Perfectly Flawed (25 page)

I wrap my arm around her shoulders, a side
hug, trying to steal some of her warmth if I can. “I still
appreciate you,” I tell her.

She looks to me, her brown eyes narrowed.
“Shut up,” she jokingly snaps, catching the attention of a parent
in front of us with two small children. Harley doesn’t notice, and
she wouldn’t care if she did.

Okay, she would. She’s not
that
heartless.

After we wait a bit, shivering, the teams run
through a banner held up by the squad and onto the field. Our
section bursts and jumps when our football team runs out, letting
them know we’re here to support them, or
they
are, I should
say. I’m just here because someone begged me—someone nearly forced
Harley and me.

Two girls from the jazz choir sing the
national anthem. “Do you understand football?” I ask Harley through
the music. “At all?” Maybe one of us has a clue what the hell is
going on.

“Not in the slightest,” she replies quickly,
a little tremble in her voice alerting me to her chill.

That makes two of us, then. “We’ll be in the
dark together,” I tell her, as happily as a freezing-me can.

The game starts and things happen that I
don’t understand. I see the ball soar through the air, I see the
other team take it from us before we can catch it—I hear the word
interception
blare through the air. I watch a few people get
tackled to the ground, hard, some brutally. However, I’m certain no
one has scored. A quick check of the scoreboard proves I’m
right.

0-0.

“I’m bored,” Harley mumbles after twenty
minutes.

“You and me both, sister,” I reply. The one
thing we should have, but didn’t grab, is an iPod or two. This game
definitely needs some metal.

I point down to Kennie as she dances and
claps in front of the fence separating the field from the
bleachers. Harley nods an understanding, and soon, we’re clomping
down the steps, heading down to see the cheerleader after she flips
and tumbles through the air.

After she lands, her smile brightens when she
sees us. She charges over, fixing the tie in her hair. “I still
can’t believe you both came,” Kennie exclaims as she makes a show
of reaching for her labeled red water bottle.

“Neither can I,” Harley replies with
annoyance, shooting me an angry glare.

“Kennie!” Alexia yells authoritatively from
the other end of the line of scantily clad girls. “Get your ass
back in formation.”

Kennie shakes her water bottle, buying her a
little time before she rolls her eyes in frustration. “I’ll see you
at half time,” she tells us after she takes a swig from the bottle.
She grabs her pom poms, rustling them for our benefit, and wanders
back to her line.

I turn to Harley. “When is halftime?” she
asks me.

I shrug my shoulders. I haven’t a clue. We
wait at the fence until it’s halftime, which is sooner than we
thought. The boys run into the locker rooms, leaving the field bare
and empty with little clumps of dirt floating around.

Kennie joins Harley and me on the lower
bleachers, beneath the band section, while people hit the
concessions stands seeking their greasy food fix.

“You here for Ryder?” Kennie nods in my
direction, playing with the cap to her water bottle—screwing it,
unscrewing it, repeat—keeping her hands busy, attempting to keep
warm as she sits down. She’s normally bouncing around the field,
generating enough heat in such little clothing. Now she sits in
front of us in her jacket and sweatpants, trying to keep warm as
she talks to us.

“We’re heading to a party afterward,” I tell
her, though I already know she’s going to be there, at whatever
party Ryder takes us to. “I don’t know why?” I tell her
honestly.

She knows I’m not a party girl—I’ve never
been a party girl. I prefer silence to drunken loudness, I prefer
to be alone rather than within the swarm of my peers trying to fit
the stereotype.

Kennie stifles a giggle, like I just made a
joke. “Because we’re winning,” she tells me. I look to the
scoreboard, and sure enough, when I wasn’t looking, we started
winning: 21-0. As if I actually cared. “We’re going to win, this
team sucks, and he wants to show you off as his girlfriend.” Kennie
shrugs taking a drink from her water bottle.

That catches my attention. Even Harley perks
up. She abandons her phone, sliding it back into the pocket of her
coat.

“Who said I was his girlfriend?” I ask
quickly, cutting Kennie off before she can start a new rant about a
different topic. I exchange a fast glance with Harley. She heard
the offending word
girlfriend
like I had.

