“How did you know that?” Bren glows with pride.
“Are you kidding? Most steps in thirty seconds. I saw you on YouTube! You were clog-tastic, girl. My eyes couldn’t keep up with your feet.” Ronno and Bren continue inside the stadium, talking up a storm. Apparently, Ronno’s grandmother was a record holder several decades ago. She was the one who sent him the video.
“Small world,” I say to River, who’s looking mildly constipated. Tight lips. Deep frown line between her brows. “You okay?”
“Uh-hum,” she says tightly.
“Then what’s with the lemon-wedge face?”
“Whaddaya mean?”
“You know, like you just sucked a Warhead.” I hate that candy. They’re so sour, they make your butthole pucker.
“Don’t know what you mean. Oh, look. There’s Keni.” River rushes over to Keni, who’s wearing black leggings and a Go Blue T-shirt that’s been cut in half and tied into a knot above her navel.
Wow. So hot. Looking at her feels like being harpooned by a speargun. But in a good way? There’s just something about her that sends a shock wave right through me.
I follow the two up the crowded bleachers and make a point not to look at either girl’s butt. Okay, fine. I look. River’s ass is shaped like a heart that needs caressing. Keni’s ass is like two melon halves.
I can’t believe I’m looking at River’s ass and comparing it to the girl of my dreams. Even more shocking, I like the womanly shape of River more. She’s got soft curves that give me urges.
No. Fuck no. I wouldn’t, couldn’t, ever think of her like that. It’s like wanting to date your bed. Sure, you might love sleeping with it, and it feels like home for your tired body at the end of a long day, but you know it won’t last forever. Eventually, the bed wears out. You have to buy another. River isn’t disposable. She’s essential.
Why the hell am I comparing her to furniture? My brain is fried.
I make it a point to sit away from River, between Keni and Bren. Not sure it’s a better option since Keni seems to hate me for no apparent reason.
I decide to pretend to be into all the activities down on the field—mostly the cheerleaders who are warming up the crowd.
Actually, now that I’m getting outside my own head for a second, this is pretty cool. There are TV cameras up on a platform by the announcer’s booth, and all the fans have little flags or those giant foam hands. It’s a packed stadium, and everyone looks like they’re having fun. I can almost feel their energy seeping into me.
Wow. I’m feeling great. Happy, giddy, full-of-energy great. Maybe I should’ve been going to games at my old college. This isn’t bad at all.
I sit back and watch the athletic girls in blue pleated skirts, waving their pompoms and moving their arms in unison. I don’t know what changes, but suddenly I’m seeing Manda’s face on the girl in the middle.
But that’s not possible. Manda went to some posh all-girls school.
I blink, and Manda’s face is gone, but instead of feeling the joyful buzz of the crowd, I’m filled with anger and hate. I want to shove those pompoms down those girls’ throats. I know it’s wrong to judge a book by its cheer moves, but I can’t help thinking of Manda and her friends on the gallows. I want to watch them hang.
“Ooph!” That stabbing pain returns to my chest, and I press my hand over my heart.
“Are you all right?” Bren asks.
“Yeah.” I wince, trying to breathe through it, but the pain isn’t going away this time. It’s getting stronger.
The home team streams out of the locker room onto the field, and everyone but me hops to their feet, going wild. “Go Blue! Go Blue!”
Then I see him. Blake.
My blood turns from a tepid ninety-seven-something degrees to a blistering red-hot hate. Not because of what he did to me, but because in my mind, I’m seeing him hurting River—him pushing her to the wall, covering her mouth. His fucking cronies slamming her into their SUV. River fighting for her life.
The pain continues in my chest, but I drink it in with my rage. Fuckers deserve to die.
With helmet in hand, Blake stops in his tracks on the field, turns, and looks straight at me. Yes, thousands of people are yelling and cheering, and he’s looking right at me. Then he turns and runs toward the center of the field. The ref gestures for Blake to get his ass back with his team, but Blake doesn’t listen.
While everyone watches with laughs and frowns, Blake starts yelling.
I wish everyone would shut up so I can hear.
The stadium goes silent.
I look around at all the serious faces. Did I do that? Or did everyone decide to listen? I’m not sure, but now I hear Blake just fine.