Head to Head (On Pointe Book 2)

by Penelope Freed

  “I mean, why would Hunter want to date someone who doesn’t even do anything? I can only imagine how boring she is in real life. What would they even have in common?”

  Oh god, I am boring. Why is Hunter even interested in me?

  I mean, we do have a lot in common, they obviously have no idea how smart he is. Or what he wants to do one day. But I do.

  My shoulders ease a little at the thought that I know Hunter in a way they never will.

  “Exactly, Megan. He’s...Hunter, you know. He’s all fun and games and flirting with everyone, why would he want a timid little mouse like her?”

  “Uh, I thought Jack was the fun one?”

  “Shut up, Madison, don’t be a bitch. Jack, Hunter? Same difference. They’re both hot.”

  Excuse me? Same difference? Is she serious right now? Hunter and Jack have completely different personalities, how could anyone not see that?

  “Yeah but…”

  “It doesn’t matter. Now that Olivia and Tyler are, like, endgame, and I called dibs on Andrew, that only leaves Hunter and Jack for you two. We have to do something.”

  Luckily, I’m not actually stuck inside a rom-com so my foot doesn’t slip off the toilet and I don’t drop anything, calling attention to myself. Instead, the gossip queens continue their conversation as they walk out the door, never knowing I was there, as the bell rings. I have to go to class. The class I was avoiding, not wanting to get there early, putting off the moment I have to talk to Hunter again for as long as possible.

  The only person I’ve spoken to since Saturday afternoon is Hannah, and even that was brief, neither of us able to keep the conversation going. Facetime is really hard when you’re trying not to cry, and you can’t tell your best friend why because she’s also trying not to cry for an entirely different and more important reason, and you can’t call your other best friend because they’re the reason you want to bawl your eyes out.

  It’s been a rough forty-eight hours.

  Technically, thirty-seven hours and fifty-one minutes. That’s how long it’s been since Hunter drove me home from Katy’s house.

  The moment Katy saw him kiss me, the world froze. Hunter jumped up off the couch, stuffing his hands in his pockets, before disappearing into the kitchen. I’d stumbled through some kind of excuse to Katy. I don’t even remember what I said, but I’m sure she didn’t buy it. We’d watched the rest of the competition without saying a word—I was too nervous to say anything and Katy just sat there with her eyes glued to the screen. Hannah was amazing in Aurora. I don’t know what she did to get over her nerves, but it worked. She came onstage and nailed it, holding every balance, the best I’d ever seen her do.

  And when she didn’t win, didn’t even place, we’d sat in stunned silence. Katy broke it when she stood up. “Do you need a ride home?”

  Hunter had reappeared from the kitchen and offered to drive me home before I could open my mouth. Katy gave me a look. An “I don’t believe anything you told me and I’m never going to forgive you for this,” kind of look and walked upstairs without a word. I’d stood frozen, stunned and torn. Did I go talk to her? Or should I give her space? Hunter had decided for me, dragging me reluctantly out to his truck and opening the passenger door, waiting for me to climb in.

  “So...uh. Sorry about that.” His apology started the second he buckled his seatbelt. I’d nodded, not knowing what to say or do. “Lisa?”

  Tearing my eyes away from the road, I’d let myself really look at him. Concerned wrinkles marred his normally smiling face. His jaw had clenched, pulling his face into an even more unfamiliar, harsh expression. And it hit me—I’d done this. I’d known this was going to happen.

  “Talk to me, please? Are you okay?” he’d asked.

  Was I okay? Was I okay? I’d been selfish, forgetting about anyone else as I’d foolishly given in to my feelings for Hunter. And now everyone I cared about was hurting.

  Katy’s face when she disappeared upstairs.

  Hannah must be heartbroken and there’s nothing I could do about it.

  Even Hunter. He’s been the one pursuing me, for whatever reason. The ball was in my court, right? And what did I do? Dropped it the second it got hard. Was he offended that I didn’t explain? Did he think I wanted to keep us a secret?

  I can’t keep us a secret because there can’t be an us.