“He does,” Kennie answers, not noticing the
problem. “It’s so cute,” she tells us, gushing as if she were
looking at a box of puppies for sale. This is the Kennie I know;
I’m surprised that we’re friends sometimes.

“You’re sticky sweet, you know that,” Harley
tells her, the disgust and sarcasm clear in her voice.

Our friend doesn’t notice.

Kennie beams. “I look on the bright side,
Debbie Downer,” she jokes. Though, she’s not lying about looking on
the bright side, Kennie truly believes in the power of positive
thinking. She once told me when I first met her that if I believed
in the best in people, if I overlooked how they treated me, if I
just tried to get to know them and, in return, they got to know me,
that everything would be great in my life. Maybe even better than
great.

Needless to say, we didn’t share the same
opinion.

And I let her know that instantly. This bit
of information is no different.

“I’m not his girlfriend,” I quickly spill
out, clarifying how
I
believed my relationship with Ryder to
be. Completely platonic. They, as my friends, should know that
automatically. I don’t want them to think that I’d willingly be,
uh… exclusive with someone like Ryder Harrison. At least, not
without telling them and listening to the pros from Kennie and the
cons from Harley.
Oh, the cons Harley would think of
. “I’m a
girl that’s his friend, but that’s it.” I need to make this clear,
make them understand, at least Kennie, and remedy what Ryder has
been saying.

Instantly, I feel my cheeks heat from anger,
but the coldness hides it very well. My face is already red from
the low temperatures.

“Are you mad about this?” Kennie asks
hesitantly. Her lined blue eyes look to me curiously, somehow
saying subtly that I should be happy about this. If Ryder was my
boyfriend that means that I’d no longer be the girl whose father
tried to kill her. I’d no longer be the daughter of murderer, I’d
no longer have scars on my back, I’d no longer have people
whispering behind my back. I’d no longer be the freak.

But how can I answer her question?

Am I mad?

There’s only one way to answer that.

You bet your sweet ass, I’m damn near pissed
the hell off to high heaven about that.

“A little.” I play it down. I don’t want to
seem rabid, not right now. I somehow bury the annoyance and
anger.

Harley looks to me with a little nod of
understanding sent my way. This girl knows me all too well. Then
her attention shifts to something over my shoulder, something
that—based on her angry expression—she doesn’t like.

This can’t be good.

“‘
By the pricking of my thumbs, something
wicked this way comes,’
” Harley quotes, the Shakespeare rolling
from her mouth with ease, you’d think she studied it.

“Hey girls,” Alexia purrs like a hungry cat
waiting for the lone mouse to walk into its path. She walks up to
the railing, leaning against it, her bare arms crossed in front of
her. “Enjoying the game?” she asks with no real emotion in her
voice or on her face, somewhat like you’d expect a sociopath to
act. I expect to see her on the revival of
Most Evil
later
in life, if it ever comes back.

“You know we are,” Harley replies with fake
enthusiasm, her body settling straighter, perfecting her posture.
She stares at Alexia in the eyes, challenging her. Waiting to
strike, waiting to fight.

“Joey,” her attention turns to me briefly
before sliding down to examine her red painted nails. I assume that
she’s checking for any chips and imperfections in the gloss. “I
think congratulations are in order.” Her pale blue eyes flick up,
locking on mine. “You are the lowest Ryder has ever slummed. You’ve
tricked him and I’m proud.”

“Shove it, Alexia,” Kennie snaps, leaning
back to better look her teammate in the eyes. Even though Alexia’s
supposed to be Kennie’s friend, Kennie’s not above standing up for
me and showing where her loyalty truly lies when given a choice.
She always chooses me, Alexia should know that by now.

“I thought you were the one to use
tricks
to your aid, Alexia,” I tell her, not letting her
talk down to me like I don’t matter. “He’s going up, honey,” I bark
out, tucking a curl behind my ear. I may not have pretty nails but
I do know where to sink my claws when the time comes. Granted, I
didn’t have the wittiest retort, but I didn’t just sit back and
take it either. “Isn’t that why he’s with me, now?”

Her eyes narrow in disbelief that I just said
what I did. I didn’t know it was that hard hitting. The smile falls
from her face as she turns her glance to her teammate. “Don’t speak
to me like that,” she seethes. “You, Kennie, don’t need me as an
enemy.”

