Page 28 of Reckless At Raleigh High
My face hot with embarrassment, I nod, pointing to Alex. “The one who’s about to—” Ahhh crap. Too late. Alex slams his fist into Zander’s jaw, and his friend topples over backwards, landing hard on his ass.
“Next time he gives you a message to pass on, you know where you can tell him to shove it!” Alex roars.
Laboring for breath, Zander collapses flat on his back, hands resting on his ribcage, laughing at the top of his lungs. “One of these days, I’ll be done letting you use me as a punching bag, man. You’re not gonna like it when I start hitting back.”
“Please.” Alex looms over Zander, his face red from exertion. “Don’t act like a little bitch on my account. Feel free to fight back anytime.”
“As far as I can see, you’rebothbeing little bitches,” Coach Foley snaps. Thirty heads turn in unison toward the sound of her voice, including Zander and Alex’s. The look on my boyfriend’s face when he sees me standing behind Coach Foley says plenty: he knows he’s fucked up, he knows I’m disappointed, and he immediately regrets the stunt he just pulled in front of an entire gymnasium full of our classmates. He scrubs his face with his hand, grimacing as he turns away from Coach Foley and begins pacing up and down like a caged lion.
“The Lord only knows what the hell this was about, but violence will not be tolerated here, and especially not in this goddamn gymnasium. You hear me?” Coach Foley hisses. “I’d have thought you’d know better, Alessandro, considering what went down the last time you were in this space.”
Alex shoots a pained look at me out of the corner of his eye, like he’s just remembered what happened here with Jacob himself and his guilt is eating him alive. “Alex,” he mutters softly.
Coach Foley shakes her head in confusion. “I’m sorry?”
“My name’s Alex.”
“I don’t give a good god damn what name you prefer to be called, Mr. Moretti,”she splutters. “Only people who act like civilized members of society get any respect from me. At this rate, I’ll be calling you fucking Susan for the rest of the year if I decide it fucking suits you.”
Still on the floor, except now with his hands beneath his head providing a pillow, Zander chuckles maniacally—probably a bad idea, since the sound draws Coach Foley’s attention. “And what the hell areyoudoing? Taking a siesta? What’syourname, princess?”
Zander’s smile dies. “Judging from the look on your face, it’s probably gonna be Mavis.”
“Perfect. Mavis and Susan. Off you go, ladies. Suicides. You stop when one of you can give me a good enough explanation for the carnage I just walked in on. What the hell are you still lying there for? Get your ass up off that floor right now!”
On the other side of the gym, Leah and her crew snicker behind their hands, giving Alex dirty looks. Their disapproval is a show put on especially for me. They’re terrible actresses, though. Alex, with his brand new Raleigh Rebels Crew t-shirt pulling taut across his chest, and his dark, unruly waves mussed like the devil himself just tousled them, looks so sexy that I could drop down fucking dead. The girls squint down their noses at him and sneer to try and make me feel bad, but they can’t help their treacherous hormones from softening their spite. I see their hunger as their eyes cut him down, and it brings me a savage satisfaction to know that they’re never going to get to eat atthattable.
Zander and Alex shuttle up and down the gym, glaring mutinously at one another every time they pass. The football team and the Sirens disperse, plainly disappointed that the fun is over, and each team heads to their respective ends of the gym. Meanwhile, I duck my head, praying that I’m not as red in the face as I feel.
“Sorry,Argento.” Alex slows a little as he passes me. “Couldn’t help it.”
I’m notmadat him. It would have been nice to commence my first day of training with the Sirens without a spectacle. “Jack?” I ask quietly. “He asked Zander to try and get you on side?”
Alex is too far away to respond now, but from the steely, unhappy flare of acknowledgement in his dark brown eyes, I know I’m right. It’s surprising that Giacomo hasn’t tried to elicit Zander’s help before now. I’ve waited with bated breath every single day since Alex’s father approached me outside of the English block, bracing myself for the next Giacomo Moretti-related incident. It’s a miracle that it’s taken this long to arrive.
I stretch quickly, warming up my muscles, trying to ignore the lancing pain in my ribcage every time I twist, or just how generally stiff and sore I am all over my body. The doctors recommended I wait at least six weeks before I attempted any kind of physical activity. It’s almost been that long now, but my injuries still aren’t completely healed. If I have to sit out on the sidelines, missing my chance to catch up with my own life, then I’m going to lose my mind, though. I’ll tolerate the pain. I’m going to have to.
The mat area set aside for stretching is small, but the other girls give me a wide berth as I sit down and fold myself over my legs, easing the tension in my hamstrings. Things are going to be really interesting if they don’t find a way to get over themselves soon. Cheerleading is all about trust. You have to trust the person next to you to move in sync with you, and you need to trust the person at the bottom of the pyramid to catch you when you leap. Without trust, the whole thing literally falls apart in the blink of an eye. Usually with very painful consequences.
“Silver?”
I look up, and a pair of white Adidas sneakers with pink laces fill my vision.
Huh.
The sneakers are brand new, the same as style as all of the other Sirens’ footwear, but I only know of one person who wears pink laces. One person, who used to dive bomb into Lake Cushman with me during long, hot summers, and who used to giggle and laugh about boys with me in the back conservatory of her parents’ house.
Slowly, taking a second to prepare myself for whatever’s about to come next, I lift my head and look up. “Hi, Hal.”
Her thick strawberry blonde hair is longer than ever. Her Sirens uniform is perfect as always, her skirt pleated in a crisp, sharp way that always used to piss Kacey off because she could never get hers to look as good. A couple of years ago at an away game, Kace even made Halliday switch skirts with her because it was her ‘duty’ as captain of the Sirens to look better than everyone else. Halliday had given up her skirt without flinching, but when Kacey had tried to put it on, it had been a size too small and she couldn’t get the zipper up. Suffice it to say, that had not gone down well. Not at all. Kacey had given Hal a week to put on five pounds or she was going to have to find somewhere else to sit at lunch. Again, Halliday hadn’t flinched. She’d happily gorged herself on donuts and grilled cheese while the rest of us picked at our salads morosely, and by the end of the allotted time, Halliday had in fact gained six pounds. On her tits.
I still remember Kacey’s rage when she realized Halliday was still a dress size smaller than she was but that her rack had become significantly more impressive. She’d told Hal she looked like a blow-up fuck doll, all the while jealously eyeing the boys on the football team, who all seemed to appreciate Hal’s new curves.
Now, Halliday warily eyes the other girls; they’ve all stopped their own stretching routines to surreptitiously watch our exchange. “Um. Hi. I…I…” she stammers.
The last time we were this close, I’d just pieced together that she was on her way to the Rock to strip, and things had gotten pretty fucking weird. At the time, I’d thought things couldn’t have gotten any more uncomfortable between us, but it looks like I was wrong. She shifts anxiously from one foot to the other. “Glad you’re back on the team,” she says. “And…I’m glad you’re doing better, after…”
“After Jacob hung me from that rafter and made me swing?” I point to the specific rafter in question. Better to avoid any confusion.
