So she asks the one question for which I have no reply.
"Uh-huh. And what exactly does this look like, John?"
"Ugh." Like I said, I have no reply. Not because I don't know what to say, because it's pretty obvious what this looks like. Thing is, I don't want to say it, not out loud, and certainly not to her.
I don't hear a word from Leah, and I don't risk a glance in her direction. My eyes are fixed on Veronica's, just as much as hers are as hard as stone on mine. I wanna die, and I wanna cry. Not in that order, obviously.
I blurt out the first (and lamest) thing that pops into my mind. "Weren't you supposed to be doing stuff at your house?"
Yeah, a very poor choice of words. Can someone please kill me now? I'd appreciate it. I've already dug my own grave, so that's something to scratch off the list.
Veronica frowns. "I thought I'd surprise you by coming as early as possible, but I guess it kind of backfired." She gives me a look I have never seen in her face before, one of unmistakable hurt. Yeah, not really the way I wanted to die. How about something more immediate, like a meteorite falling on my head? Hurting Veronica makes my heart feel like it's withering, which is a very slow and painful death that in all honestly, I don't really feel I deserve.
Veronica's once-warm eyes are now shooting icicles. "So, what's your excuse? What is it about this girl that you clearly like more than me?"
"Come on. That's not it! You're wrong, Veronica."
"Oh, am I? How convenient. Because I've been thinking you were messing around with some other girl while I wasn't around."
And that's as much as I can handle. My eyes sting and I'm ready to cry her a river, and if there's anything I hate more than this disgusting situation, it would be to cry in front of Veronica. But who am I kidding? I'm just not meant for this stuff. So, forget Leah, my social skills, my temper, my manners, and even my relationship. Screw it all. I dart past Veronica, running the whole length of the aisle plus the hall, and before I know it I'm out in the street, running as if a ghost is chasing me, though even at top speed, I can't seem to outrun the pain in my chest.
It doesn't last long because, as I'm turning around a corner, I bump into a bunch of guys; one of them even catches me as I'm about to fall on my butt.
"Sorry." I look up to see Alex's punk gang gathered together on the sidewalk.
"Hey, aren't you John? Alex's cousin?" one of the guys asks. He's tall and lean, with a bull ring piercing through his nose.
"Yeah, that's me."
"You're running like someone's on the chase. Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm just..." There's no way I'm telling these guys what happened, but I also don't know what else to say. I stay silent and let them fill in the gaps.
"Are you not going to Martin's match, though?"
Martin's soccer match! For a second, I forget why I was in school to begin with. I can't miss my cousin's match, no matter how much I want to run away.
"Yeah, I guess I should go."
"Hmm..." One of the guys doesn't seem too impressed with my unenthusiastic response, but he puts a hand on my shoulder anyway. "Then come with us!"
"Whomever is chasing you, won't try anything if you're with us, I assure you!"
"No, guys, really..."
"Come on, don't be shy!"
Before I know it, they drag me back to CJ High. I quickly tell them I have to use the toilet and run off in that direction, which is also in the same direction as the cafeteria. Because if anyone can help me out of this complicated mess, that would be Alex.
Except he's not in the same chair as he was when I left him. Not only that: I feel super exposed here. I need to get the hell out and hide until the match starts; then I'll figure out a way to watch it without anyone else finding me. Especially Veronica.
And then I have an epiphany, remembering our classroom, hopefully vacant on the top floor. I dart upstairs like the sneaky rat I am, using the staircase in the main hall—the one everyone uses—and I double check every corner before moving forward, Secret Agent John style. I take a last look behind the door just to verify the classroom—hereafter known as The Safe Haven--is empty.
I sneak past the seven rows of empty seats, dragging a chair all the way to the window that, as I knew, overlooks the soccer pitch. I conceal myself behind one of the white curtains as I survey the scene. I don't know what the time is, but it has to be close to nine-thirty because the teams are already on the pitch even though the match itself hasn't yet started.
It's no wonder the classrooms are empty: everyone has gathered around the pitch, excited and energized. I scan the faces and notice Leah right away in the front lines, her long blond hair billowing in the wind that is now picking up. Also, impossible not to spot, Alex and his gang near one of the goals, their innate repelling force successful in keeping people at least several yards away from them. I can't help but giggle at the sight.
And then I notice this little girl approaching them, long and silky black hair dangling comfortably in a loose braid down her back. Veronica waves at them and then speaks directly to Alex. Of course, I can't hear what's going on, but then I watch Alex pick up his phone. And moments later, my own phone buzzes in my pocket.
"I'm not talking to her," I say.
"Woah. It's almost as if you're watching us right now," he laughs. "I hope you are, because the match is about to start."
"I know, and you can bet I'm watching. Just not from the crowd." Just to be safe, I pull the curtain over a little to obscure myself.
"I don't know what happened with your little girl, but she's looking for you right now."
If it's to fight some more, I'm not interested.
"She found me talking to Leah earlier and went completely ballistic."
