Beastly (The Ever After Collection)

by Noelle Marie

  Heath was more built than she’d thought.

  Heat crept up Emma’s neck as she realized the sharp turn her thoughts had taken, and she forced herself to concentrate on why it could be that Heath was so upset about a t-shirt and pair of shorts. She didn’t see anything outwardly wrong with the clothes Coach Benson was offering him. There were no stains or holes that Emma could see.

  Sure, the uniform wasn’t exactly a fashion statement (at least, not a good one), but it was unoffending and comfortable enough. Emma would know. She was wearing one such uniform that very second.

  “Yes, you are wearing this uniform. And I prefer that when my students address me they call me either coach or sir. You got that, kid?”

  Emma could practically see the tension radiating off of Heath’s stiff form and thus, was entirely unsurprised by his response. “I’d like to see you make me, sir.”

  Emma didn’t think she’d ever heard anyone manage to say the word “sir” so disrespectfully before – so utterly full of loathing.

  Coach Benson’s already red face purpled. “Unless you’ve got a doctor’s note explaining how your skin is allergic to polyester or some such bullshit, I expect you to dress appropriately for my class. If you insist on defying my rules, feel free to sit out and take a zero.” Coach Benson gestured jerkily at the bleachers on the other side of the gym. “Your choice, kid.”

  Emma mustn’t have been entirely inconspicuous in her staring because Heath somehow managed to catch her in the act from where he stood arguing with Coach Benson. He sneered, and Emma’s face flushed as red as the pair of shorts Heath was being offered before she was able to sever eye contact. Embarrassed beyond what was logical considering the fact that literally everyone was staring at Heath, Emma forced her eyes to remain glued to her white tennis shoes.

  That didn’t mean that her ears still weren’t riveted to the scene playing out before her, however. She heard Heath mutter “gladly” and something softer after that that vaguely resembled the word “asshole” before his loud footsteps echoed throughout the large room, his dingy sneakers slapping against the linoleum floors as he made his way towards the bleachers.

  Risking a peek, Emma watched as he haphazardly tossed his backpack into a row of the collapsible wooden benches before plopping down beside the bag.

  Coach Benson glared at the lot of them. “Stop your gawking. You have warm-up laps to run. Go.” Without further ado, he blew his whistle.

  Emma kept pace with Collette and Luca, who joined them as they circled the gym, as she ran. She made sure every time she passed the bleachers that her eyes were directed anywhere but at Heath. Even if she swore that she could feel the heat of his gaze on the back of her head every single time she ran by him.

  Things only continued to go downhill from there.

  Coach Benson, closet sadist that he was, announced that the team activity they’d all be forced to participate in that day was flag football.

  Emma groaned aloud. In her experience, “flag football” consisted almost entirely of the girls in her class attempting to grope the boys in lieu of actually grabbing the flags that hung around their waists whilst said boys peacocked about.

  Needless to say, Emma and Collette spent the majority of the game doing what they always did when such an activity was announced – chit-chatting under their breath while “guarding” each other. Collette was in the midst of reciting a rather creative list of Lulu Jennings’s multiple shortcomings – the girl was chasing Luca about with a dreamy, awe-struck look in her eyes – when a football came flying at Emma out of nowhere.

  She didn’t really have time to think about what she was doing. Her body merely reacted involuntarily and she caught the pigskin.

  It was a mistake.

  She’d only been standing there in shock for half a second – Collette looking equally surprised beside her – when she was plowed into from behind. She toppled forward and her chin hit the ground with a loud thwack. The coppery taste of blood exploded in her mouth as she bit down hard on her tongue.

  “Crap, Emma, are you okay?” Coach Benson asked as he hustled over to where she’d fallen. Or was pushed, rather.

  Before she could gather her bearings enough to answer, Collette had ahold of one of her elbows and Luca the other. Her friends pulled her up to her feet.

  “This is flag football, you harpy, not tackle!” Collette was yelling angrily at… Maribeth.

  Of course.

  Why wasn’t she surprised?

  And then the coach was there.

  “I’m so sorry, Emma,” Maribeth insisted, eyes comically wide in the perfect picture of concern. “I totally didn’t mean to run into you like that.”

