“You know I’ve always been clumsy as hell,” I say, forcing a grin as Zack squeezes my hand. “It took me a lot to get to this point. Just don’t make fun of me when I’m the worst one on the team.” Charlie laughs and pulls me close, smiling at me … and then letting his eyes linger on Jennifer and the baby in her arms, on Isabella …
“I bet you’re the best dancer, Marnye. You’ve always been good at everything you do.”
The limo rumbles down the hill, but Isabella never looks at me. Jennifer makes small talk, but only Zack returns her constant chatter.
It’s a huge relief when we get to the field and climb out, separating to head to our various activities: Charlie, Jennifer, the baby—whose name is actually Marley, too much like a mixture of mine and Charlie’s for comfort—and Isabella head into the bleachers to watch while Zack trots onto the field, and I join the cheerleading squad.
The scouts aren’t hard to spot in the audience. By the time half-time rolls around, I know exactly which ones they are. They rarely smile, but they get excited when Zack does something just right. Jalen, too, for that matter which sucks. Jalen doesn’t deserve to be quarterback, doesn’t deserve to be scouted. I learned from Miranda during one of our slumber party chats that he used to lie to Ebony and tell her he was wearing a condom when he wasn’t.
That’s sexual assault, in my book.
Now I don’t feel nearly as bad for revealing that she was planning on cheating on him.
Just before our half-time show starts, I notice Zack slipping money into a player’s hand from the other team. It’s such a weird thing to notice, this subtle clasping of palms. But I don’t miss the wad of green that passes between him and Corb Lambert, the star player for Grenadine Heights.
Huh.
Is Zack paying him to throw the game or something? He wouldn’t though. I mean, I don’t think Zack would do that and I don’t believe that Corb would risk his chance of getting scouted for some chump change.
I don’t have time to worry about it before the show, getting in formation with the group, and executing our dance. We’ve been using these games as practices for our own competitions, rather than anything more than that. Cheerleading isn’t what it used to be, just some throw away sport to support the boys. It’s a full-blown athletic endeavor now.
We move from the dancing portion to the stunt segment of the routine—the part where we throw girls into the air—and I end opposite Kiara, lifting Ileana’s tiny form into the air. Everything goes as planned until it comes time to have her dismount. Normally, Kiara and I would bend our knees and then lift up with both our legs and arms at the same time, throw Ileana up, and then catch her with linked arms. Our spotter is some random third year that I hardly recognize, and she’s supposed to support Ileana’s ankles, and catch her under the armpits when she comes down.
This isn’t how things go during that session. Instead, both Kiara and the third year girl let go of Ileana, and she turns in mid-air and quite literally kicks me in the face.
Pain rackets through me as I stumble back and end up on my ass in the grass, blood pouring down my face and into my mouth. Kiara and the other girl manage to catch Ileana anyway, and I’m the only one left hurting.
Coach Hannah runs over to help me up, but I’m too dizzy to stand.
I just got nailed hard—and not in a good way.
The music keeps on pounding through the stadium, and the other girls finish their dance to cheers and clapping from both sides. Pretty sure everyone thinks that was accidental. Except for me. And Zack.
He storms over in a rush, panting hard and soaked in sweat, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. I manage finally to find my feet and push past Coach Hannah to intercept him on his way over.
“Don’t,” I murmur through the blood. I’m starting to wonder if my nose might be broken. It hurt too much, and now it doesn’t hurt at all … Not a good sign. My body’s trying to protect me from the agony. “Zack, don’t.”
“I don’t care if they are girls, I’m going to break their faces.”
“No, you aren’t.” I put my palms on his chest as he stands there, huge and muscular and panting, trying to come to my rescue in the only way he knows how. Just like with Tristan, I try to get ahold of that dark streak inside of him by drawing his attention away from them and over to me. “The scouts are here. I know you love football; I know you want to play for the NFL, even if you won’t admit it.”
“I can have my grandfather buy a team and put me on it,” Zack whispers, but he sounds almost sick when he says it. Sure, he could do that. But he’s like me: he wants to earn his own way. He doesn’t just want to play; he wants to deserve to play.
“They will get theirs. I promise you that. I promise you.” Because this first month at Burberry Prep, I haven’t been doing nothing. I have my notebook. I have my rules. And last year, I let the guys do a lot of the revenge-getting for me.
This year is going to be different.