  My own heart was breaking, and I was about to make it worse.

  I’ll never forget to look on his face as I’d slid out of the truck. The look my words had left on his face.

  “I can’t. We can’t. I told you before Hunter, I can’t do this. I have too much at stake to risk it now. I’m sorry.”

  So now I’m reduced to hiding in the bathroom before school so that I don’t have to sit next to him in awkward silence, waiting for Chem to start. Thank god we’re almost done with our project. Quickly, I navigate the crowd to get to class, ducking and sliding around bodies, avoiding eye contact with anyone. If there are rumors, if people are giving me looks, I don’t want to know. This morning, I’m allowing myself the luxury of denial.

  Sliding into the room as the late bell rings, I barely have a second to get seated before Mr. Fitzgerald starts class. I’m acutely aware of Hunter sitting next to me, but I summon every ounce of self-control I have and keep my eyes glued to the front of the room. Hunter’s eyes are boring into the side of my head, but I refuse to look. If I look, I’ll break. Making it through this class is the hardest part, right? If I can make it through this, I can make it through the rest of the day, right?

  Wrong. I was so wrong.

  Mr. Fitzgerald ends class by handing us back a pop quiz from Friday. A pop quiz I took with Hunter’s knee pressed against mine under the lab bench the whole time. All my attention had been focused on the square inches of skin he was touching, I don’t even remember what the quiz was about. In big red letters at the top of the paper is my score—7/10.

  No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

  Quickly, I do the math. Is that going to be enough to drop my grade below a ninety-five percent? Pulling out my phone, I open up the school’s gradebook app and check. There it is, staring me in the face.

  94.8.

  Two tenths of a point. Two measly tenths of a point between me and my dreams of getting to dance at PSB this summer. And of course, this Friday is the deadline to register, because the universe still hates me.

  A hand on my shoulder pulls me from my thoughts.

  “Bell rang, Sport.” I shrug, dislodging Hunter’s hand, all my fear and disappointment turning into anger. This is his fault for distracting me. Literally distracting me from my goal.

  “Don’t touch me,” I hiss, shrugging out from under his hand. “This is your fault,” I add, waving the quiz paper in his face. “I can’t believe I let you distract me like this. Just… back off, Hunter.” With that, I walk over to Mr. Fitzgerald’s desk—maybe he’ll let me retake the quiz?

  Do I notice everyone staring at me as I cross the room? Of course I do. Do I care what they’re thinking? Not now. I have bigger problems to solve, especially when Mr. Fitzgerald denies my request to retake the quiz. Apparently not doing as well as normal isn’t a good enough reason. My only hope now is to do well enough on the group project with Hunter to bring my grade back up. Luckily, he did agree to accept our project a day early, turning it in on Thursday instead of Friday with everyone else, and grade it immediately so the grade can be input in time for my parents’ decision.

  It’s not ideal, but it’s the best I can do.

  By lunchtime, I’m starting to care a lot more about fighting with Hunter in front of the whole class. Walking into each of my classes, there is at least one clique of whispering voices that stop the second I come into view. Apparently, our disagreement is the top news of the day and word travels fast.

  By the time the bell rings for lunch, my skin is cr
awling from all the eyes staring at me. At the sight of our usual bench sitting empty it occurs to me—Hannah is still in New York, only flying home tomorrow. I make my way to the bench, sitting alone, looking exactly like the social pariah I’ve become. Glancing around, I spot Katy and Olivia together. They’re on the periphery of Olivia’s usual social circle, but still. Katy knows all those people, her brother’s friends. Her brothers. She can slide into their group without causing any gossip. Unlike me.

  Taking out the sandwich I packed this morning, I pull out my notes on our project and start flipping through pages. We’ve done everything except write up the conclusion. The one time in my life it would be best for me to tune out the world and study, I would rather do anything else. I wish Hannah were here.

  Setting aside my notes, I pull my phone out instead.

  Me: Hey, how’s the sightseeing today?

