Love at First Fight: Geeks Gone Wild #1

by Dallen, Maggie

  I went to shut down the site once more but another message stopped me.

  But this time it wasn’t Matt.

  It was Jason.

  Chapter Seven

  Jason

  I didn’t know what I was doing when I typed that one innocuous and oh-so-eloquent word.

  Me: Hey.

  That’s a lie, I knew exactly what I was doing. I was trying to make things right. Or maybe I was just trying to make her feel better. I didn’t know. All I knew was that I had to do something when I looked over and saw her light on. With a little maneuvering that I wasn’t proud of, I could see inside her room enough to see her, slumped over her laptop keyboard looking sad.

  Looking defeated.

  I hated that look. I couldn’t just walk away and pretend I didn’t know she was hurting. But as I typed that one simple word I also knew there was a very good chance she would ignore me.

  Again.

  I couldn’t blame her though, could I? I knew what she thought…she thought Joel was to blame. She thought that he and the rest of my friends and teammates were responsible for her humiliation.

  And I couldn’t tell her she was wrong.

  I wanted to. I really wanted to. I hated the thought that they could be behind this. It had gone beyond lame and idiotic—two words I equated with Joel and his buddies.

  It was mean.

  Not to mention that if he got caught it would spell disaster for our team this season. How many times had the coach told us to stay out of trouble, on the field and off? He hadn’t been kidding. His threats were far from harmless. Coach Harding wouldn’t look the other way, not after the trouble he and our team had gotten into last season thanks to the poor grades and stupid antics of my teammates.

  Coach’s job was on the line just as much as our winning season—that much I knew from booster club gossip. Sometimes I hated how involved my parents were with my team, but there were other times when hosting the fundraiser parties worked to my benefit. There was no better way to get the lowdown on what was going on behind the coach’s closed door than by eavesdropping on my parents and their tipsy friends.

  All of this was to say, I wanted to be able to tell Margo that this disaster had nothing to do with my teammates.

  I wanted to—but I couldn’t.

  I’d avoided Joel and his friends for the better part of the day, other than at practice when I couldn’t avoid them any longer, but I could at least keep the conversation focused on football. I’d stayed away from them in the hallways and even in the locker room, because I hadn’t wanted to hear their jokes at Margo’s expense. It had been a wuss’s way out, but I honestly hadn’t been able to trust myself not to do something stupid if Joel was dumb enough to say something about her—about that photo—to my face.

  And let’s face it, Joel was that stupid.

  Even now, hours later, my hands were clenched into fists at the thought of what I wanted to do to Joel. But getting into a fight with a teammate was definitely not what was expected of me as team leader.

  As if I’d had any doubts, Coach Harding had taken me aside before practice started, his expression forbidding. It seemed he’d heard about the shake-up during the morning presentation.

  Shake-up. That was his word for it, not mine.

  He’d leaned forward slightly until his nasty coffee breath made me want to wince. “Did one of my guys have anything to do with this?”

  “Not that I know of, sir.” Truth, but…not exactly the whole truth. Still, I wasn’t about to go getting anyone in trouble before I knew it was a fact.

  And even if I knew?

  I shoved the thought away like I had every time it crept up on me. I knew what the voice was, of course. It was my conscience. Or maybe it was Margo’s voice in my head. Or maybe Margo was the voice of my conscience.

  Whatever. All I knew was, there had been more than one reason I’d avoided Joel all day long. There was more than one reason I didn’t necessarily want to know for sure if he was to blame.

  Ignorance was bliss, right? Yeah. I totally got that saying now.

  Anyway, the point was, Coach Harding had seemed to accept my answer, drawing back from my personal space so I could breathe without gagging. I’d bought myself some time, at least. But what I was going to do with that time, I wasn’t sure.

  Just before I’d turned away, Coach Harding had stopped me. “Connolly,” he’d barked.

  “Yes, sir?”

  He moved his jaw like he was chewing on his words. “You’re the leader this year, you know that, right?”

  I had to bite back a sarcastic remark. He’d given me a lecture on what it meant to be a team leader at least once a day since practices had started up for the season. Instead, I said, “Yes, sir.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “We can’t afford to lose any of our starting lineup this year and expect to make it to state. You know that, don’t you, son?”

  I stiffened a bit at his use of the word ‘son.’ It set me on edge more than any of his barking or his threats. “Yes, sir.”

  He nodded slowly. “Good. Then I guess it goes without saying that you lead by example.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Being a leader means putting the team first. Always.”

  I nodded. Somehow it seemed like if all this went without saying, he didn’t need to say it. But maybe that was just my annoyance talking, because what he wasn’t saying was coming through crystal clear.

  Whether or not Joel and his buddies were involved, it was up to me to make sure they stayed out of trouble. Even if they had done something so stupid and callous, I needed to make sure that they didn’t get in trouble for it. For the sake of the team, of course.

  I nodded once more and he turned around, already barking out orders to the rest of the team to start up their drills.

  A couple hours had passed since then but I couldn’t shake the coach’s voice or ignore his little speech.

  I glanced over to my window as I waited for Margo’s response.

