by Laney Wylde
I turned to Travis. He was nervous. And I loved it. So I let this guy lead me down the hall toward the quad. Before we made it outside, he yelled back to Travis, “Keep icing that nose, bro.” I would have laughed if I hadn’t had so much adrenaline in my veins, if I knew what this guy wanted from me, what repaying him for my rescue would entail. He pushed through the door, dropping my hand once he found an empty table. “Sorry about that. I couldn’t figure out another way to get you out of there. What is with that guy?”
Why did he care? And how did he appear out of thin air like that? Was he just expecting us to talk like we weren’t strangers? “Thanks,” I muttered. “It’s a long story, but it’s been like this for months.”
“Months?”
I just then noticed he was sitting at the table and I should, too. “Yeah.”
“Well, hopefully, he’ll leave you alone now.” He sifted through a plastic grocery bag, pulling out more food than it could reasonably contain.
I sighed. “It’s not that simple.”
“No?” he asked before taking a bite of an apple.
I didn’t want to give this guy any more information. What was I supposed to do—tell him what I was willing to do to protect my reputation? Then he’d want the same thing, and I wouldn’t be able say “no.” No was never an option. I shook my head.
He took a bite of his turkey sandwich, then asked, “Are you guys dating or something?”
I couldn’t contain the cackle. “Oh, hell no.”
“Then there’s no reason for him to keep hanging around you.”
“Like I said, it’s not that simple.”
“Do you want to explain?”
“No,” I said too quickly.
He stared at me with furrowed brows as he chewed his food. The long silence made my nerves fray. What did he want from me? “Are you hungry?”
“A little.” I shrugged. My stomach was aching, but I forgot my lunch in my locker. I never had time or appetite when I spent lunch period with Travis.
He turned his bag toward me. “Here, take whatever you want, but leave me at least one Swiss Roll.”
“Swiss Roll?”
His dark eyes widened. “You’ve never had one?”
“Is it this thing?” I asked, pulling out the pair of plastic-wrapped chocolate pastries.
“Yes. You have to have one. I don’t usually share, but this is that important.”
Who was this guy? Tiny fighter/junk-food connoisseur?
I opened them and took one of the rolls out. He watched as I took a bite. Kind of creepy. To my surprise, it was amazing—chocolate cake rolled around fluffy white frosting, covered in more chocolate. Exquisite, for something that could be bought at a gas station. “You’re right. I’ve been missing out.”
“See? I mean, you should eat some real food, too.”
“Thanks, but you really don’t have to.”
He shot me a look that demanded I get something else from the bag. Frankly, he was kind of scary, so I did what I was told, a habit of mine I was eager to break. I found a bag of baby carrots, which I figured he wouldn’t miss much.
“Why haven’t I met you before?” I realized I should have asked for his name, but it was now to that awkward part of the acquaintanceship where he had already held my hand and called me “babe,” so I was sort of hoping he would just volunteer it at some point.
“I just moved here from Medford.”
“Why?” I asked it the way someone would ask why a person would move away from San Diego or to Texas. Medford was about three hours northeast, with actual chain stores and restaurants other than McDonalds. Everyone here made the winding drive there to shop for school clothes, go to Costco, or to just get the hell out of Dodge.
“My dad got hired as a firefighter.”
“Well…” I crunched before swallowing. “A lot of old people do have heart attacks around here.”
He laughed at my reduction of his dad’s work to resuscitating the elderly. Fires didn’t tend to be a big problem in our town. Sure, we had drunk beachgoers around poorly placed bonfires and the rare forest fire, but everything here was so damp it took a real effort to ignite.
“You’ve lived here a while?” he asked.
“My whole life, unfortunately.”
“You don’t like it?”
“What’s there to like?”
“The ocean, the river, the hiking—”
“You know it’s not usually this warm, right?”
“Seriously?”
I smirked. “You’ll see what I mean.”
