Page 32 of My High School Rebel Boyfriend
“Yeah, a couple of coaches are interested, so that’s pretty exciting.”
“That’s awesome.” I kept my head down, stirring my ice cream with my spoon. It would be rude to keep eating when she wasn’t.
“They said I have to keep training, get stronger,” she said.
“You need to lift weights,” I said.
“I know. That’s what they said.” She laughed, and hesitated, and I knew what she wanted to ask. And I wanted her to.
But I pushed my plate away, annoyed that I was abandoning my unfinished ice cream; I had to get out of there, a scared rabbit. “I’ve gotta get going. Shoot some hoops.” I pushed my chair in. “Hey, congrats on such a great tournament.”
And not allowing her time to respond, I was gone.
I had to be.
I had to ignore the stupid things my body was doing when she was close.
Volleyball season was over, and that meant restorative justice was done, and that meant Harper Dent didn’t feature in my life.
She couldn’t anyway.
For starters, she never liked me and if she knew I’d stolen her food on the hike, she’d downright hate me.
And Harper had seen something she shouldn’t have.
That’s why I had to stay away from her.
Because the last thing I needed was somebody’s pity.
Chapter 13
HARPER
YOU CAN’T UNSEE SOMETHING.
Splotches of purple and deep red covering his torso.
I couldn’t unsee them.
They weren’t random, they weren’t caused from a shove in the ribs or a basketball, or even a fall. Those sorts of bruises were the type UFC fighters came away with after a barrage of blows to the body.
My heart had sunk, because as bad as seeing those bruises, worse was seeing the expression on Mitchell’s face—glazed, startled, panic-stricken all at the same time.
And then he kept clear of me, like gave me a wide, wide berth. Oh, he’d cheered me on when I was on court, him and Titan yelling support like crazed fanatics, but otherwise he made himself invisible. And now he’d left Peter’s in a rush, like he had a bus to catch.
I should have been euphoric for two reasons.
Number one, I hadn’t had a low. Yes, today I’d tested my blood sugars regularly, eaten the right amount and managed my medication while doing vigorous activity. That alone should have been cause for celebration. The threat of having to succumb to an insulin pump and the fear of going hypoglycemic in front of the team meant I’d been especially astute about my food intake and my testing. And at Peter’s I’d been sensible, having a small scoop of Whittakers Triple Chocolate keto ice cream which had zero sugars. Okay, technically it might not be ice cream, but it tasted good nonetheless.
Second, I’d been approached by several colleges. That had been amazing. It had given me hope and belief, and a clearer pathway aboutwhere I wanted to go, and what I needed to do to get there. My name was out there, I was on their radar, it was now up to me to make it happen.
Yet, I couldn’t celebrate, I couldn’t feel joy.
It was as if I felt Mitchell’s bruises as much as he did.
Dad was excited about my prospects, but I told him I needed to get fitter and stronger.
“All my stats are good,” I said, “but there’s room for improvement. Like my vertical jump has improved this season, but it would be good if I could grow another inch!”
