Elijah pulled his car into the slot marked for the quarterback and at once felt like a super-douche for parking there. It was the best spot in the whole parking lot, under the shade of a large maple tree, and close to the buildings just past the faculty parking lot. It seemed as if he shouldn’t carry special privilege like that just because he was the quarterback of the football team. Shouldn’t the kid with the highest GPA get that spot? They’d even offered him the use of a car, but he knew that the team cars supplied by the boosters were low-jacked with tracking devices to keep tabs on the players so that they wouldn’t be out past curfew in them or hanging out in places that weren’t deemed acceptable. No thanks. He’d play for them and win like he had last Friday night at the home opener, but they sure as hell didn’t own him.
He drove his own car, which was, admittedly, a piece of shit loud muscle car from the 1960s that needed to be restored, but it was his. Unfortunately, it broke down a lot and needed repairs all the time. But he loved the purr of its V8 engine and even the black puff of smoke that came out of the tailpipe sometimes when he fired up the ’68 Dodge Charger with the HEMI motor. One of the girls in his school who was a big-time environmental nutjob had spit on it when she’d been walking by to go to her electric car. He’d just laughed. Some people just didn’t get it. Sure, the black paint was faded, probably needed re-painted and some restoration work done to it. The seats needed to be redone. The hood scoop was even faded and had a couple actual chips of paint. But, someday, he’d have the money to have it painted. Not today, though. For now, it was faded black with rust and aging. It was enough that Alex had let him have it after their father was killed. It had belonged to their father, and he’d kept it in a storage unit. Alex had said it was cheaper to let Elijah just have it than it was to keep paying for the storage unit or buy him his own car. Last weekend, they’d put new brakes on it which was why his brother had to drive him to school a few days. Then his brother had lectured him about not riding the brakes and that he’d better not ruin the clutch or he’d have to get a part-time job to repair it. Elijah didn’t care. He loved his car. It was a symbol of freedom. He could go wherever he wanted. Sort of.
At least parking in his special spot, he didn’t need to worry about it getting door-dinged or bumped by some new driver in their first week after managing to pass driver’s ed. He got out and locked it. Being the school’s star quarterback didn’t mean someone wouldn’t steal his shit. It was still considered a pretty rough school. They had three police officers in the building at all times, plus metal detectors.
“Whattup’, QB?” Jeremy shouted in his face, slapping him on the back as he must’ve spotted him crossing the long paved lot.
“Nothing, safety pin,” he joked, using his nickname and his position on the field. “Do anything exciting over the weekend?”
“You’d know if you’d stop livin’ like a freagin’ monk, bro’,” Jeremy teased and wrapped an arm around Elijah’s neck as they walked. It was obviously uncomfortable, so he stopped almost immediately because he was about four inches shorter than Elijah.
“Yeah, well, I’ve got the warden to deal with if I screw up,” he said, referring to his brother.
Jeremy laughed. “I got my mama, dude. You’ve met her. I’m scared of that woman. My dad? I can handle him. Mama? Nuh-uh, no way, ma’ brotha’. She’s scary fierce. She’s quick to whoop an ass.”
“Dude,” he said, his eyes catching sight of that new girl, Wren, crossing the parking lot twenty yards away but parallel with them. He momentarily forgot what he was saying. “Jeremy, everyone’s scared of your mom. I’m scared of her, too. Get real!”
“No doubt,” he said. “But, I did go to a party and hung out with Chastity for a while.”
“Does the name fit?”
His friend gave him a telling look, to which they both chuckled.
Then Elijah asked, “Does Brittany know that?”
His friend threw back his head and laughed loudly.
“Hell, no!” he said of his current girlfriend, of which he flew through by the dozens. Elijah wasn’t sure how his friend hadn’t literally dated every girl in their school already. Heck, he’d even dated a lot from neighboring schools. “And don’t say nothin’, man.”
This time, Elijah laughed. Then he glanced over to find the new girl looking their way. Jeremy was loud and didn’t care who heard them most of the time, and Elijah had just gotten used to his big personality over the last three years.