  I weigh my phone in my hand for a minute, hoping to get a response. When nothing comes through, I start flipping through apps to pass the time. I’m too upset to even think about attempting homework. Anything to avoid facing the fact that I’m sitting here like an unwanted sweaty sock. The one that randomly appears on the sidewalk and no one will claim is theirs. I’m interrupted mid-scroll by a text.

  Hannah: Pretty good. Toured Julliard this morning which was cool. Went to the Statue of Liberty and took cheesy photos with my parents. Currently touring some tiny liberal arts college my dad found out here. It’s nice, but they focus on modern and contemporary dance, so I’m not particularly interested.

  At least Hannah’s dad is willing to entertain the idea of her going to college and majoring in dance. Not that I think Hannah’s planning to go to college. I’ve been putting off talking to my parents about college. An Ivy League education is not what I want for my future, I want the chance to be a dancer.

  Me: That sounds cool though. Are you ok?

  Hannah: I guess. Disappointed, but also happy for Martin. He deserved to win.

  Me: Pretty sure you’re allowed to be happy for your friend and sad for yourself at the same time.

  Parroting Ms. Parker’s advice back to Hannah makes me feel a smidge better. So does talking about anything other than my own problems for a minute, especially since Hannah doesn’t know anything about what happened on Saturday, or at school this morning. But a glance up at the group of kids nearby, Olivia’s group, has my heart plummeting low in my chest again.

  Taking the time to look properly, I see the loud voices that caught my attention belong to none other than the girls in the bathroom, Megan, Madison, and Allyson—cheerleaders extraordinaire. And I’m not just stereotyping them, these three really do live up to the cliche. One of them is hanging on Jack’s arm, laughing loudly at whatever he’s said, while Allyson is sitting on Andrew Park’s lap—it was her loud laugh that distracted me.

  The third, Megan, is standing in front of Hunter, talking at him, but his eyes are glued to his phone, ignoring her. Anger at him simmers low in my belly, accompanied by a dash of regret for the way I yelled at him this morning. It’s my own fault for letting myself be distracted, I should have been more disciplined. As mad as I am, it hurts to see him looking so sad, and I can’t deny I’m glad to see him ignoring Megan. There’s not a lot of people I actively dislike at school, but after the way Allyson, Megan and Madison treated Hannah, seeing them try to stake a claim on Hunter leaves me seething. My phone buzzes in my hand as I watch. Assuming it’s Hannah, I ignore it.

  Abruptly, Hunter looks up, staring straight at me. Frozen, I don’t move, just stare back from across the quad. He holds my gaze for a moment, ignoring Megan. When I don’t move, he sighs and looks back down at his phone, typing something.

  I can’t help watching him, the way his shoulders are a little more slumped than usual. His normally easy smiles are gone. As I soak in the chance to study him, my phone buzzes again and Hunter meets my eyes. When I don’t move, he wiggles the phone in his hand.

  What?

  Oh.

  Hunter: Can we talk?

  Hunter: Please?

  Me: Don’t come over here.

  I look up as I hit send and wait for him to read it. I can tell the second he does by the way his eyebrows draw in and a frown mars his face. Megan is still talking at him, not paying attention to whether he’s listening to her blathering.

  Hunter: Really, Sport? Are you actually mad? Or don’t want to be seen with me?

  Biting my lip, I consider his words before I respond. I need him to understand why I said what I said, what I stand to lose.

  Me: I don’t think you understand what I have a stake here. I suppose the school gossip passes you by, privilege of being a hot guy. Unfortunately, I’m not lucky enough to have that privilege. The rumors are already bad, you coming over here is only going to make them worse.

  I hit send and bury my face in my notes, eyes scanning the pages but not registering anything I’m seeing.

  “You can’t just talk to me?”

  “Ah!” I can’t be sure if my heart is pounding because Hunter scared me, because he’s standing so close, or because the need to yell at him again is about to supersede all my efforts to control it. “It doesn’t matter. I need you to go.”

  “Seriously, Sport?” Hunter sits next to me on the bench. “Can you at least explain to me what’s going on? Is this about Saturday?” When I don’t respond, he pokes me in the side. The familiar gesture is what does it. How can he not understand?

