“A manly-man who’s gonna stick around for a while, not some pretty-boy preppy cadet.”
I snorted. “Oh, really. You know any of those?”
“Just so happens . . . I do.” I arched an eyebrow at him. “And he’s a pretty good student—not as smart as you, but damn close, es muy guapo,” he said, brushing invisible lint off his shoulder, “and can cook up a mean batch of cheese enchiladas.”
I laughed despite myself, partly because I was amused, and partly be-cause I wanted him to know I considered it to be a joke. “Well, it’s too dang bad nobody that fits that description happens to be available at this time,” I said pointedly.
He held my smile a beat too long. “Yeah . . . too dang bad.”
My gaze shifted right in time to see Pete staring me down from the doorway with Ashley-Leigh, looking too much like a yapping Maltese at his heels, not to laugh. His face remained stony, so I quickly faced forward before I could absorb any more of his-and-hers cold stares.
Miguel looked to see what I laughed at, nodded his head backward. “Well, well, well . . . look what just dragged in the cat.”
“I already knew.”
“I’m sorry, Katie. I don’t know how he could go from you to her—it’s like escaping from Fiji to go spend a weekend at Padre Island.”
I snorted. Then giggled. Then laughed together with Miguel until we took off into outright hysterics. The good kind of tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. Miguel was funny and a good friend. He was also loyal, and not a liar and con artist. Why couldn’t it be him?
“Thanks, Miguel. I needed a laugh.” Impulsively, I poked a finger at the crease in his cheek.
He caught my hand and held on to it. “Anytime . . .”
Feeling stares pounding the back of my head, I withdrew my hand as quickly as possible without hurting his feelings. I felt bad because it didn’t take someone with a sixth sense to figure out how Miguel felt about me, and I didn’t want to lead him on.
Class rolled on, and by the time the bell rang for fifth-hour, I had a gigantic crick in my neck from holding my head at a twelve o’clock position for fifty-five minutes. Miguel and I packed up with him chatting me up with renewed energy all the way to Chemistry. After class we normally parted, so he could escort his girlfriend to her next class. Today he stayed glued by my side. I hoped he wasn’t getting his hopes up, and hoped his girlfriend wouldn’t notice the slight.
As we filed out together—with half the school—for the ever-popular gymnasium, I got a steady eyeful of Ashley-Leigh sashaying along next to Pete. I noticed most of the energy was coming from her, though he did turn to reward her with a smile. She beamed back at him like she was lit from within. I had to bite my cheek the whole walk over, fighting a ridiculous urge to run over and tackle her. I’m telling you, I was so amped up I could’ve taken on the whole offensive line all by myself.
Pounding into the dressing room, the first thing I saw was Ashley-Leigh self-reflecting on all her glory in front of the mirror. This only mounted my anger higher, and it gathered force with every millimeter the self-congratulatory smile spread across her face. She caught me staring and her smile turned into a smirk. Then, rubbing salt in the wound, she proceeded to indulge in louder than was strictly necessary bragging rights. A blanket of tittering magpies quickly covered her so that I no longer saw her smug face in my line of vision, but I could still see her legs wrapped around Pete, his arms around her waist. It was an image burned into my brain. The burning moved to my chest, and now my stomach churned with a surge of tumultuous emotions. It was like a lifetime of frustrations and hurt was boiling over in my body, demanding an outlet for justice.
I remembered Mama always telling me to be the bigger person, to let her petty transgressions go. Allow her to have the spotlight she craved. And I obliged—no problem and no complaints. I mean, why should I care if she always got to go first on the swings? Or if she took credit for class projects? Or if she won class president in seventh grade, even though I was nominated too? (I had declined to run, opting instead to be her campaign manager—at her insistence.)
I mean, who really cared about any of that? Not me. It was easy to let her have her way, let her win, let her be the best at everything. But the truth was: she wasn’t. Not even by half. And we both knew it. It was an unspoken thing between us, like a dark family secret that went without saying—you never mentioned it. That’s why we could never truly be friends. She couldn’t stand knowing I was smarter, prettier, more athletic . . . and liked. So I’d been throwing my game so long to appease her and Mama and everybody else, it’d become like second nature to me.
Then Mama plucked me right out of school in the middle of seventh grade. I was no longer even allowed to play sports because she said I was drawing too much attention. That’s it. Game over. No more competition for Ashley-Leigh. She’d won. I mean . . . who really cared about any of that anyway when your mama was sick and dying? I no longer cared about anything since then, except for taking care of my brothers.
But I did now.
I slammed my locker shut, making a mousy junior named Shelby jump next to me. “You okay, Katie?”
I rattled the bench with my shoe, furiously whipping my laces into shape. “Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I-I heard about Ashley-Leigh hooking up with that cadet,” she said hesitantly. “I’m real sorry.”
“No biggy.” I said this a little too flippantly to be believable.
The whistle blew, and we lined up. Ashley-Leigh smirked at me on her way out. Holding on to her triumphant gaze, I narrowed my eyes at her until her smile deflated into something that resembled a helium balloon two hours after the party ended. I could swear there was a hint of panic flickering in those baby blues before she flounced over to whisper into Madison’s ear. They both laughed in my face, but I didn’t so much as blink. It had the opposite of their desired effect—fueling my anger. I was burning now, but not with embarrassment. I didn’t feel an ounce of embarrassment—there wasn’t room for any emotion but anger. I carried it with me like a weapon, all the way outside and onto the soccer field. I wasn’t exactly sure how I was going to unleash it yet, but I was certain it was going to be soon or I would combust.
Well they say the Lord works in mysterious ways. And I fully believe that now, because it just so happened that Coach Sams and Coach Hampton were lining the boys’ and girls’ P.E. classes up together. Apparently, a game of coed soccer was on the docket today. Counting us off in teams of One and Two, the intent was to get an even assortment of bad and not-as-bad players on each team. I saw Coach Hampton point to Pete and say “One.” I fervently prayed that I would be Two.
My prayers were soon answered because Coach Sams set a hand on my shoulder and said, “Two.” Then she blew the whistle, calling all Twos together for a quick huddle. During the briefing, I eyed my fellow teammates somewhat dispiritedly. The sum of all our parts didn’t equal one Pete Davenport. That was okay . . . I had rage on my side.
I was only halfway paying attention to what Coach Sams was saying, so intent was I on staring down a bored-looking Pete and Ashley-Leigh, who was busy lining up with the other cheerleaders on Team One’s side to practice their cheers by cheering on Pete. Well good I thought. I wanted an audience today. You could practically hear the Rocky theme song playing in my head as I scraped my hair into a ponytail. Mentally crossing myself, I lifted my cross to my lips. Then, in an incongruent move to the one I just performed, I folded down the waistband of my shorts, which had the dual purpose of making them shorter and exposing a slim expanse of belly—a little trick I could thank Ashley-Leigh for. I smug-smiled, bouncing up and down on the balls of my feet in anticipation.