“You need to stamp a bar code on their wrists or something,” Elijah suggested. “You’d be able to keep track of who’s who that way. Just scan them with your phone or some shit. Create an app for it and call it something like: Chicks I’ve already banged.” Elijah flashed his hand in front of them like a scrolling text. “Red means you already hit it. Green means go, bro’.” His friend laughed even harder this time.
Elijah looked over to find Wren talking with the principal, who’d flagged her down. That was odd. He never knew the principal to come out of his office for something. He was lazy. That was the nicest version of the criticisms he could come up with to describe him. The man never left his office except to sneak out every day at lunch. Elijah had seen him smoking weed once behind the workout center when he’d gone there to get some leg work in during his lunch hour. He hadn’t told anyone, though. He wasn’t a snitch. Plus, he had that scholarship to keep him quiet and on the down-low until he graduated and got out of town.
Jeremy exclaimed and even jumped in the air once, “Bro’, that’s brilliant! Maybe I should develop an app for that.”
“Yeah, retire a millionaire at eighteen,” Elijah joked.
“Niiice,” his friend said with a toothy grin. “Hey, catch you at lunch, man.”
They punched fists, and Elijah hung back, trying to overhear the conversation taking place between the principal and the new girl as he approached the building closer. It was the usual crush of people before the first bell.
“…how do you not understand?” she was saying.
“I need more information…”
Wren interrupted him with what Elijah could only describe as impatience, “No. You don’t! You were given the only information you need. Don’t make me have my uncle come in here, Steven.”
Elijah’s eyes grew huge. She’d just disrespected their principal, used his first name, and stormed off without waiting to be dismissed. What the hell? She obviously wasn’t too intimidated by adults. Principal Russo couldn’t believe what just happened, either. He glanced up to find Elijah stopped in his tracks staring.
“Mr. Brannon,” he said sternly, causing Elijah to snap out of it. The principal coughed twice and wiped his nose on a white handkerchief. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir,” he said, grimaced at his principal’s handkerchief, and hurried away. He, unlike the new girl, was a lot more intimidated by adults. Not necessarily intimidated but definitely cajoled by them into doing what he should be doing and had never considered breaking the rules or being disrespectful because he needed them more than they cared to trifle with him.
So, he left their principal, hoped he was still flying under the man’s radar, and went into the building through the metal detectors and past the two, armed police officers, Rick and Grant. They both offered congrats on the good game. They were cool. He got along great with them. The third cop, Officer Peterson, hated him for some reason. He must’ve been working the hall scene today instead of the door. Good. Jeremy said Officer Peterson was just jealous because he’d wanted to be quarterback at this school when he was young and had blown his knee his freshman year of high school and had never played for the school again. Now he was middle-aged, slightly chubby, and worked as a campus police officer for the school he’d once been so enamored of. Elijah felt bad for him and always tried to be kind. It wasn’t a sentiment that was ever returned, though. The man always openly glared at him with hatred.
He rushed to first period, not because he was in danger of being late and sent to Principal Pothead’s office, but because he wanted to see her. She was already at her desk next to his.
“Hi, Elijah,” one of the jersey chasers said, trying to gain his attention.
“Elijah, are you going to homecoming?” another asked.
School dance? No way. He’d rather do two-a-day practices again like they did most of the summer. He ignored the girl and just kept going to his desk where he dropped his pack on the floor next to his seat.
“Hey,” he said softly as more students filed in. That sounded totally lame like he was some cool guy who had game. He had game, alright. On the field. Off the field? Not so much. And to prove his point, she ignored him. This girl was clearly a lot cooler than he was, even with his card-carrying membership to the favored, golden boy status. However, she was his Chem lab partner and still hadn’t talked to him, not one word. They were supposed to be working on a paper together, too, but he hadn’t even gotten her phone number so that they could work out a plan to get together and start it. He’d asked a few of his friends if they knew where she lived or if they had any contact information for her because she always bailed out of their shared classes so fast that he never caught up to her.
“Hey, hi, Wren,” he said, taking a more direct approach.
This got her attention because her head snapped up. She was wearing a baseball cap and had pulled her ponytail through the hole in the back. She stared at the linoleum floor between their desks.
“What?” she asked as if she were surprised to be greeted.