  “No, this isn’t about Saturday. It’s about the fact that you’re about to ruin all my plans.”

  “What are you talking about? How am I ruining anything?”

  “Because!” Frustrated, I shove the offending quiz at him. “Look!”

  “So, you got a less than perfect score on your quiz and that’s my fault?” Well, when he says it like that it does sound slightly unreasonable. Taking a deep breath, I try to explain.

  “Yes. I was so distracted by you…” Hunter starts to open his mouth, but I shush him and keep going. “Getting a seventy percent on this quiz brings my grade in the class down to a ninety-four point eight. Point eight!”

  “I still don’t understand, you still have a freaking A. Why is this such a big deal?”

  “Because now I don’t have a ninety-five in the class!” I explode.

  Silence.

  Not just from Hunter, from the entire quad.

  My skin crawls with all the eyes staring at me. I lock eyes with Katy across the way before tears fill my own and I can’t see. What have I done? I used to be the invisible girl, exactly how I wanted it. And now any chance I had of the gossip dying down is over. Now I’m the crazy girl who dared attempt to snag Hunter Quinn out from under the cheerleaders’ noses, and then yelled at him in public about not having a good enough grade. Could I be any more ridiculous?

  “Go away, Hunter. I don’t want to talk to you,” I mutter.

  “Fine. I can take a hint. You know where to find me.”

  Remembering what I discussed with Mr. Fitzgerald, I call out. “We have to turn in our project on Thursday.”

  “Why? It isn’t due until Friday.”

  “Mr. Fitzgerald said he would grade it and enter it before Friday, so I can get my grade back up. He won’t let me retake the quiz.”

  “Fine. I’ll email you the rest of my notes.”

  My heart breaking, I let him walk away.

  No boy.

  No distraction.

  Right?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Hannah

  “Hannah!” My mom’s voice echoes up the stairs. “Don’t you need to leave for class soon?”

  I’ve been laying in my bed, staring up at the ceiling since I woke up an hour ago. I haven’t even gotten dressed yet. Once we got home, I showered the nastiness of the plane off me and collapsed into bed, falling asleep almost instantly. Nor
mally, I would already be dressed and ready to head to class, but I just can’t muster the energy for it right now. What’s the point anyway?

  “Are you planning to go?” Mom’s head pokes through my door, taking in the state of me, damp hair tangled, still in pajamas. Nowhere near ready for my ballet class that starts in half an hour. “Ms. Parker did say you could take a day or two to rest once we got back. How about you catch up on schoolwork tonight?”

  Groaning, I bury my head under my blanket. “Ugh. Maybe I wanted to wallow in my bed.” The blankets muffle my words, but I know my mom hears me fine when the bed sinks under her weight, rolling me onto my side against her hip. The familiar weight of her hand drops onto my back, rubbing slowly up and down, like when I was little. Is it lame to think that my mom’s back rubs are the most comforting thing in the world? I don’t care, I’ll take all the comfort I can get.

  “You get one day of wallowing. But you can wallow and finish up the schoolwork you missed at the same time.” With that, she gives my hip a light smack and flips the covers off my face. “Come on vampire,” she hisses at me for good measure, getting a tiny smile out of me. With a kiss to the top of my head, she leaves, leaving me alone with the thousand thoughts that have been swirling in my brain since Saturday night. The only time they go away is when I’m sleeping.

  I wasn’t good enough.

  I did the best I could, and it wasn’t enough.

  There are thousands of dancers out there who are better than me.

  Why am I even trying?

  What’s the point if I’m not the best?

  Hoping that the make up work I have to finish will keep me distracted, I pull my backpack onto my bed. Fortunately, Lisa convinced me to let my teachers know about this trip weeks ago so they gave me the week’s assignments early, my Spanish teacher even had me take the test I was going to miss before I left. Thank god for Lisa. If she hadn’t sat at lunch with me for all those weeks getting ahead on my work, I’d either have had to take it with me to New York to try and do it there, or had the added stress of looming schoolwork to the already overwhelming pressure of the week.