Brian jogged over. “I’m so sorry!”
I stood up slowly, holding the ball. I was ready to open a can of whoop-ass, because that was so not cool. Then I saw how red and embarrassed he looked.
Brian was the least bad of the lot. He’d always struck me as quiet. Not stuck-up, just the sort of guy who didn’t say much. I’d never seen him openly be an asshole like his friends. He said “hi” to me in the halls sometimes with a shy nod.
Also, from this close? It was hard to be mad with those big blue eyes looking at me so worriedly. Navy blue, in fact. With black lashes. They were warmer and deeper than I expected. Brian was what my mom would call “totally dreamy.” She called George Clooney “totally dreamy.” Yeah, George was okay. But if I had to define “totally dreamy,” it would be the guy standing in front of me.
Brian Marshall was average in size, a little shorter than me and lean. But he had an amazing body—wide shoulders, super-narrow waist and hips, and a tight little bubble butt. Like, his ass did not even look real. He was more of a Harry Styles boy-band type than a Dwayne Johnson he-man type like his buddies. Which I found way more appealing. He had a cute face that was very tan from being outdoors and longish brown hair that curled up on the ends. I’d been to a few games, because team spirit, rah, rah. And hot dogs. And crisp fall nights. And football uniforms. So yeah, I’d seen him play. He was very tricksy on the field. His passes were like speeding missiles, he was known for master fake-outs—sometimes running the ball himself while the opposing team scratched their ’nads in confusion—and he had a way of squirming out of attempted tackles like he was greased.
Not that I was going to say any of that to his face. Ever. On pain of death.
Instead, I smirked. “Hope you hang on to the ball better on the field, O.J.,” I said, thrusting it into his hands.
By then his friends were hooting and laughing at him. He gave me a puzzled half-smile and took off with the ball. They slapped his back in a manly sort of way, and they all ran toward the football field.
When they were gone, I hung my head and sighed.
“What the hell did you just say?” Madison asked, her voice somewhere between hysterical laughter and utter disbelief.
I sighed again, lifting my shoulders and letting them fall dramatically.
“Hope you hang on to the ball, O.J.?” Josiah gasped.
They laughed so hard I thought they might choke. I sat down heavily and stuffed the rest of my sandwich into the bag from the cafeteria. They were right. As one-liners went, that one would go down in infamy as one of the stupidest sentences uttered ever.
“O.J. Simpson! He was a thing! I don’t know any other famous football players. Okay?”
“No, not okay. Oh—oh—oh-JAY.” Madison could barely get it out, she was laughing so hard.
“You suck. All y’all.” I pointed at each of them with a scowl. “It’s not like I had time to prepare a soliloquy.”
That just set them off again.
“Thy hands are not the sturdy instruments of thy youth,” Madison tittered in a high voice. “For you failed to catch the anointed pigskin.”
Josiah straightened up and put out a limp wrist. “Oh, good sir. A thousand pardons, but I think thy ball hast landed in my face.”
“Ha-ha,” I said flatly.
Madison’s laughter died down, and she gave me a fond look. “It’s just that we so rarely see you fall all over yourself, Lanny. It’s sort of adorable.”
“I didn’t fall all over myself. I saved you from getting a bloody nose.” I pointed at her. Then I pointed at Josiah. “And you, sir. Don’t tell me you’d have done better when face-to-face with Brian Marshall.”
Josiah stopped laughing. “They’re all troglodytes. I refuse to find troglodytes hot.”
“Yeah,” Madison agreed. “Cameron’s the worst. Did I tell you about that time he killed a rat in science class?”
“What?” Josiah, a huge animal lover, looked horrified.
“He took it out of this glass case and was trying to scare a girl with it. The rat bit him and got away and everyone was screaming, and he ended up stomping on it. Then he just, like, threw it back in the cage. No one said anything when Mr. Thomas came in.”
“That’s horrible! That’s animal cruelty!” Josiah yelled.
“Someone should have reported his ass,” I agreed.
Madison made a face. “Tell me about it. But everyone’s afraid of Cameron. Brian isn’t half-bad, though. He’s in my Composition class. He’s nice. Ish. And he’s written some decent poems.”
Josiah snorted. “Yeah, right.” He intoned in a flat voice, “‘I play football. Or does the football play me. I am so. Confused.’”
Madison rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Josey.”
I quirked an eyebrow at her. “I thought you were all about la femme.”
Madison sat up straighter. “I just said he’s nice. I didn’t say I wanted to bone him. Though I have been thinking I might be bi. But that has totes nothing to do with Brian Marshall.”
I was about to call bullshit because I recognized that little flush on Madison’s cheeks, but my phone dinged. That would be my 12:45 alarm.
“Gotta go, kids.” I stuffed the remains of my lunch in my backpack and stood up. “Tomorrow, sir.” I held out a fist, which was bumped by Josiah, then Madison. “Maddy Cakes.”
“I still hate you for getting early dismissal,” Madison snarked for the hundredth time.
I bared my teeth in a shit-eating grin. “I know. Have fun in class, babies.”
“Asswipe,” Josiah grumbled.
I raised my hands and made a “what can you do when you’re just naturally perfect” face. Madison stuck her tongue out at me before I turned and headed for the parking lot.
I got into my car, a ten-year-old Volvo station wagon my mom had passed down, and rolled out of the parking lot. As I drove past the football field, I saw Brian running out for a pass and Jake with his arm back, waiting to throw the ball.
I didn’t bother to slow down and watch. I had less than an hour to get home and get set up for my online Topics in Law class. It was my first college credit in my future major, and I was determined to get an A. I’d done the reading, a fifty-page breakdown of Buck v. Bell, and I had a list of observations and questions ready.
As I pulled out of the parking lot, I looked in my rearview mirror at the school. By June, high school would be in my rearview mirror for good. I already had one foot out the door with early dismissal, and thank Christ for that.
The Wall was my past, not my future. That’s what I thought as I drove away.
But I was wrong.
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