  But I also couldn’t ignore the girl next door, or the way she’d looked at me when she was leaving the auditorium.

  Like I’d done this to her. Like I was the enemy.

  I craned my neck and saw her profile, but just barely. She’d straightened in her seat, but I couldn’t see her face. My gaze was torn between the window and my computer screen.

  Finally a response popped up.

  Margo: What do you want?

  Well, it was something. At least she hadn’t ignored me again.

  Me: I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for what happened.

  Margo: Your friends are the ones who should be apologizing. This is their fault.

  I stared at her words for far too long as I struggled to think of how to answer without confirming or denying it. How to answer in a way that would comfort her without throwing my guys under the bus.

  Me: You don’t know that for sure.

  Me: But whoever it was, it was a jerk move.

  I hadn’t so much as hit send before I got a response.

  Margo: Seriously? You’re going to try and deny that it was your friends who did this “jerk move” or that they aren’t the ones who are currently mocking me and my friends right this very minute?

  I blinked at the screen. What was she talking about?

  Margo: You know what? Never mind. I don’t even know why I bothered to respond. For that matter, I don’t know why you bothered to reach out if you’re just going to make excuses for your friends.

  Me: You’re my friend too.

  I hit send before I could stop myself. It was a cheesy thing to say, but I wanted her to know that. I mean, sure, it wasn’t like we’d hung out a lot—or at all, really, these past few years. But that didn’t mean I’d stopped thinking of her as a friend.

  It didn’t mean I’d stopped caring about her.

  She didn’t respond. The more seconds that ticked by, the more I felt stupid for having said that and the more I realized I hadn’t said what I re
ally wanted to say.

  Me: I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry this happened to you. I wish there was something I could do.

  Margo: You want to help me?

  I sat up a little straighter. I couldn’t help myself. A flicker of hope took hold, and it was completely illogical. Some weird part of me wanted her to turn to me, to let me help her, to be her friend. Or maybe…

  Okay, maybe I wanted her to look at me as more than a friend. More than a neighbor who she had to be civil to…

  But for right now, I’d settle for being her friend again.

  Margo: If you really want to help me, you could call out your buddy Joel for doing this. If you really wanted to help me you could kick his butt for me.

  I stared at her words in surprise.

  Margo: What do you say, Jason? You wanna be a pal and go kick some ass?

  I stared at the screen so hard my eyes hurt. As if by sheer will I could convey to her the freakin’ ridiculous position I was in. I needed this team to get into college, to get out of Grover. This team was my ticket out. Not to mention, these guys were my team. They had my back and I had theirs, no matter how much I might want to turn on them.

  After my silence grew too long, she sent another one.

  Margo: Yeah, that’s what I thought. But thanks anyway, friend.

  Ouch. Her sarcasm reached through the screen and slapped me across the face. I hurriedly started to type back.

  Me: It’s not that simple.

  I took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to explain without making this even worse.

  Me: Look, can we talk?

  I hit send but all I got in return was a red error symbol along with a message fail response. I glanced over at her window. Unless the Internet had suddenly gone down in my house—which it hadn’t—Margo had just blocked me.

  Chapter Eight

  Margo

  The next morning Ms. Horowitz looked like she’d just sucked a lemon. “You know I can’t let this slide.”

  I sighed as I slumped down in my chair. I’d already explained to her how I was the victim here, but my plea hadn’t made a difference so why bother repeating myself?

  In her defense, my band leader looked like she was no less happy about the early morning crapfest than I was.

  “You’re a great clarinetist, Margo,” she continued. “And you’re an exceptionally devoted member of this band.”

  The word but hung in the air between us as I bit my bottom lip hard. I hadn’t cried once since the whole awful debacle in the auditorium, but somehow seeing a smidgeon of emotion in this old battle-axe was the last straw. My eyes stung with the unshed tears but I refused to let them fall.

  Ms. Horowitz sighed. “I can’t make you first chair.”

  Yup. The hits just kept on coming.

  I pressed my lips together. I’d known she’d say it. Of course I had. Ms. Horowitz would have been the worst sort of hypocrite if she let me off the hook after a photo basically announced that I’d been drinking and partying my summer away.

  Lies, of course, but what did that matter?

  I nodded stiffly and she sighed again.

  “It’s just a probation period,” she said.

  Her eyes didn’t quite meet mine and I straightened a bit. Well, this was new. I’d never seen Horowitz back down on anything. When her gaze met mine again there was a hint of softness there that I’d never seen before.

  “You’re a good kid, Margo,” she said. “I don’t want to see all your hard work go down the drain because of one stupid mistake.”

  I nodded quickly. Me neither, me neither!

  She leaned back in her chair, her gaze considering me. I held perfectly still for fear of ruining whatever lenient thoughts might be going on beneath that helmet of silver hair.

  “You won’t be allowed to perform in the first two home games,” she said, her tone more decisive. “If you attend every practice, on time and with full commitment, you can resume your position as first chair for the first away game three weeks from now.”

  I stared at her wide-eyed. “Thank you.”

