I never expected the rumor to stick because most of the things people say about Piper are forgotten in a day or two. It didn’t help that soon after she started hanging around with a bunch of different guys adding fuel to the rumor fire. Even so, everything they say about her is wrong. Piper is a good person, she’s just been dealt a shitty hand in life.
“Let me guess, Piper’s fucking both you and Cooper now that she’s moved back home again?” Tad digs a joint out of his cigarette pack and lights it, not giving two fucks about the cafeteria monitors. They won’t do shit anyway, a perk of going to the most expensive school in the county. Certain kids could probably murder someone in cold blood on campus and damn near get away with it.
Tad sucks in a breath, holding the smoke in his lungs then passes the rolled paper to Gunner and says, “Tell me, is that bitch as good in bed as the rumors say she is?”
I toss what’s left of my cigarette to the floor and jump off the table, ready to kick Tad’s ass, but Cooper—my twin brother— beats me to it. He comes up from the left, catching Tad in his blindside and throws a jab at his face. Tad falls off the table and clutches his cheek like the little bitch that he is. Serves him right. Piper is family and you don’t fuck with family.
I sit on top of the table again and light another cigarette to calm my nerves. I’m anxious, full of unused adrenaline and need something to take my mind off stomping Tad’s face into the pavement.
“Fuck!” Tad yells, but anyone within earshot has gone back to talking with their table mates. Everyone on campus knows that if you fuck with Piper, talk to Piper, hell even look at Piper the wrong way, you’ll face the wrath of Cooper. He’s more protective of her than a starved watchdog with a steak.
Our principal, Mr. White, grabs Cooper by the arm and escorts him to the office with Tad in tow. Mom’s going to be pissed when he gets suspended for the rest of the day but she’ll understand. She always does. Cooper spends more time out of school than in and she barely bats an eye. But when I get in trouble, all hell breaks loose.
Melody groans and rolls her eyes. “Always with the drama.”
From my peripheral vision, I see Gunner make himself comfortable next to Danika. I don’t like the way he’s looking at her, the way he’s whispering into her ear. How she playfully shoves him and they both laugh. I have no right to be pissed, but just being around her sets me on edge.
Besides, I saw her first.
2
Danika
Compared to the toothpicks on campus, I’m not a tiny girl. At one hundred and fifty pounds my hips are thick but I have the ass to go with them. My stomach has more fluff than most, but the double-D’s I’ve been blessed with make my waist and tummy look smaller than it is. I have my assets, and I know how to work them.
That being said, I don’t openly flaunt what I’ve got. I make it a point to cover up because guys, young and old, have gawked at me since I was eleven years old. Back then, my figure seemed to develop overnight and I didn’t know how to handle it. Logan was good about not making a big deal of my body.
I knew who Logan was the second I laid eyes on him. My heart soared when I realized Sarah and I were about to sit at the same table. Even more so when I realized that he had friends.
Logan was always a social loner. Any time Cooper was around, Logan was surrounded by people. But the moment Cooper was sick or anywhere Logan wasn’t, those friends disappeared. Everyone wanted to be around the smooth-talking football prodigy, not the quirky kid with a speech impediment.
All things considered, I’m not surprised Logan outgrew his awkward stage. It helps that he’s absolutely gorgeous, but he’s always been cute. From what I can tell, both Harris boys have long, lean bodies, muscled in such a way you know they still play some kind of sport. While Cooper’s hair is the color of gold and buzzed short. Logan has locks so dark they’re almost black that fall into his eyes. Sitting on top of the table at lunch, he looks like a living sculpture. Too beautiful to be real. Too flawless to be human. In California, I’d have argued that no one looks that good unless they’ve had work done, and yet Logan defies my logic.
I shake my head, still stunned that little Logan Harris has turned into the kind of man my mother warned me about. Dark and magnetic. Every fiber in my being is drawn to him with a pull I’ve never felt before. Mom said she’d only felt an attraction like this once, and it wasn’t to my dad. Their love was pure. Wherever this feeling stems from is dirty. I hate it. I love it.
Too bad Logan doesn’t remember me. Or worse, if he does that means that he consciously chose to be a jerk. Although, I can’t for the life of me figure out why. I’ll have to ask him after school. Perks of being neighbors.
Coach blows his whistle, signaling to get ready. I widen my stance and intertwine my fingers, prepared to hold my own once the first serve is sent over the net. Volleyball is a good sport for big breasted chicks. There’s minimal running, which is great because even with two sports bras my tits go bouncing, and that shit hurts.
I’m in the first row, center, with Melody to my left and some red-headed chick to my right. The ball goes flying over the net and behind me. We volley it back and forth a few times, until the other side scores. We go a few rounds, my team holding its own against our opponent until Melody sets up to serve.
She tosses the ball into the air and spikes it straight into the back of my head. “Sorry.”
Bitch. I rub the sore spot with my palm and hold up my other hand so the game can continue. We are tied with roughly fifteen minutes left in the period and I hate to lose. I’ve been competitive for as long as I can remember, from spelling tests to mini golf. Losing is not a concept I handle well.
Coach blows his whistle and Melody sets up again. She serves, hitting me in the head harder than before. I spin on my heels, pressing my fists against my hips. “What’s your deal?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Melody smirks. “I missed the net.”
I take a step towards Melody, prepared to let her know that what happened at lunch today was a one off. If I wasn’t so thrown by how Logan treated me, that belittling conversation wouldn’t have gotten as far as it did.
I hate a bully almost as much as I hate cancer. Cancer is a bully. It picks on your cells. Takes over your body. And when the medicine isn’t strong enough, you die. I can’t do anything about cancer, but I can take a bully down. And I’m good at it.
Coach blows his whistle twice, the loud ring echoing in the silent gymnasium. Seems like everyone stopped to watch us. “Focus ladies.”
I pop my neck and turn back towards the net. Let that bitch hit me one more time. Thump. The volleyball smacks the back of my head again and the snickering behind me sets my blood on fire.
I turn, lunging at Melody before she has a chance to figure out what’s happening. She lets out a high-pitched, blood-curdling scream as I grab a fistful of over processed hair and drag her to the ground. Melody is tiny, maybe one-hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. Even if she could throw a decent punch— which I doubt— she wouldn’t stand a chance.
Coach blows his whistle again, hollering at us as the back of Melody’s head smacks against the shellacked wood floor of the gymnasium. He snakes his arm around my chest, securing me in a school approved choke hold. I’ve been in my fair share of fights at my old school. This may be Florida, but I doubt the protocols are that different from state to state. I hold my hands up in surrender, letting Melody’s hair go, but taking a fistful of dyed strands with me.