“I’m almost done.”
“If you make me look good, I’ll forgive you for the Troy mishap.” He winks at me.
“You’re out of your mind. You’ve already agreed to be my bitch. No backsies.”
“Ugh. You’re the worst.”
“I’m going to ask again. Why aren’t you two dating?” Angelica, the newest member of the Rushmore Gazette, asks.
“Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt,” I reply with a shake of my head.
“But you have great chemistry.”
Blake and I trade glances, then burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” The poor girl alternates looking between us.
“Maybe one day we’ll tell you,” I say.
Unlikely.
Blake and I are the perfect match on paper. We like the same movies, the same books, are into similar hobbies, and mesh really well intellectually. But chemistry, the stuff that makes my knees go weak and my stomach turn into knots, is what we never had or will.
“Are you going to the Pike party tonight?” She changes the subject, thankfully.
Blake snorts. “Not in this lifetime.”
Angelica gets the dumbfounded look again, so I’m quick to explain, “Blake doesn’t do Greek Row.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re all fucking assholes,” he replies angrily.
She glances at me for further explanation, but I just shrug. That’s Blake’s issue. It’s up to him to elaborate.
“We also have a LARP meeting tonight,” I add.
“Oh, that’s the Live Action Role Playing thingy, right?”
“Yep.”
“I’ve always thought people who were into those things were a bunch of weirdos, but you guys aren’t.”
My spine goes taut, and I see Blake has a similar reaction to mine. Angelica’s comment wasn’t malicious, but it’s hard not to get defensive.
“How do you know we aren’t weirdos?” Blake raises an eyebrow.
Angelica’s cheeks turn bright pink, and she drops her gaze to her laptop, avoiding eye contact. “I have to finish this article before my English Lit class.”
Blake and I share a what-can-you-do glance. A second later, he sends me a message through Facebook.
“I’m kind of tired of people’s bullshit. Aren’t you?”
“Since when do you care about what people think?”
“I don’t.”
“Hmm. It sounds like you do, or is it Angelica’s opinion that you care about?”
“Ha-ha. She’s too vapid for my taste.”
“Oh, look who’s judging now.”
“Shut up. What time are you picking me up?”
“Excuse me? Why do I have to drive?”
“Because my car is being serviced.”
“What about Fred?”
“He’s going straight from the store. He said he has a surprise for us.”
“Oh, I love Fred’s surprises.”
“Samesies.”
I chuckle out loud. “Samesies? What are you now, a thirteen-year-old girl?”
“I’m practicing being your bitch for this weekend. LOL.”
“Right. I’ll pick you up at five.”
“Sounds good.”
Fred is one of my best friends, but he’s also a lunatic with mad convincing skills. If the guy wasn’t an artist, he’d be a fantastic salesman. It’s the only explanation for what’s happening just outside of Zuko’s Diner in the pouring rain.
The California sky decided to drop on us with all its fury as we were taking pictures, wearing Fred’s surprise. His father owns one of the biggest movie prop companies in LA, and he scored us some sick postapocalyptic costumes. It won’t work for our current LARP theme since we’re not doing the Mad Max thing, but it was too badass to resist trying them on.
“I think we’re ruining the pictures with our umbrellas,” I joke.
“I’m not getting this baby wet,” Blake replies.
“Just take the damn picture already,” Fred shouts at Sylvana, the coordinator of our LARP group, who also happens to be his cousin.
“Stop talking and strike a pose, dumbasses,” she fires back.
We have fun for about ten seconds until Sylvana demands to be in the pictures too. I remove my headgear and then trade places with her. Despite the rain, the sun hasn’t set yet, and the clouds are scattered, so it’s not as dark as it could be. I wait for them to get in position, aiming the phone in their direction. I only manage to take one photo before a splash of cold water drenches the back of my pants.
I yell and then turn around to curse at the driver who sped over the puddle near the curb. The four-wheel-drive truck stops not too far from us at a red light. I can’t see his face, but the license plate says it all—ALXNDR7. It’s Troy’s fucking truck.
Son of a bitch.
He lowers his window and waves at me before speeding off as the light turns green.
“Who was that?” Sylvana asks.
“Troy Alexander, Rushmore Rebels’ quarterback,” I reply.
“Did he run over that puddle on purpose?” Fred asks.
“Sure looks like it.” I pat my butt, confirming that it’s soaking wet, underwear included.
Shit. I have to go home.
“What an ass,” Fred replies.
“You know what?” Blake chimes in. “Fuck him and the football team. I’m running the article you wrote.”
“What about not using the paper for revenge?”
He looks straight into my eyes. “That fucker just made it personal. No one messes with my staff.”
3
TROY
“Dude! I can’t believe you did that. Ruthless!” Andreas laughs from shotgun.
“Shit, man. Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Danny pipes up from the back.
I tighten my hold on the steering wheel while I wrestle with the immediate guilt that followed my impulsive act. I’m not an asshole, and I usually don’t hold on to grudges. I thought I was past my anger with the little reporter until I found her tweet about me. She called the experience of meeting me akin to attempting a conversation with a Neanderthal and said she’d have more luck with the caveman from the Geico commercial.
Once again, I let her get under my skin, and the result was me acting exactly like she’d said I did. It’s my fault for cyberstalking her. I learned her full name from the email Ludwig had sent me. Charlie Fontaine. I was quick to find all her social media profiles, and that included her tweet about me. She didn’t mention me again, but that one judgmental paragraph was enough to set me on edge.
“Accidents happen. It’s her fault for standing near a puddle.”
“Sure, like you didn’t accelerate on purpose.” Andreas chuckles.
“Can we drop this? Charlie is taking too much airtime.”
“Charlie? So, you learned her name finally?” Danny makes that annoying remark.
“You’d better shut your piehole before I make you walk back to campus.”
“Gee, relax.”
“Are you coming to the Pike party?” Andreas finally changes the subject.