That Stupid Little L-Word:

Chapter Twenty Eight:

Thoughts churn through my mind like the rolling clouds of a storm, and it takes all I've got to stay focused on the painful looking tennis balls that keep flying in my direction. I sit on the front row of the bleachers beside an irritable Coach Ashbury.

"Hit the ball, Brooks!" her scream is amplified by the megaphone in her hands, and I smack my hands over my ears with a grimace. Her poor victim stumbles over a pebble on the court and misses the ball by a mile. 

I duck, narrowly avoiding a head-shot, as Brooks' partner attempts to smack it back into the court. The near death experience makes me turn to the Godzilla-like coach and ask, "Coach, can I move? I don't want my concussion to come back." 

Coach almost doesn't hear me, so I make the mistake of tapping on her shoulder. "What?" she turns her megaphone back toward me, "No, stay here. I need to make sure you don't start playing with your cellphone or something." 

I rub at my ears and grimace. My eyes graze over the courts that stretch out before us until I spot Miley.  She shoots me a look of pity before she dodges a ball heading her way, pretending to swing wildly at it with her racket. Devon is on her team; he stands several feet behind her, eyes focused on the game. He completely avoided me before Coach called attendance, and forced us to line up alphabetically per ritual. I have no doubt that he'll continue to ignore me for the rest of our lives, too. 

I let out a sigh as my mind drifts back toward the topic I'd been running from since Miley first blurted it out. Blue-Eyes and Ms. Henry. I wonder what really went down between the two of them. Even if nothing had actually happened, Blue-Eyes still managed to wreck Ms. Henry's marriage and, well, her life.

She'll forever be known as the teacher who had an affair with a student. 

It totally made sense, with the way she'd acted about Blue-Eyes. She seemed to positively hate him. Or at least be trying to make me think of him in a negative light. 

I dodge another tennis ball and shudder. That brought me to my next idea; the prospect of Ms. Henry actually being jealous of me. In the event that the whole affair had really happened, she probably had to really have a thing for Blue-Eyes if she was willing to risk her whole life for him. I know a little about love, and a love like that is hard to get over. 

My lips press together into a tight line, and I think of Jake. I remember the feeling I'd felt whenever we talked about possible girlfriends, there at the end. The idea of losing him to someone else, and watching them lip lock in the hall together had driven me crazy. It was akin to the hatred I'd felt toward Bimbo when I'd seen her with Blue-Eyes that day. Ms. Henry probably thought of me like that. 

I run my fingers through my hair, and the bell rings --the only noise able to actually drown out Coach's whistle and screaming. Grabbing my crutches, I stand and wobble toward the locker room, pausing to wait for Miley. 

She smiles as she approaches, "You're so lucky that you got to sit out." 

"Somewhat, anyways," I smile half-heartedly as she holds the door open for me. 

Her hand lands on my shoulder, and squeezes tight. "Don't worry too much about Blue-Eyes, okay? I'm sure he's grown up since then. I just wanted you to be careful." 

I shoot her a look, "Alright, alright. Do you think I should ask him about it?" 

We stop in front of our lockers, and she swiftly changes out. "I don't know," she muses as she slams her locker door shut. "You know him better than I do. Do you think that he'll open up to you about it just yet?"

I press my lips into a firm line. We wobble toward the door and, when Miley opens it for me, I spot Blue-Eyes standing several feet away. His hands are clenched into tight fists, skin stretched a ghastly bone white over his knuckles, and he glares daggers at Devon, who stares back at him with a similar loathing expression.

Carl stands between them, laughing nervously with his hands outstretched in a peaceful gesture. 

Miley rushes over, totally abandoning me as I try to hobble toward the group. Blue-Eyes blinks at her, and then his head twists towards me. He shoots Devon one last angry look and says something unintelligible beneath his breath, before heading over toward me. He immediately takes my backpack and I watch him. His jaw is clenched so tight that I swear he'll hurt himself. "What's going on?" I ask him, as he gestures toward the parking lot. 

"Nothing," Blue-Eyes shakes his head, and avoids my concerned gaze, "Don't worry about it. How was gym?" 

I frown and glance back over my shoulder. Miley stands in front of a bright-faced Devon, obviously trying to cool him down. He glares angrily our way, and for the first time that day, our gazes meet. My frown deepens, and he turns away to kick at a nearby trash can. 

"It was fine," I answer my boyfriend hollowly as we step into the parking lot. He glances at me, a perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched, and opens the door to his sexy car for me. I smile at him in thanks and sit down. 

"Just fine?" he asks as he climbs into the drivers seat. 

I shrug, "I got to sit out. It wasn't very eventful." Except for the little piece of knowledge I'd learned from Miley, but I didn't feel ready to ask him about it yet. Not while he was in an irritable mood. 

"Ah," he makes a face and nods, accepting my answer. "Alright. So where do you want to go for lunch?" 

I purse my lips and smile at him sheepishly. The perks about dating someone rich includes fancy restaurants, including fancy sushi places. He glances over at a red light and seems to read my mind, because he laughs and shakes his head, and then says, "Alright. Sushi it is." 

I grin and cheer, "I've got the best boyfriend ever." 

"Damn right you do," he winks. 

The grin I sport widens in an unnatural way, and I shake my head at his adorable cockiness, turning my gaze toward the window so I don't melt under his beautiful blue gaze. He reaches over and grabs my hand, squeezing it tight as our fingers tangle. "I love you," he murmurs. 

My heart skips a beat and I stare at him. My mind argues that things are moving way too fast, and his signature eyes flicker toward me. I choke, and smile, and ignore the rational part of my brain long enough to whisper a hasty, "Olive juice too." 

He squeezes my hand, obviously not hearing what I'd said, and smiles like he's just won a million bucks. 

I smile back and try not to look as guilty as I feel.