  She ignored that. “I assume it goes without saying that if you get into any sort of trouble between now and then, the deal is off.”

  I nodded quickly as I came to a stand, eager to get out of there before she had a chance to change her mind.

  She’d pulled me into her office before I’d even made it to homeroom and the bell rang as I exited her office. Unfortunately my first class was on the other side of the school. If I ran I could make it to my first class in time. Lord knew the last thing I needed was to be late to class. Look how much trouble I’d gotten into when I hadn’t even done anything wrong, could you imagine what the punishment would look like if I was actually guilty?

  But at least I’d gotten that meeting over with, and it hadn’t gone as badly as I’d feared. Look at me looking at the positives. Counting my blessings, that was me. After an entire evening of wallowing, I was ready to take the lemons and make some lemonade. I was ready to see the glass half full, and look on the bright side, and all that other cheesy crap.

  I kept my head high as I rushed headlong through the crowded hallway. This morning was off to a great start. Ms. Horowitz pulling me out of homeroom had been a relief, really. Homeroom would have meant sitting in front of Jason, thanks to Mrs. McDougal’s love of the alphabet.

  While I didn’t regret our little IM interaction the night before, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to seeing him again, either.

  Jason was so much easier to hate from afar.

  Besides, after lying in bed stewing over his comments—and my intensely weird overreaction to what he’d said and hadn’t said, what he’d done and more importantly what he hadn’t done—one thing had become crystal clear.

  It wasn’t Jason who I was mad at—at least not entirely. I’d been disappointed in his response—maybe even a little hurt. But I was more pissed at myself than I was at him. I mean, what had I expected? Honestly. By this time in my life one would think that I’d have figured it out already. Jason Connolly might’ve been a nice guy, but that didn’t make him my friend. Not really. Not anymore.

  How many times did I have to watch him choose his idiotic friends over me before I got it through my thick skull? All his smiles, all his sweet inquiries about my family and band practice when we ran into each other—it was all just part of his aw-shucks, I’m such a good guy routine.

  I almost stopped short at the sight of him in front of me.

  Speak of the devil.

  The hallway was crowded with other students rushing to get to their first class and Jason was heading straight toward me. I studiously kept my gaze focused over his shoulder, even though I could feel his eyes on me.

  It was so stupid. In a hallway crowded with people, how was I so incredibly aware of his eyes on me? It was like every nerve in my body was attuned to the fact that he was walking toward me and it took all my willpower not to look over and meet his stare.

  But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Because if I did, I might cave again. Slowly but surely those kind eyes and that sexy smile would get through my defenses and I’d find myself making excuses for him because it was just so much easier to like the guy.

  But after yesterday? I didn’t want to like him. I didn’t want to forgive him. Because for a second there when he’d reached out, I’d actually let myself have hope. I’d actually thought I’d had a champion. Sure, I’d thrown it out there as a challenge but a little part of me had hoped… A little part of me had gone down a delusional path of what if? What if he did really care about me? What if he actually chose me over them? What if he stood by my side?

  For a half second there I’d thought maybe he’d do something to stand up for me. Maybe not beat up his friend—that had been a long shot—but something. Because while we might not hang out like we used to, there was still a connection there.

  Or so I’d thought.

  Sure, he’d gone and become Mr. Popular while I’d gone a
nd become bona fide band geek, but we’d still remained friendly, if not friends. We had a shared history, and I’d thought that might count for something.

  As embarrassing as it was to admit, I guess deep down I’d really thought he was Prince Charming. I’d mocked the fact that everyone in the school saw him as some sort of golden god, the white knight of Grover High. But much as I’d mocked his perfect image, last night it had become alarmingly clear that at some point I’d gone and fallen for it, too.

  How stupid, right? To think he’d stand up to his friends to protect my honor.

  What an idiot.

  I thought he’d be my champion, and that made me the ultimate chump.

  Anyway, all that was to say I was glad I’d had to skip homeroom. I might not be able to avoid him forever, but I could sure as hell try.

  * * *

  A few hours later Matt and I watched Suzie as she tore open a small bag of chips. I wouldn’t say we were hovering, per se, but we’d both been eager to see how she was holding up after yesterday’s ordeal. None of us had had a chance to talk during the rush of morning classes but we were finally all together at lunch, and while we might’ve still been the subject of gossip, it was easier to tune it out in the din that was the cafeteria.

  “So,” Matt said, reaching over and stealing one of her chips. “You survived.”

  Suzie nodded. “I survived.” With a shrug she added, “I’m pretty much grounded for eternity, obviously, but other than that, I’m okay.”

  I exchanged a look with Matt and Suzie sighed. “If you’re wondering if I know about that stupid hashtag going around…yes, I do.”

  I arched my brows in surprise and she answered my unasked question.

  “My brother.”

  “Ugh, seriously?” I got all riled on her behalf. “You totally covered for him and he—”

  “It’s not like that,” Suzie interjected with a wave of her hand. “He was actually rather sweet about it, offering to beat up the people who were posting for me.” She rolled her eyes but she was smiling. “Such a guy thing, to think that beating people up will fix anything.”