I’m graduating Burberry Prep, and I’m going out with a bang.
“You fucking trolls,” Zack growls, but the girls behind me just laugh, and this time, it’s my turn to reach up and grab his face in my much smaller hands. He turns his bittersweet chocolate eyes down to me. They’re narrowed and dark, and I know he’d destroy them if I asked him to—even if it meant losing his spot on both this team and his future college career. “You best watch your backs.”
“We’re terrified,” Ileana purrs, laughing as Zack looks back down at me, positively shaking with rage. I look around for Charlie, and see him disappearing around the corner, probably heading for the steps to come over here. He doesn’t know I’m dating Zack yet, so … I only have a second.
“Don’t pay attention to them; kiss your girlfriend and walk away. That’s it.” Zack cups my chin and kisses me deeply in front of both schools, causing several of his teammates to catcall and whistle. I don’t even care that it hurts when he presses his mouth to mine. Even though I’m sure I must taste like blood, I run my tongue over the thickness of his lower lip.
He seriously has the prettiest freaking mouth.
With his kiss, Zack claims me, making a low, satisfied male sound in his throat as his tongue sweeps mine, and his big hands clamp over my shoulders, squeezing hard. When he finally releases me, I feel like I’ve been marked somehow, branded to the entire stadium as his mate.
“I’ve got a few minutes. Let’s get you cleaned up,” he growls, and then he picks me up and carries me over to the bench. The field medic examines me, and decides that it’d be best if I go get checked out at the hospital afterward, just in case. Dad is there, trying to hover over me, Jennifer, too. I wave them both off and manage to talk all the adults involved into letting me sit there with ice on my face, so I can finish watching the game.
The other boys come down to stand beside me, and Windsor, unsurprisingly, is the one who takes over, pulling me into his lap. He doesn’t say a thing, none of them do, but I can tell they’re all quietly fuming.
Just as we’re nearing the end of the game, I see Zack give Corb a look.
Jalen readies himself to throw a forward pass, the sun shining off the black surface of his helmet.
He pulls his arm back, and Corb goes right for him. Since he’s the defensive lineman for Grenadine Heights, that makes sense. That’s his job. He tackles Jalen hard, and all I hear as he goes down near me is this awful crunching sound.
The ref calls a timeout as Jalen screams, and I see all this blood. Like way, way too much blood. I bend down next to him since I’m the nearest person there, and find a shard of glass in his leg.
“What the …”
I’m pushed aside for the field medic, but not before I palm the glass in my hand and take it with me, stumbling back and slipping it into a cup of water. I pretend to take a drink to calm my nerves, and then chuck it in the trash.
Zack looks at me from across the field, and our eyes meet.
Jalen is taken away with a severed artery and a broken femur. His chances of playing for a college team next year … virtually none. And his dad is some super famous NFL player, too. It’s all he ever talks about.
When I get back to my room, I’ll cross his name off my list.
The game finishes up shortly thereafter, with the victory going to Burberry Prep. It’s a nice change of pace from second year when I fucked-up Zack’s chances at glory.
I don’t get a chance to talk to him though because we go straight to the hospital after (my nose isn’t broken, thankfully), only to learn I have a possible concussion. Charlie stays up all night with me playing board games in one of the visitor’s cabins, and I spend every moment soaking up my time with him.
Once he leaves, I can confront Zack.
He broke one of my rules, and I am not happy about it.
I storm up to Zack in The Mess and grab one of his big, muscular arms, dragging him away from the other boys and out into the hallway.
It’s Monday now, and Charlie’s just left. We have about two weeks until Halloween, and no idea what to do for costumes. No idea what we’re doing to celebrate either. As the Bluebloods of Burberry Prep, we have to throw a party to hold our title. Period. That’s how things work, but where? Windsor’s mom—who, if you think about it, is a freaking princess, right?—is staying at the house we used last year. Tristan’s been disowned, the Cabots and the Kaisers don’t have a place close enough, and Zack’s mother is having their vacation home renovated.
We’re going to have to think up something creative.
“You’ve been ignoring my texts all weekend,” I whisper, but Zack shakes his head, holding up his palms.
“Never, Marnye. Never. You don’t understand: my grandfather and my dad were here this weekend.” I raise my brows; I’ve never met Zack’s dad, but I hear he’s a prick. He frowns hard and looks away from me briefly. “It didn’t go well.”