a picture, but a mental one would have to do.
Greg stood in place only a few yards behind Quentin with his arm slung around Sandra’s shoulder and his mouth hanging open. Even Sandra’s mouth was lolling.
“Him?” Greg said. The crowd had thinned significantly.
Jess looked at him innocently. “You have a lot of room to judge, running back to your ex.” She nodded at Sandra.
Greg opened his mouth to reply, but Quentin turned fully toward him. “You got something else to say to my girl, or you gonna get on gettin’ on?”
Jess had to swallow down a cackle when fear flashed onto Greg’s face. She would’ve felt bad for him, if Sandra weren’t looking so smug.
“Come on, babe,” Sandra said. “It’s not like everyone didn’t already know she was only playing football for the attention.”
Quentin turned his back on them and leaned down for the kiss again, and Jess went along with it until she felt certain that Greg and Sandra were gone.
He pulled back again and when she opened her eyes, she saw another aghast face standing just a few feet away.
Chris shut his mouth and stalked over. “Uh, fake boyfriend, Jones.”
Quentin looked amusedly down at Chris as he climbed the steps. “You jealous, Riley?”
“Psh.”
She turned to Quentin. “Thanks. I think it worked. I owe you.”
“Say it again and we’re even.”
“Say what— Oh. I forgive you.”
Quentin let it wiggle down his body, then he held up his palm, and Jess high-fived him before he headed inside to class with the last of the stragglers.
Chris watched him go, then turned back to Jess. “So now you’re just handing out that forgiveness stuff to everyone?”
She couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous Chris was being. “Yeah, you got a problem with that?”
“I— No, I don’t. But I don’t think you understand Quentin like you think you do. He’s—”
“—A good friend?” Jess supplied. “A good kisser? Because he is.”
Chris pressed his lips together until the skin around them turned white. “I didn’t need to know that.”
“You’re being kind of weird, Chris. I don’t get it.” She hoisted her backpack onto her shoulder. “But don’t worry. I forgive you.” Before the tremor had even reached his shoulders, she stepped around him and headed to class.
The first time Jess attended a Mooremont versus Compton football game, she was only eight and hadn’t yet heard a pride of lions tear a human to shreds.
How times changed.
And now she was actually a part of the
fierce rivalry, and something about that seemed unreal, more so, even, than the idea that she would somehow have to confront the Devil, whoever that asshole turned out to be. Didn’t matter. It wasn’t that important. Or rather, it wasn’t immediately important.
What was immediately important was that the whole of Mooretown showed up for this match each year, and her nerves were getting the best of her this time around, regardless of the fact that she couldn’t miss a field goal even if she tried. But there were plenty of other things to worry about when everyone she knew was in one place.
She looked around the stadium and the various news cameras were already set up, pointed at the field or a reporter, shooting live pre-game coverage for the six o’clock news. She’d been so caught up faking her relationship with Quentin all week—which included lots more openmouthed kissing and lots more openmouthed stares from people who never saw that coming, and rightly so, since it was fake—that she hadn’t spared much of a thought for the likes of Eugene Thornton, who was chomping at the bit to snag some footage he could undoubtedly use against her later. She wondered if they could pull off another field-goal-less match like the one before, but she bet not. Not against a team like Compton. She would never ask that of her team, anyway. Once was enough. Eugene had already caused the damage he’d intended, anyway.
Focusing in the sideline huddle was usually tricky, with the stench of pads that had been sweat in, dried, and sweat in some more encroaching on her from all sides. But on a night like this, with the extra pressure of a packed crowd, a rivalry older than her, and the presence of Eugene Thornton, focusing was damn near impossible. It didn’t matter, anyway. All she had to do was go out onto the field, kick a sure-fire field goal, and hope the line held so she didn’t end up squashed beneath an over-juiced, wheat-fed, nineteen-year-old man who was only still eligible to play because his parents decided to start him in kindergarten at age seven.
At least that was the (fairly substantiated) rumor circulating about the predicted state champs over at Compton. It’d never been confirmed. But it didn’t stop her mind from playing out scenarios where grown-ass men came hurling toward her through the air.
And It Was Good (Jessica Christ Book 2) Page 15