"Ah, now I see what's going on." There's a little silence on his end of the line, muffled by all the voices in the crowd. I see him covering the phone with his free hand and talking to Veronica. Then she's off through the crowd and he gets back on the phone. "It doesn't really seem like she's itching for a fight, if you ask me."
"You didn't see her earlier."
"Come on, Little John. You're acting like a little kid."
"Well, it might be because I am a kid."
"Not that little," Alex says, "and anyway, I know you can do better than this."
"There's no way you can possibly know that," I say in my most bored tone ever. He's obviously siding with Veronica, and I'm not having one second of it.
"Your call, then." There's a small pause, and the crowd around the court echoes in the background. "I definitely want to help you sort this out with her, because you told me earlier that you guys were pretty serious, but I can't help you if you don't want to be helped."
"Look, I just don't want to talk to her right now. I had enough of her free anger earlier and I don't believe she's in the mood to fix anything up, even though I did nothing wrong."
"If you did nothing wrong, I guess there's no need for you to avoid her."
"Touché." But still a no-no.
He apparently gets the hint when I don't elaborate.
"Do you want me to talk to her, then? I don't see her around here, but I bet I can find her before the match and explain the situation."
Not gonna lie; that sounds awesome. But it also feels wrong too, like facing an angry girlfriend should be one of those things a person has to do for themselves, even though you'd like nothing more than to pass over the task.
"Let's just watch the match and then I'll see how to handle this."
"Okay, Little John," Alex says, his voice slightly patronizing. I watch the two teams take their places on the pitch, and a referee walking over with the ball. Alex is probably watching this as well, because on the line goes quiet. "Let's just figure this out later then, shall we?" he says, finally. "But remember, I'm on your side, and I want this to go well for you."
"Thank you, Alex."
"No problem, Little John. Ring me up if anything happens."
"Sure thing."
We finally hang up, and as I'm pocketing my phone, two small, cold hands cover my eyes from behind. There's not a single word coming from whomever this is, but I'm definitely smelling Veronica's shampoo. I wonder how she found me, or how she managed to sneak up on me like this. She doesn't give me time to think about anything else, though, as her hands slide away from my eyes and I'm suddenly surrounded in her arms. Does this mean I'm no longer in trouble?
"I'm so sorry, John."
So, she's here to apologize. I'm all for that. I nod silently and lean back, allowing her to hold me. Her hug tightens around me.
"I heard from Martin that you met someone from your old school, and I was trying to pull a joke on you, acting like I was jealous and such."
"You kind of nailed that," I tell her acidly. Also, Martin told her? That little traitor!
"But when I found you in 'our' spot with that pretty girl... I don't know. I wasn't pretending; I just lost it. It was supposed to be a prank, but then I got jealous for real, and before I knew it, you were running away from me..." Her hold on me tightens again, and I can feel her girl-magic crawling over and through my skin: I did literally nothing wrong, and yet I'm feeling awful, like I'm somehow the one at fault for what happened earlier. Still, there is one thing I need to apologize for.
"I'm sorry I ran away like that."
She shakes her head, dismissing the issue, and then I turn around to pull her onto my lap. None of us say another word, and we don't really need to. We're back to being the lovely couple we're supposed to be, like nothing ever happened, because to be fair, nothing really did.
I rest my head on her shoulder, and like this, our gazes turn to the window. Outside, in the courtyard, the match starts.
Martin scores two goals in the first half, but then an awful tackle sends him flying out of the field, and he has to be substituted with another player. It's Alex himself who's there first to lend him a shoulder to help him limp out of the pitch.
In the end, Crescent Barks wins the match 4 – 2, and CJ High is knocked out of the Regional Tournament in the very first round. Needless to say, Martin isn't happy with the outcome, although there's nothing to be done about it now.
"It would've been a different story if I hadn't been subbed out," Martin complains later in the afternoon when we're back at home. Turns out he got a sprained ankle again, and this time he wasn't able to walk out of it without crutches.
"Don't be a sore loser," I tell him, and he chuckles.
"Nah, it is fine. They won fair and square. The score itself tells the whole story." He stretches his bad leg over the sofa's armrest, grunting a little bit with the effort. "So, I heard from Alex you had a busy morning."
"Yeah," I say with a sigh, "I guess you could say that."
I tell him the whole story, and he shakes his head after learning about Veronica's jealousy fit.
"Even though I warned her..."
"Yeah, why did you do that? Didn't you think you'd get me in trouble?"
"On the contrary, my naïve cousin. Letting her find you without any insight of what was going on would have made her reaction even worse."
Huh. When he puts it that way, it kind of makes sense. He might have even put some thought into it and everything.
"Of course, it's also fun to get a reaction out of her," he admits, shooting me his signature grin.
"I knew you just wanted to have fun!"
As for Leah Riley? No one mentions her again. None of us saw her again after the match, since we all made a run for the hospital with Martin's injury and, in a way, it's a fitting end to the story, with me running away from her one last time.
That said, I admit that she deserved better. Not just today, but also back when I lived in Sunset Central.