Again, she was wearing clothing that seemed too warm for the mild weather they were having. It was only September. If she was cold now, she should see February. That thin hoodie wasn’t gonna get it, even with the thumbholes.
“Nothin’. Just hi,” he answered like a tool.
“Hm,” she murmured and looked back at her book.
She had her notebook on her desk and looked raring to go, although their classmates were all still talking and laughing. He’d seen her turn in a big stack of papers to Mrs. Kinsey last Friday. She must’ve done all of their first two weeks lessons in her first week and got caught up.
Feeling his eyes on her, she turned her head and body slightly more to her left so she wouldn’t have to look in his general direction. Crap. She’d been tough on Principal Pothead, but she wasn’t giving him the time of day.
“Hey, you’re my Chem lab partner,” he pointed out and felt really stupid after saying it. “Um, yeah, I guess you knew that.”
It got her attention, though. She gave him a side glance but still mostly kept her eyes down. He didn’t even know what color they were. She always wore either hoodies or ball caps. A lot of the kids had already labeled her a weirdo or an emo girl. She disappeared at lunch, never rode with anyone to or from school, and he had no idea where she even lived. She was…untraceable, a ghost.
“So?” she asked.
It sounded odd, her ‘so.’ It sounded more like so with an ewe at the end like so-ewe as in two syllables.
“Uh, we need to get started on that paper. Mr. Sorenson is a stickler for turning stuff in on time.”
“I already started it,” she answered.
“Oh, good,” he said. Not good. He didn’t want anyone doing the work for him. He would never agree to something like that. Jeopardizing his scholarship by turning in half-assed work wasn’t about to happen. “Well, I’ll need to see your work so that we…”
“I’ll just give you a copy tomorrow…”
“No, I think we should really work on this together,” he corrected quickly before she could blow him off again. “I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but I don’t know you. I’m not gonna trust you to do it the way I’d want it done. I’m not turning in anything done by someone else that I don’t have a say in.”
He watched closely as her lower lip pushed outward. Then Elijah noticed her right hand resting on her thigh as it curled into a fist. She was irritated. Good. She was starting to irritate him, too.
“So, when can we get together? I can come over to your house and…”
“No,” she blurted and looked directly at him.
It was like someone hit him in the gut. Her stare was direct, too, when she wanted it to be. But it wasn’t just the directness of her stare. It was the unusual color of her blue eyes. He just got a flash of them, though, rimmed in smoky black eyeliner, before she, unfortunately, swiveled in her seat to resume staring at her paper.
“I’ll…I’ll come to your house,” she offered as if it pained her to do so.
“Sure,” he said. “Gimme’ your phone, and I’ll sync mine to yours and…”
“No,” she said and shook her head vigorously. “Just write down your address. I’ll come over tonight at seven.”
“Oh, okay,” he said, not sure what her problem was. That was borderline paranoid. He tore off a piece of his notebook paper since he didn’t have a laptop from which to work and couldn’t afford one. “Sure. Here.”
She took the paper, brushing her fingertips just slightly against his palm and wadded it up as if it were trash and stuffed it into the front right pocket of her baggy blue-jean overalls. He felt a little insulted.
“Great,” he murmured, starting to dread that he’d suggested working with her. Now he wished she hadn’t transferred to their school. He could’ve had his own lab desk, no partner, and done his own work without one. He didn’t want her dragging him down with her if she was a slacker. She was starting to become a pain in his ass.
“Great,” she mimicked as if equally irritated and proceeded to ignore him for the remainder of their class.
He skipped lunch and instead drank down three protein shakes made available in the workout center, the massive complex detached from the school about a hundred-yard jog away from the campus. It was made quite clear that when the players wanted extra workouts during the school week that their teachers would comp them the time to do so, even if it meant skipping class. His next class didn’t matter anyway. It was Economics, which was an elective and super easy. Mostly they did self-study in a workbook laying out budgets and boring stuff like that. He could teach a class on budgeting. He and his brother had been-there-done-that for the past few years.
As he was jogging to the gym, a flash of movement caught his eye. He saw someone skirt around the corner past the big brick building housing all their workout equipment, indoor running track, swimming pool, physical therapy rooms, and basketball courts. The athletics department was serious about keeping their athletes in top shape.
