She cocks her head, studying me, and I don’t know if it’s the way her eyes linger or the smile she tries to hold back, but I drop my gaze, awareness prickling my skin.
“Yeah,” she finally says. “Why not, I guess?”
Setting her clipboard down, she moves around behind me, placing an underhanded grip on the bar for support. “Can I offer a suggestion?”
I meet her eyes, still aware of Clay’s presence ten feet away.
“Widen your grip,” she tells me, holding the bar as I push my fists out until they touch the weights. “And straighten out your wrists. You’re putting too much pressure on them.”
I do as she says, conversations going off around the room as I lower the bar again and raise it back up.
“Hurt a little more now?” she teases, looking down at me.
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Good.”
I keep going as she walks around me again, and then I feel her palm on my stomach. I warm under my skin.
“Press the small of your back into the bench, Liv,” she instructs.
Her gentle hand makes my breath hitch.
“Feel that?” she asks, pressing harder as my back hits the bench. “It’ll work your abs while you work your chest.”
“Thanks.”
And sure enough, I start to feel the burn in my tummy as I continue my reps.
Taking up position behind me again, she spots me as I lower the bar and push it back up, her perfume tickling my nose, and it’s not at all unpleasant.
Footsteps still pound the treadmills, a constant thrumming in the background, and I suck in air, filling my stomach, before exhaling nice and slow. My body burns, my stomach cools with sweat, and I can feel a trickle between my breasts in my sports bra.
“I think it’s great you’re learning a new language,” she says.
I look up at her, not stopping. “My brother’s ex likes to yell at me in Spanish. I want to know what the bitch is saying.”
She smiles, breathing out a laugh, and I drop my gaze to her plump, pink lips. They look like gum.
Her arms lower with me, and she presses down, holding me there. “Keep it down.”
I hover the bar a couple inches above my chest, my elbows locked at a ninety-degree angle.
“Is that okay?” She raises her eyebrows in concern.
I nod, my muscles screaming a little. “Yeah.”
Finally, she releases me, and I continue, raising the bar again.
“So many people our age don’t have any ambition to grow,” she says in a low voice, her eyes on my movements. “To keep learning.”
She cocks her head again, meeting my eyes with a smile in hers, and there’s something too soft in the way she gazes at me and I’m pretty sure she wants my phone number.
The idea might be worth entertaining. She’s pretty, and maybe I’m attracted to her.
I study her face, taking a moment. Yeah. I’m attracted.
But I’m also graduating in a few months. The last thing I need is to form an attachment. I’ve gotten through almost four years here without finding a reason to stay, even if I am somewhat intrigued by her.
I knew her when she was a student, after all. She was popular. Kind. Quiet. We spoke rarely, but things changed this year when she took the job here. All her friends are gone to college, and she seems to be looking for new ones. Without her comfortable alliances around, she’s started to show other sides of herself. She’s nice.
But there’s something missing inside of her. I don’t know what it is.
Or maybe there’s everything right about her, and something missing inside of me. I can’t help it. I like crazy. She can be fire or ice, I don’t care, I just need her to be one of them. And even better if it’s both.
Something flies past us, splashing against the mirrors behind Megan, and water flies everywhere. I wince, drops hitting my hair, and I turn my face away, releasing the bar back to the power rack. Megan gasps. What the hell?
A water bottle falls into the tin garbage can, and I look down, seeing cool water droplets on my arm.
My heart leaps into my throat, and I turn my head, seeing Clay Collins approach.
She glares at Megan. “You’re not our age,” Clay corrects her. Then she picks up Megan’s clipboard and tosses it at her. “We’ll let you know when it’s time to carry our shit onto the field this afternoon.”
I stay lying on the bench, not budging from my back as I watch her work, almost amused as I take in her little power play.
Megan was a senior when we were juniors. An upperclassman. She’s also one of our coaches. Does Clay take any of this into account before attacking? Not even a little.
Megan hesitates for a moment, probably gauging whether or not it’s worth it to even try to report Clay’s behavior. But in the end, she realizes, like we all do, that Clay might be a spoiled brat, but she’s good at the long game. It’s better to just hope this tantrum is the end of it, instead of enticing further retaliation.
Megan leaves, her wet ponytail dangling behind her, but she spares a glance back at me, a small, soft smile on her lips before she disappears through the doors.
Then I turn my gaze to Clay.
“What the fuck are you smiling at?” she asks me. “Your team spots you. Is that clear?”
I scoff as I sit up, grab my towel, and rise, meeting her eyes two inches from my face. “I wouldn’t let you spot me a quarter for charity.”
She may be my team captain, but the bitch has never had my back.
Becks lets a laugh escape from behind Clay, Clay’s scowl hardening like she just made a promise in her head.
But I don’t even blink as I slip around her and leave.
I know I should just lie low. Only four months left and all.
But as the home stretch shortens more every day, I care less and less.
Maybe I want to see if she has anything left up her sleeves.
I dare her.
I really do dare her.
• • •
I hurry down the aisle of the school’s theater and push through the door. I dump my backpack against the wall, my blue-and-black plaid skirt brushing against my thighs as I break into a jog.
Jeremy Boxer and Adam Sorretti carry armfuls of wood and fabric, and a couple gallons of paint dangle from their fingers as I push past them and make for the cast list that I already see hanging on the bulletin board.
My heart races. Come on. The last eight hours of school, practice, and waiting were torture, but I’ll be high as a kite for the rest of my life if one thing goes my way in the next two seconds.
I press my palm to the board to stop myself as I move my index finger down the list, not looking for my name first.
I stop, seeing Mercutio, and slide right, hoping but already knowing before I even see it.
Callum Ames.
I drop my arm, fighting the urge to cry as I stare at the roster and exhale hard. I trace the line from Mercutio to Callum three more times with just my eyes to make sure before it even occurs to me to scan the sheet for my name to see if I was cast in anything at all, despite losing the role I wanted.
And there I am. Nurse……………….Olivia Jaeger.
I shake my head and turn away, holding back only a moment. Fuck you. I shoot off, my disappointment morphing into anger that I know won’t do me any good, but I’m not letting her off the hook this time. I throw open Ms. Lambert’s office door, finding it empty, and then stalk farther down the hall, stepping backstage and see her leaning over a drafting table, sifting through designs.