Page 17 of Rock Bottom Girl
The opposite end of the field wavered in my vision like a mirage. But I forced my feet to move. I was walking, then jogging, then something else. Flailing. Stumbling. Running.
There were still a dozen girls struggling with me on the field. The rest were laying in the grass at the finish line. I wasn’t sure if they were dead or recovering. There was only one way to find out.
Get there.
“Come on,” I whispered to them, to me. “Come on.”
Goosebumps rose on my skin, but I was too hot, too gutted, to pay attention.
My stomach knotted as my breath clogged my throat. I was going to puke. In front of people. In front of teenagers genetically designed to exploit any weakness discovered in adults. But I was going to finish this run first.
Half field. My foot touched the white line, and I swear I felt it zing up my body. Almost there. Almost there.
I chanted to myself.
Oh, God. The penalty area. Yes, baby cheeses! So close to the end of this stupid torture. To the end of the only challenge I’d risen to in months. Or years.
I pushed, forcing my wobbly legs to chug faster. Crossing the line on a gasp, a wheeze, a dry heave. I collapsed onto my hands and knees.
“Nice run, Coach,” one of the girls said weakly. I think it was sarcasm.
But I was too busy vomiting to respond.
“Well, shit,” someone sighed.
Oh, God, no.I knew that voice. I knew the man behind that voice. He was the last person on the planet I needed to see me retching my guts out of my body through my throat. A worn shoe, one of those finger sneaker things, came into my line of sight. I gave one last heave before flopping over on my back.
“Hi, Mr. Weston,” Ruby wheezed from somewhere very far away.
“No, you don’t,” the voice said as things went blurry and gray. Something hit me in the face. Hardish.
“Coach, what do we do?” a teenage boy squeaked.
“Hey, dumbass. Do you know what heat stroke is?” the gravelly voice demanded of me. I felt another slap. Aslap?
Someone was slapping me in the face? How dare he!
I struggled against the gray, the stars that were sparkling in front of my eyes. Defensively, I flailed my hands, catching myself in the face.
“Guys, let’s drag everyone down to the locker room,” the voice ordered. “Take as many bodies as you can.”
Suddenly I was airborne. Floating up, up, up. Then I was unceremoniously tossed over something hard and sweaty. I was upside-down. My ponytail hung straight down. Everything was still a blur, but was that anassin my face? Wow. A really nice ass. Tight globes of muscle that bunched under shorts.
Hallucination or not, that ass was connected to the finest pair of thighs I’d ever seen in my life. Some women were into the arm porn. Others into the chests or v-cuts. Me? I wanted a meaty thigh to sink my teeth into.
“Did you just bite me?” the voice demanded.
Shit.
The grass under those weird shoes changed to sweltering pavement and then…Oh, God. No.The industrial tile floor of a high school hallway. It smelled like polish and antiseptic.
I heard a thudding and wasn’t sure if it was just in my head.
“Testosterone incoming. Get decent,” that voice boomed. A second later, I was facing concrete floor. The smell of cleaner and perfume tickled my nose.
Someone yelped. A barefoot blur to my right shrieked.
“Hi, Mr. Weston,” a girl purred.