He approached the brick and cement retaining wall and followed after the person, catching a glimpse as they rounded the corner at the end of the wall. This time, if it was Principal Pothead, he was getting it on video. He knew it was a dead-end that way, leading to a steel door that entered into a janitor’s maintenance room. He’d gone out that way before when he wanted to avoid being coerced into going to a party after workouts this last summer.
Just as he was about to set up his video on his phone, Elijah froze. He could hear someone talking. Maybe an afternoon tryst. There were rumors that the principal was a player and cheated on his wife. Elijah didn’t particularly like him. He’d seen the man hitting on junior and senior girls. He was sort of a perv.
“…no, I can’t get out of it,” a girl was saying. “No, Jamie, I gotta go. I just wanted to know what you…”
The person she was speaking with must’ve interrupted her. He couldn’t hear the rebuttal, though. Perhaps the girl was on the phone.
“What the hell, Jamie? No, of course I can’t. That would look even more suspicious now.”
A ‘no’ that sounded more like a drawn out no-ewe with an ‘r’ on the end. That same odd pronunciation again.
“Fine, dammit,” she swore angrily. “Yes, I understand. Yeah, I gotta go.”
At this, Elijah dashed from the area and hid around the corner. As he suspected, Wren rounded the building and almost walked past him before hurrying away in a huff of anger that was obvious in the way that she carried herself.
That was a strange conversation, and he found himself thinking about it during his workout. He jogged two miles with his headphones on while listening to what Alex called ‘’80s hair bands.’ It was better than the craptastic music on the radio nowadays. It was metal rap, regular rap, or chick music that seemed to be the current trends. Pass, pass more, and definite hard pass. He also worked on deadlifts, rowing, and bicep curls with the team trainer.
By the end of the day, he was surprised to find himself anxious to see her again. He rushed to Chemistry class, but she wasn’t there. Most everyone else was, though. She was late. Their teacher, Mr. Sorenson began the lecture and instructed them to prepare for a lab. Just as some of the students rose to retrieve their supplies, Wren walked in. Most of the kids were preoccupied getting beakers and packages of powdered chemicals, but he had both eyes focused on her.
“Late, Miss Foster?” Mr. Sorenson remarked with judgment.
“What?” she asked as if unaware. Her cheeks were high with color, even though she still kept her head down and the ball cap lowered. “Oh, yeah. Whatever.”
Her attitude was maybe even worse than when she’d confronted Principal Pothead. Mr. Sorenson looked miffed.
“I don’t tolerate tardiness,” he came back at her.
“Then take up your complaint with your principal,” she said and kept on walking.
“Oh, I will, young lady,” he said. “And any more wise remarks like that, and you’ll find yourself in detention.”
She smirked. She actually smirked and even snorted as if she found him funny or perhaps beneath her. She definitely had a defiant attitude.
“Um, we’re doing a lab,” Elijah told her as she slammed herself down onto her stool next to him.
“No shit, Sherlock,” she remarked in an acidic tone. “So, what are you waiting for? Go get the supplies.”
“Ohhhhkay,” he returned, feeling pissed off. It was sort of funny when she ripped into the adults. It wasn’t so fun or humorous when it was directed at him. As he walked away, he muttered, “Let me just get that for you, princess.”
When he returned to the lab table, Wren was staring openly at him with an expression of surprise. Then she realized it and quickly looked down. They managed to get through the experiment without any trouble, and the second it was over, she tried to bolt, as usual.
“Hey,” he said, grabbing her sleeve. “Seven o’clock, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember, Golden Boy,” she said and yanked her arm free with a deadly glare.
He watched her leave the room, watched her glance over her shoulder at him once as she did so. It wasn’t the glare or the rudeness of her tone and comment that got him. It was those eyes. They were an unusual color, true. Like an aqua blue similar to the ocean near the shallow shoreline. They were the same color as the shallow ocean water near the beach. But there was something truly frightened in them when he’d grabbed her sleeve to stop her from running out so quickly. He hadn’t hurt her. He wasn’t stupid. He’d never hurt a girl, not one with such skinny arms. Of course, he could and would hurt her if he’d applied too much pressure. But he hadn’t. Why would she be so scared like that then?