I'll Protect You (Re-Edit #2, 2016)

Don't turn your gym coach's hair pink--it's bad luck

Coach Woodson turned a bright pink but remained in his strict composure, and I realized I had actually said the last part out loud instead of in my head. 

Oops, my bad (not really). 

"I want you to clean the entire stadium and field. Make sure it's spotless before you leave."

My jaw hung open. "There's practice today!" I pointed out. "I can't clean up right now!"

"Then wait until practice is over."

"That's two hours!"

"Did I stutter, Finch?" Coach Woodson said. Triumph blazed in his eyes while anger flashed through mine. You know what? Pride is a sin, and sinners get struck by Zeus' lightning bolts (at least, I think so).

That's right, keep feeling proud. I hope you enjoy getting electrocuted. 

"I wish I was the one who put the pink dye in your hair spray," I said, shooting him a dark look before I started walking out of the gym. "At least then this punishment would be worth it."

Angrily, I pushed a door open and began an upset march up towards the stadium and practice fields. My grey running shoes that were streaked with yellow pounded against the cement pathway, kicking little pebbles lying in my way.  

"Stupid porcupine," I muttered to myself as I entered the stadium. "What kind of professor has that hairdo anyway?"

Since it was the season for track-and-field and there were meets every other day, the coaches were holding a practice before the competition tomorrow. However, I refused to wait around for two hours just so I could start cleaning. I marched on over to the janitor's outside storage closet and dragged out a black bucket. I filled it with clean water before I grabbed a mop and pulled the bucket over to the bleachers. 

One of my favorite things about Woodson's detentions was that he liked to publicly humiliate in a subtle, indirect manner. It was no secret to the staff that nearly everyone disliked me, so Woodson tended to set my detentions in settings where I could be seen by a large group of of people, allowing them to gawk and laugh at me. 

I couldn't wait to pay them back for their lovely behavior towards me. Soon. Just one more year. 

"She's so pathetic," I suddenly overheard someone say loudly. Oh, look: Coach's plan was already in motion. 

"Did you hear about this morning? She's so rude for talking back to Logan like that."

"I know, right? Why is she so mean to him? He's such a sweetheart!"

If only, random girl, if only. I slammed the mop onto the surface of the bleachers and began cleaning.

You'd think after six years, people would stop fawning over him but nooooo. Apparently, he's still the hottest thing in town. Every day, I'd have to witness the members of his fan club trail him and his friends home, asking him to come over to help them on homework or if he wanted to take a break to go eat with or something. 

His fan club kind of reminded me of the paparazzi. Huh. No wonder I didn't like them. 

Logan Cross was a curse word to me. As I dragged the bucket back towards the janitor's closet, I recalled the day I first attended Cross Academy. Cross and I had been wee little ones. When my father dropped me off at the front gates (wearing the most ridiculous fashion disaster I had ever seen), he had said that there was a boy here who was Cimerian. He was part of the twelve noble clans back in Cimeria and if I befriended him, I'd feel less lonely. 

You know exactly who my father was talking about. Logan Cross is the only son of the Cross clan. His mother was highly revered in the academic world, for her intellect and knowledge of everything was astounding. His father was the CEO of one of the biggest businesses in the world (not to mention the head of an undercover agency). I knew none of this until much later. All I had known of Cross when I saw him strutting down the halls was that he seemed rather familiar.