His expression deflated as he took a bite out of an apple. “Well, I think you should give me your number.”
“Yeah?” I asked, hoping for the opportunity to finally get his name.
“Clearly, that dick—”
“Travis.”
“Won’t leave you alone unless I’m around.” He turned the bag around toward me. “Eat some more.”
I handed him my phone and sifted through the rest of his lunch. “How did you do that by the way?”
He started tapping on the touchscreen. “Do what?”
“Beat him up so quickly. I mean, he’s huge, and you’re…” I felt my cheeks redden, realizing I was about to insult the guy who had inexplicably saved me twice.
“Not?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Have you heard of Manny Pacquiao?”
“Who?”
“The welterweight boxer.”
I bit my lip. “I have no idea what you just said.”
“He’s a little guy. Shorter than me, but heavier. He’s amazing.”
“Okay. What does this have to do—”
“I’m a boxer.”
“Ooh.” I examined him more carefully. His arms were muscular but not bulky enough to notice at first glance. A couple of bluish veins that popped in the crease of his elbows caught my attention, along with the defined shape of his shoulders and chest through his shirt. Huh.
He was rugged—like Disney prince buff—if there was such a thing as a short Disney prince. Maybe Simba counted when standing on all four paws. Poor short guys—woefully underrepresented.
Hot blood rushed to my cheeks when I realized I had been staring at him long enough for him to return my phone, run his fingers through his straight hair, and smirk at my gawking at him. Damn it, Simba. “Um…” Um? That was the best I could do? “Thanks again for what you did. Twice.”
“Don’t worry about it. Text me your name. Or you could tell me now. Whichever.” His lips curved into a smile that only sneaked up his left cheek.
You’ll be fine. Just don’t look directly at him.
I distracted my eyes with my phone, murmuring a shaky, “Sawyer.” Smooth.
He reached out his hand to shake mine, which was now sweating. So embarrassing. Even my skin knew he was way out of my league. “Jake,” he said as his rough palm surrounded mine. “Nice to meet you, Sawyer.”
* * *
Jake met me at my locker at the fourth-period dismissal bell every day for the rest of that week. If Travis was there, Jake would lace his fingers through mine, call me babe, and walk me out to our lunch table, where he would drop the façade. By the end of the week, Travis stopped hovering at school. With his license suspended, he couldn’t pick me up at home or practice. He hadn’t posted the video, either. It was over. It had to be.
Friday, Jake met me at my locker as usual. His expression changed the instant he saw me, like I was the most depressing site he had ever seen. “Hey, you okay?” I asked, twirling the combination lock.
“Yeah.” He tried to smile.
“You going to the game tonight? I recommend it since it’s the only time it won’t be freezing.”
“Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to go, but I guess you’ll already be there.” He dropped his gaze to my navy and gold cheer uniform, and my eyes followed his.
My heart drummed so loud I was pretty sure he could hear it. He was going to ask me out? No, not out. T
o a game. That wasn’t a date. He wouldn’t ask me out. He was teenage-Simba hot, way out of my sphere of realistic Disney suitors. “I’m sorry,” I said, scrunching my face apologetically. “I mean, what would those football players do if we weren’t on the track trying to distract the crowd?”
He laughed. “Well, what are you doing after?”
“Hmm…probably hanging out with you, babe.” I smiled and pushed his shoulder. “Actually, Ronnie, one of the cheer captains, is having a party at her house up North Bank if you want to come. It’s our last chance to swim in the river before it becomes unbearably cold. What do you think?” I asked, shutting my locker.
“That sounds tolerable,” he said. Together, we started down the hall.
“Tolerable? We can do something else if you want.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m just not usually into parties and talking, or…you know, being around people.”
“You’re around me.” I nudged his arm with mine.
“You’re a person—singular.”
“Well, hang out with only me tonight at the party up North Bank. I’m kind of obligated to go to make sure my flier, Tatum, doesn’t get into too much trouble. She’s ninety pounds and drinks like a linebacker.”
