Page 9 of Freckles

Not today.

Ezra emerges from the locker room and stares at the pair with open longing. I clap him on the shoulder and move past. Most of the team have already showered and changed, a few still hanging around, chatting.

I grab my caddy and head into the showers, cranking the heat up as high as it can go.

There’s a cleaning cart in the corner, not unusual for this time of day, but my gaze keeps snagging on it. I let my eyes defocus as the water sluices over my body, giving my mind room to figure out what’s wrong.

As I finish and grab my towel, I work out the canvas bag to the side of the cart is heavier than usual, pulling at the hooks. I keep it in sight as I dry and return to my locker to grab my clothes, a white t-shirt, and grey sweatpants.

The last bell rings and the changing room empties, leaving me alone. I finish dressing and grab a flick-knife from my locker. With it in my pocket, I open the exit door and slam it closed while remaining inside the room.

As silently as possible, I sit on the bench near the door and wait.

After fifteen minutes, the canvas bag moves, the excess weight inside shifting. I’m amused as a slim hand curls over the edge, shortly followed by a mess of shining red locks and there’s only one girl I know of with hair that riotous colour.

I shift my fingers away from the knife in my pocket, and move to stand beside the cart, heart beating faster with anticipation.

“Do you need a hand to get out of there, Francesca?”

CHAPTERFOUR

KINCAID

Francesca scrambles outof the cart, unaided, nearly falling to the ground before she rights herself. When she steps away from me, her shoe soles squeak against the anti-slip rubber-studded tiles on the floor.

Steam still circulates in the changing rooms, turning clammy when it lands on my skin. An overhead fan chugs, the motor sounding weary as it tries to keep up with the demand in the humidity-soaked room.

She stares at me with her mouth open, not saying a word. I step forward and she steps back, her body tensing like a spring.

“Naughty girl,” I growl, as if her surprise intrusion isn’t the best part of my day so far. “Doesn’t privacy mean anything to you?”

“Sorry. I didn’t look at anything.” Her hand flutters to her throat, eyes downcast. “Alice and her friends were chasing me, and I needed to hide.”

“Like that makes it better?”

She retreats another step, and I lunge, pulling her against me and spinning in a half circle like a dancer, ending with me positioned between her and the exit.

“I should call the coach and make you explain why you’re spying on naked and vulnerable sports people while they’re changing.” I shake my head, lips twisting as though disappointed. “It’s despicable. Once the principal hears, you’ll probably be expelled.”

“Please don’t do that.” The plea is so soft it barely counts as a whisper.

“If you want to buy my silence, I’m listening.”

“I don’t have any money.” She chews on her bottom lip, frowning at the floor. “But I could write essays for you or give you free tutoring or… or… clean your house?”

“Are you implying I’m thick, Francesca?” I tease. “Or dirty? Goodness me, but you’re a rude girl.”

“No. No I—” She swallows back whatever she was about to say, and a long pause follows. Then she blurts, “Please let me go. The cleaner steered the cart in here. I had no idea I was in the locker rooms.”

I release my hold and step back, hands resting on my hips.

The whites of her eyes show and there’s a tremor in her hands. Her gaze fixes on the door behind me as though the pack of ravenous girls who chased her in here is preferable.

I give a snort, hitching up my left eyebrow. “Should I call Alice and tell her where you’re hiding?”

There’s a rhythmic quiver along her carotid artery, the speed and force increasing as I wait. After a long pause, she shakes her head.

Loose strands of hair are pasted to her cheeks, smudged red from the steam. Mascara clumps on her corner lashes, smeared like eyeliner where she’s wiped her face without thinking.

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