Page 21 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter
“Everyone is always watching,” I reply.
“So, even better reason to not fall apart.”
She’s got a point. I hate that I have to swallow that down. Every emotion gets shoved to the back of my head, where the tears can’t find it.
We get to class, and I automatically take a seat in the far back, but as close to the door as possible. Dylan sits in front of me. After Calculus, I’ve got a break of time, and then an introduction to law class that gets out at five o’clock. And after, I fully plan on going home and hibernating until I have to be back for class on Monday.
When everyone is here, our professor jumps right into class. I liked math at SJU. I was planning on minoring in Mathematics, although I hadn’t quite figured out what I was going to do with the rest of it. English was something I was leaning toward, although at that point I had only done the introductory courses.
I keep my head down and do the work, occasionally glancing at the back of Dylan’s head. She seems just as focused, which is good. I like problem solving, especially when there are clear-cut answers.
It’s so different than analyzing a piece of literature, in which there’s no true right answer. There’s what the professor thinks, of course, but sometimes the table being blue has nothing to do with the state of the author’s mind.
Anyway.
The skin on the back of my neck prickles halfway through class, and I glance over. A girl is glaring at me, and she slowly lifts her middle finger.
So. Fucking. Classy.
As soon as the professor dismisses us, Dylan and I hurry out.
“I need to make a call,” I say, pausing outside of the dining hall. “You go in, I’ll meet you.”
Dylan gives me a skeptical look, but she eventually nods and swipes in. I pull out my phone and go to Lettie’s number, my thumb hovering over it.
Just call her.
Too exposed in the middle of the atrium, I go down the hall where the restrooms are. Trying not to think about how poorly this conversation can go, I press it and raise the phone to my ear.
“Come on, Lettie,” I murmur to myself.
It goes to voicemail. I let out a low breath, when really, it should hurt more. But maybe I’m just a fucking coward, because I don’t want to hear her reaction in real time.
I clear my throat and wait for the telltale beep. “Hey, it’s me. I just wanted to give you a heads-up that Oliver Ruiz has a compromising photo of you… And he’s threatening to get more. Which I guess is fine if it’s consensual, but at the very least you should know what he’s saying. Okay. I hope you’re doing well… Call me back.”
“Aww, that was so sweet.”
I turn slowly.
The goalie leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. I can’t help but recognize that he’s blocking my way, albeit in a subtle fashion. If I were to accuse him of it, he could double down or motion to the space between him and the far wall.
“Warning your little friend about Ollie’s threats?” He tilts his head, watching me with a curious expression.
I lift my chin. “Something like that.”
“Because you’re such a good person.”
“I’m a fine person.”
He pushes off the wall and stalks closer. “Yeah? And yet, you snitched. On your dad’s team, no less. That’s fucking cold.”
“Cold? You don’t know the half of it.” I don’t back away. And I really wish I could recall his stupid name.
“Why, did he do something to you?”
He backs me into the wall. When I edge to the left, he slams his hand down next to my ear. A wicked thrill goes through me, and I have to seriously look up to see into his eyes. But he doesn’t seem pissed. More curious than anything.
“Not so fast, princess.” He trails his fingers down my arm. “Why do you want to bother pretty Lettie with worries? We’re not going to leak her pictures… It’s you we want photos of, don’t you think?”