“I’ll meet you after the game, then?”
I smiled and nodded.
Indian summer ended abruptly with a forty-degree temperature drop that evening. At the beginning of the game, we were all sweating under our rayon uniforms. By the fourth, we were shivering, begging our coach to let us quit stunting so we could put our warm-ups on. But Coach Corinne was a hardass from Detroit who responded to our whining with anything but mercy. The game finally ended, Bruins—our school—winning by six. Hooray. I shivered into my warm-up pants and the flimsy matching jacket. They were damp from sitting out in the fog. I probably would have fared better without them.
I met Jake at the revolving chain-link gate after the game, where he was standing in the dust and gravel. All 5’7” of him was outfitted in jeans and a thick Carhartt jacket.
“Your lips are blue. Still want to swim?” he asked.
Through my chattering teeth, I stuttered, “If you swim with me.”
He laughed. “Not a chance. Take my coat.”
“No.” I hugged myself. “Then you’ll be cold.” He ignored my protest, shedding his jacket and trading it for the bulky bag slung over my shoulder. The Sherpa lining of his coat was warm from his body, slowing my shaking. I watched goose bumps rise on his arms. “Jake, you’re freezing!”
“We’re at my car, so it doesn’t really matter.”
The drive to Ronnie’s was long and tortuous. She lived twenty minutes away from town and officially off the grid. A dozen cars were already parked in the gravel lot in front of her log-cabin-style mansion when we got there. The house backed up to the river, huge windows overlooking the bank. In the darkness, though, the glass only revealed the dancing flames from the fire pit flickering light over the letterman-clad bunch circled around it.
We pressed through the warm bodies into the woodsy house. The stuffiness gave me the chance to return Jake’s coat, but not before Tatum saw me wearing it. She was leaving the kitchen with a red Solo cup, her blonde hair still bouncing in her cheer ponytail.
“Sawyer!” she shouted as she approached. “Well, well…” She scanned Jake up and down. “Is this the guy who got you out of your deal with the devil? You’re right.” She glanced at me. “He’s hot for a short guy.”
I took the cup from her hand and sniffed it. “Ew, Tatum, what is this?”
“Rum and coke.”
“It doesn’t smell like there’s any coke in it.” I handed it back to her. “Make me one.” Turning to Jake, I said, “Want a beer or something?”
He shook his head, and Tatum weaved through a few people on her way back to the bottle-littered counter.
Jake leaned toward my ear to ask, “Your deal with the devil?”
I rolled my eyes, ignoring the cold fear in my chest. “Try to ignore Tatum until she’s sober.” As I led him by the hand to the sliding door, I yelled, “Tatum, meet us at the fire.” She nodded as she poured cola into a cup. “Oh,” I said to Jake as soon as we were on the back deck. “For the record, I never said you were short.”
“Just hot.” Pretending I didn’t hear, I kept walking until he caught my arm. He pulled himself in front of me so we were nose to nose. My lungs forgot how to work as he brushed his hand from the top of his head to mine. “I’m taller than you.”
“No, you’re not. You’re 5’7”, and so am I.”
“How do you know how tall I am?”
I shook my head. “Um—”
He crossed his arms over his chest, a smug expression crossing his face. “You looked up my stats.”
Obviously, I had. Okay, I had never been in anything even resembling a romantic relationship before, so I was by no means a dating expert. But I knew one thing—I wasn’t going to get into a car alone with a guy I hadn’t internet-stalked. Neglecting to do so would be downright reckless, and I preferred to reserve my reckless behavior for when I was under the influence.
Based on my findings, Jake Lane was 5’7”, 131 pounds, used to attend North Medford High School, had an older sister, Jenny, and owned a lean grey husky with bright blue eyes named Jamie. I found no evidence of a previous girlfriend, though people did tend to delete those kind of cuddly photos. From what I gathered, Jake didn’t seem to be lying about not liking people, plural. Most of his pictures were of him with his dog or of him bruising other guys’ faces in the ring while they sprayed blood and spit; all the violent ones were posted by his dad, who added braggadocious comments detailing the final score of each fight.