“There’s only one thing that we
need
that only you can provide, Alexia,” I start, staring directly at
her. “Your precious absence.”

Alexia scowls, turning to run back to her
lackeys as she always does.

“I hope that I accidentally kick her in the
face when I tumble tonight,” Kennie grumbles, watching her teammate
as she walks away—hips swaying wildly—before joining a group of
girls at the nearby railing.

“I’d love you forever if you did,” I tell
her, watching her stand up and stretch before she heads back to the
field for the second half of the game. She blows us a kiss,
winking, before she walks away, her long ponytail swinging from
side to side.

Halftime ends—can you sense my
excitement?—and Harley and I sit through the rest of the game,
fighting the urge to absquatulate and head to the nearest
interesting thing, like watching grass grow. We ignore it and talk
about school and homework, music, what we saw on television
throughout the week and our secret obsession with
Dancing with
the Stars
, anything we’ve been reading, and just about anything
else in the world to keep our minds and attention from the actual
game.

Our school wins—Harley and I can tell from
the roar of the surrounding crowd and the boom of the band behind
our heads. We remain seated as the crowd dies down and files down
the cement stairs, heading to their cars and other engagements.
Some students talk about the parties they’re heading toward and the
plans they have at these said parties. I wait, with Harley—my ride
here, by the Home locker room until Ryder walks out.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Harley tells me
when she catches sight of a damp Ryder, freshly showered, and
carrying his duffle bag. His blue eyes shift over me, practically
undressing me.

“Thanks for suffering with me,” I call after
her as she walks away, her keys jingling as she aims for her
car.

“I heard that,” Ryder tells me. He drops the
bag next to us and wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me up to
his body. I resist the urge to place my hands on his chest and push
him away. Only slightly, I still try to distance myself, but to no
avail, his grip is tight.

“You were meant to,” I reply, a playful smile
on my lips.

He leans in to kiss me on the cheek,
politely. Still a gentleman. Ryder presses my back against the wall
and rests his hand up by my head, leaning too close for my comfort
but I’m not about to ask him to back away. The reason why walks
through the door. Zephyr walks out, his long hair drip, drip,
dripping wet from his shower, his keys dangling and jangling in his
hand.

Holy balls, he’s never looked so…

Stop it, brain.

“Hey, Kalivas,” Ryder yells after my
neighbor. I hide my eyes, or try to, but I still look up. I can’t
help it. This is the closest I’ve been to Zephyr in a while. “Good
game, man.” Zephyr barely looks at him and doesn’t even acknowledge
my existence. Some friend. He just heads to his car—or Jamie’s
car—throwing his bag into the trunk before slamming the driver’s
side door and speeding from the lot like a bat out of hell.
The
faster to get away from
you
, my pretty
, I think as I
watch his taillights disappear in the distance, mimicking the Big
Bad Wolf imitating Red’s grandmother. I shake my head as Ryder
asks, “What’s his problem?”

He better not be asking me, like everyone
else in the world that thinks I have some insight on the inner
workings of Zephyr Kalivas. Most times, I forgot he had a brain big
enough for
inner workings
.

“I don’t know,” I answer, tugging the hat
from my head and tucking my hair behind my ears. “So where’s this
party?” I wonder, hoping that we run into Kennie wherever we
go.

“That’s a surprise, come on.” He takes my
hand, threading our fingers, leading me to his car and opening the
door for me.

After a few minutes, we’re on the road,
heading to wherever this party is. Passing through Edmonds, through
Lynnwood, heading through Mountlake Terrace into Brier, toward a
section of town that looks familiar. As if I’ve been here, not
recently, but… forget about that for now, I have more pressing
matters on my mind.

“Hey,” I start, disrupting the awkward
silence that developed between us in the car. “What’s this I hear
about me being your, uh,” I clear my throat, “girlfriend?”

Ryder laughs, more like a chuckle, grabbing
my hand and gently squeezing it. “It’s just a label, Joey, babe,”
he tells me, calling me
babe
. That needs to stop. “It’s
easier to say that you’remy girlfriend when talking to my friends
than that long spiel of
she’s a girl who’s my friend, but not my
girlfriend, you know. I’m seeing how things go but you never know
with these sorts of things
.”