“You guys have no sense of adventure! Come on, you know I’d be a natural.” He raises a bandaged hand. Not so convincing.
Two juniors bump into Cassie and don’t apologize; they’re so caught up in their conversation. Whatever Cassie hears, though, makes all of the amusement leave her face. She crosses her arms, shoulders rolled forward ever so slightly. They must be talking about her.
When she meets my gaze, I raise my eyebrows. Everything okay?
She shakes her head slightly then looks over my head at Marcos. What does that mean?
“You would snap your neck on your first try!” Rena exclaims. “Remember ice skating?”
“We had to sacrifice an entire night to make sure you didn’t sleep through a concussion,” Juliana agrees.
“Practice for nursing school, am I right?” He loops an arm around both of them.
“No art school?” I say.
Juliana snorts, yet there’s the tiniest flash of wistfulness in her face. “I’m not spending all that money for stuff I can do on my own.”
Slowly but surely I’ve become accustomed to spending time with Juliana. Sometimes she laughs at my jokes, although I can’t quite shake the feeling that she doesn’t like me, that I haven’t been fully accepted.
“Tell you what, Andreas,” I say. “If I make it through my competition, I’ll teach you how to flip, okay?”
Cassie’s gaze darts back and forth between us, like she doesn’t know which aspect of this situation to address first.
The bell rings. “See you ladies and Marc later,” Andreas says. “This ain’t over, Savannah!” Even Juliana offers a wave, still laughing at Andreas. As they walk off, I’m bummed that we have to go our separate ways. All of them add something: Andreas’s outrageous enthusiasm and ego, Rena’s feistiness, Juliana’s no-nonsense attitude (even when it’s aimed at me).
“I’ll see you later?” Without waiting for a response, Marcos spins me around and leans in. My heart starts pounding. I say a little prayer that Dad won’t walk by and move to meet him halfway.
Over his shoulder, all of Ponquogue watches us.
Jacki Guzman whispers to Blake Rogan. Tommy Brown nearly gives himself whiplash as he does a double take. Roberto Aguilar and Preston Bolivar cease talking to stare at us.
Of course people know. Hell, my father knows. After yesterday, though, there’s something beyond glance-and-move-on in their looks. In a flash, I remember Marcos’s T-shirt sliding out of my grip, the way he kept moving despite me calling out to him as he ran into the center of the fight.
This is the last thing Marcos needs–all of these eyes on him, the whispers, the clandestine elbows.
My eyes flit to Cassie’s, looking for support or confirmation or anything, really, but her eyebrows are straight up in surprise–seriously, Savs?
And I cough so that the kiss hits my cheek, not my lips.
“YOU HAVE TO talk to him,” Cassie says as we run laps around the soccer field. In spite of the chilly air that turns to smoke each time I exhale, I’m not struggling to breathe. Praise heavens or some kind of injury karma I’ve built up for good behavior, my ankle feels better. “You’re the only person he’s going to listen to.”
“I tried.” Today Andreas is stuck on the sidelines. Marcos jogs in place to chat with him despite Coach Doroski blowing his whistle threateningly. “I told him to stop yesterday. He didn’t.”
“In keeping with my most-hated phrase, how did that make you feel?” Cassie’s long legs take one stride for three of mine.
“Scared,” I admit. The grass is slippery beneath my sneakers. We had frost last night, which has since melted into a glossy moist sheen over the field.
“I could tell. You had the same look on your face when he tried to kiss you.”
I cringe. “Was I that obvious?”
“To me, yeah. Marcos, I don’t know how well he knows you.” For several strides, she’s quiet. “You need an ultimatum.”
I don’t like the idea of an ultimatum. It feels heavy, like other choices I’m not willing to make.
“People like Marcos see what’s immediately in front of them,” Cass continues. “As soon as he sees someone in trouble, he doesn’t slow down to think about what his options are. You have to give him options.”
As we come down the straightaway, Andreas calls, “Looking fine, ladies! Keep it up!” Marcos rolls his eyes and extends his hand for a high-five. I slap it on my way past him, both of us smiling.
“You guys are adorable; I’ll give you that,” Cass says when we turn the next corner. “He’s going to be devastated when you dump him.”
My stomach drops. “Who said anything about dumping?”
Her Wiser-Than-You voice is back in full force. “Either he keeps you, or he keeps up his misguided hero act. He can’t have it both ways.”
“Why not?”
Cass sighs, emitting a long puff of smoke. “I know you really like him, but this is for his own good and yours, too. Wouldn’t you feel better knowing he’s not going to fly off the handle because Andreas gets caught up in dumb shit of his own making?”
I don’t want to end things with Marcos. The thought makes my heart hurt. On the phone with him as he scrolled through gymnastics programs all over the country, his genuine excitement at trying the jumps I showed him, the way his breath caught and his jaw clenched just before kissing me in the car…
Then my mind flashes to Marcos cringing as he placed ice on his swollen eye. Hearing Andreas’s hand connect with his face as he mistakenly swung at Marcos. Being convinced that Marcos was suspended with his shot at the scholarship blown. I don’t want that, either.
“You see what I’m saying?” Cass says when I’ve been quiet for too long.
I swallow hard. “Yeah. I do.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THE STEADY POUNDING on the front door is enough to rattle my bed, I swear. I close my eyes and press the pillow to my ears, but the pounding persists.
Why isn’t Mom answering? What time is it? Should I be at school? The gym?