“Well, why didn’t you tell me you were kind of amazing? Undefeated?”
He shrugged. “I’m not amazing. I just have a steel jaw.”
“What?”
“Winners have steel jaws; losers have glass jaws. It’s genetics.”
“So…” I teased. “How do I find out what kind of jaw I have? Would they swab my cheek and do a DNA test to check for the steel-jaw gene or something?”
“Nah.” He shook his head. “You’d just have to get punched in the face and see what happened.”
“That doesn’t sound fun.”
“It’s not. Punching’s the fun part.”
Tatum appeared through the glass door with a drink in each hand. “Here, I put extra coke in yours.” She handed me a cup.
Translation: “I made it with the normal rum-to-coke ratio.” I was about to say, “Thank you,” but she wrapped her arm around my waist and hugged me tight.
With her booze-sloshing hand, she pointed ferociously at Jake. “Let me tell you something about Sawyer.” I drew a deep breath and winced while she started her drunken monologue. “She’s my best friend—took a black eye for me. All you boys are such pricks to her, so you better be nice or I’ll kick your ass.” She kept pointing at Jake, her beverage spilling all over her hand.
“And that’s as sweet as she gets.” I said, unwinding from her embrace. “We’re going to the fire. Are you going to join us or find Ocean?”
“Oshie and I were going to play quarters. Wanna?”
“No, but text me when you’re puking.” She tried to shove me, but my static weight was enough to make her stumble backward. I turned to Jake. “Remind me to check on her in an hour. I don’t trust ‘Oshie.’”
“She’s pleasant.”
“Right?”
“You took a black eye for her?”
We started down the porch steps. “I mean, technically, yeah. I’m her back-spot. She landed wrong at practice this summer and elbowed me in the face.”
I handed him my drink so I could unfold the last available camping chair and add it to the circle around the fire. “You can take this.” I offered the seat to him. He ignored me, and moved to sit on the ground in front of the chair. I stepped around him, slipping my legs behind his back.
I hugged myself
, trying to warm up and forget everything Tatum blurted out. My deal with the devil. Shit. What if Travis told Jake? Or showed him? I hadn’t held up my end, so why would Travis hold up his? I leaned to Jake’s ear. “Hey, if Travis ever tries to send you anything—”
“Like a video?” He rested his shoulders against my knees.
I froze. Bile crept up my throat. “Did you watch—”
“Of course not.”
I let my breath go. “It’s not something I wanted—”
“You don’t need to explain.”
“Thank you,” I breathed. Of course, he could have been lying. I’d never know. But if he did see it, it hadn’t changed anything. And it could have changed everything.
Wait. Who else had Travis sent it to?
Jake turned his head to me and whispered, “Oh, I told him I’d paralyze him if I found out—and I would find out—he sent it to anyone else.”
I took another gulp of my drink to calm the tremors in my fingers. Was I afraid of the right guy? “Paralyze? That’s specific.”
“Killing him would be too quick, don’t you think?”
“Why, though? You don’t even know me.”
He glanced at me again. “But I’m going to.” He stated it like a fact, like it was inevitable. I wasn’t sure I liked that. There wasn’t anything to know about me that wasn’t stained somehow, muddied and dirty and impossible to clean. If he was going to know me, he’d eventually learn what I did to Simone, with Travis, with those other guys. Maybe he already did.
“But you’ve heard about me, right?”
He shifted to rest his arm across my thighs. “Yeah, I’ve heard some things.”
“Go ahead. I can take it.” I winked.
“All right. I heard you’re the best tumbler on the cheer squad. That you actually did a standing back tuck at your tryout. Someone said you’re the only sophomore in AP Calculus and I should go to you if I need any math help—thanks for the offer, by the way.”