“Jesus, coach –”
“I thought I told you to tell your girlfriends to stay away from the pool while we’re practicing,” She snaps. “And you said you had it taken care of. Don’t tell me I’m gonna have that hassle again – you could barely get in here with all of them crowding the door.”
“No, it’s not like that.”
Coach eyes me up and down. “Alright. Then get back in the pool and let’s burn a few laps.”
I head to the edge of the pool. My teammates stare at me from the benches they perch on, half-soggy and sipping Gatorade. They murmur to each other, elbowing one another like they’re all sharing some secret. Jason, the steroid-abusing freshman, whispers the most earnestly out of them all. Of course he does. He’d love to start a nasty rumor about me as payback for dumping coffee on him. He’d love to do anything to get back in the good graces of the team and the school. And even though the team’s shunned him up until now because of his red-card, they start to listen to him. I direct my glare right at them, daring any of them to say something. And of course, there’s always one guy stupid enough to dare. A senior who loves to give me shit whenever he can.
“So,” He treads water beside me. “You and the scholarship girl, huh?”
“Don’t,” I warn.
“Don’t what?” He smiles. “C’mon, man, you can tell me. We’re a team. Shit, I wouldn’t blame you for tapping that – she’s a little frumpy, but if you look real hard you can tell she’s got some amazing tits under all that. I’d do her too. Just once, though, and then dump her on the curb.”
I see red. Before I can control myself I throw a punch at his jaw, and it connects with a sickening crunch. The senior comes up gasping for air, and lunges for me. We tangle underwater, my eyes and ears full of chlorine as he punches me in the stomach, the air shooting out of my mouth and molten pain replacing it. The sound from above is muted, but I can still hear it - the team starts shouting, Coach blows her whistle, her hands fishing madly underwater for us. She sends in half the team after us, pulling the two of us apart in the shallow end.
“What the fuck is your problem?” The senior snarls at me. I spit water mixed with blood from my split lip. He isn’t any better off – his left eye socket is starting to bruise.
“If you talk about her like that again,” I growl. “I’ll ruin more than just your face.”
“Why do you care?” He shouts. “She’s just the scholarship girl!”
“Enough!” Coach bellows. “The two of you – in my office, now. The rest of you, in the showers. Practice is over.”
The senior and I begrudgingly enter her office, the only thing keeping my fist from his face the fact that Coach is staring right at us from across her desk.
“What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?” She asks.
“I said something about that girl who came in and he fucking flipped!” The senior protests. “He flipped on me just like he flipped on that Mark guy!”
“Don’t say his name,” I flinch.
“I’ll say whatever the fuck I want!”
“Language,” Coach warns, then looks to me. “Here’s how this is gonna go; Harris, you keep your nose out of Blackthorn’s business. Blackthorn, don’t go punching people, no matter how bad they piss you off. If I hear or see this one more time, you’re both off the team, and I’m warning your parents.”
Harris glowers at me. “Like it’ll matter for him. His dad runs this place.”
“No one’s getting any favoritism, Harris,” Coach warns. “Now get out of here. Go change. And try to talk about your problems like grown-ups instead of flinging poop at each other like monkeys, alright?”
We both echo ‘yes coach’, and head to the lockers. I let him go first, just to make sure he doesn’t turn on me and try to start something. The urge to red-card him is strong, but there’s no point – he hasn’t done anything ‘wrong’ in the ultimate sense. He pissed me off, that’s all. That isn’t worthy of a red-card. If I did red-card him I’d basically be a dictator, and that’s the last thing I want people to see me as.
Every guy in the locker room falls silent when I walk in. I change as quickly as I can and get out, riding my bike a little faster than normal, like it’ll leave the stares behind. I know what they were thinking behind their silence – Wolf Blackthorn, never once seems to give a shit about a girl, and then all of a sudden starts a fight over one. I know the rumors that’ll spread like wildfire tonight, and the stares that will follow tomorrow. When I get home and open my computer, it’s confirmed – Twitter and Facebook are ablaze with what went down today. Speculations fly - scholarship girl and Wolf have slept together, she’s pregnant and Harris is the real father – stupid shit that only makes me angrier. Pent-up energy blazes through me, half fury and half something else I can’t name, something that leaves me sore in the chest and utterly confused in the head.
I don’t start fights. I haven’t touched someone purposefully since Mark. But at the single mention of Beatrix, the thought of someone like Harris touching her, I flew off the handle. All my reservations, all my avoidance of physical touch, flew out the window. For a split second, I forgot myself. She eclipsed my fear – something no one else in my life had ever done.
Mark came close. As much as I hate to admit it, he came close. But with him it was slow, gradual. With her, it was instant. I lashed out in an instant, without thinking, without hesitation.
I get up, unable to take a moment more of this storm of energy. I knock on Burn’s door, but he isn’t home. Of course he isn’t. Part of me wants him to be – he would listen to my problems. Or, he used to. Since Mom died he’s never really been there for me, or Fitz, not like he used to be. I want to open the door and see him there, smiling patiently, waiting for me to tell him whatever awful secrets I’d been keeping inside. His advice was good. Would be good, if he was here for me anymore. But he’s not.