  “Yeah right! You’re on the same team as her, for Christ’s sake,” Collette scoffed, taking a step into Maribeth’s personal space.

  “Now, now, Collette,” Benson attempted to mediate, placing a restraining hand on the redhead’s shoulder. “Accidents do happen.”

  Emma stared at the coach in disbelief. Collette and Luca were wearing matching expressions she was sure.

  “Are you okay, Emma? Do you need to go to the nurse’s office?”

  Emma cringed. Her chin was smarting, but besides that and the blood she could taste pooling in her mouth, she was fine. She didn’t want to go to the nurse’s office only to have said nurse end up calling her dad. He was working tonight and needed his rest. “No, I’m fine,” she insisted.

  Coach Benson frowned. “If you’re sure,” he finally said before gesturing at her mouth. “Why don’t you clean up and have a seat on the bleachers then? You can rest for the remainder of class.”

  Emma touched her mouth and winced. She hadn’t been aware of the dribble of blood trickling down from the corner of her lip. Excusing herself to use the restroom in the locker room, she spat out the blood that had gathered in her mouth before thoroughly rinsing it out and washing up her face. After briefly examining herself in the mirror, she hesitantly made her way back to the gymnasium. The bleachers, to be more specific.

  Which created a bit of a dilemma for Emma. Because she didn't know where to sit. It seemed rude, mean spirited even, to sit on the complete opposite side of the bleachers as Heath, even if he had been a jerk to her the last time they’d talked. She could hardly just throw herself down right beside him either, though. Not with the story Collette had told her yesterday about how he’d spurned Maribeth in the middle of class for daring to sit too close to him at the forefront of her mind.

  Ultimately, she decided that five feet to the right and two sets of bleachers below him was appropriate. Figuring she’d be forced to endure the painful silence that immediately descended between them for the remainder of Gym class, she was surprised when Heath spoke to her a few minutes later. “I guess I wasn’t too far off with that whole queen thing after all, was I, your majesty?”

  Emma stiffened at his scornful tone, scowling at Heath over her shoulder. “The name’s Emma, actually… remember?” she added sarcastically.

  He snorted. “I thought protocol was to call royalty by their proper titles.”

  Emma glowered, pulling her knees up to her chest like they’d somehow protect her from his surly demeanor. “I’m only a candidate,” she pointed out quietly in objection.

  “Semantics. Besides, Blondie must think you’re pretty stiff competition judging by how she took you down like that.”

  Emma dug the blunt edges of her fingernails into her knees. “Yes, well, Maribeth doesn’t particularly like me.”

  “Not like you?” Heath protested in mock indignation. “How could anyone not like you?”

  Clamping down hard on the soft flesh of her inner cheek, Emma forced herself to ignore Heath, staring resolutely forward instead of acknowledging his hurtful words.

  “What you’d do, steal her boyfriend?”

  Emma’s chest tightened. She knew that Heath didn't know the whole sordid history behind his comment, but the words hurt regardless. Probably a lot more than they should
have, coming from a relative stranger who didn’t realize he was stepping on dangerously thin ice. All the same, traitorous tears welled in her eyes, and Emma rested her head on her knees in an attempt to hide them.

  “What? Not going to talk to me now? Did I somehow offend your noble sensibilities?”

  Attempting to forcefully blink back her tears, Emma turned and glared. “What’s your problem with me?” she demanded.

  She didn’t think she was entirely successful in her endeavor – there must have still been a suspicious sheen in her eyes – because Heath immediately stiffened, looking slightly cowed as he turned his gaze away from her. “Nothing,” he mumbled finally, clearing his throat before tentatively adding, “Don’t take it personally. I’m like this with everyone.”

  Some of the tension that had built itself up in Emma shoulders fled at the confession. She didn’t allow her glare to lessen, however. “If that was supposed to be an apology, it, well…” she paused, “it wasn’t a very good one,” she finished lamely.

  Emma turned away, and an awkward silence befell them after that. It was better than the hostile one they’d been sitting in before, she supposed, but not by much.

  She refused to look back at Heath for the remaining minutes of Gym class, no matter how badly she may have wanted to. Not even when she heard him begin rifling through his book bag and the tell-tale sound of paper crinkling did she allow herself a peek.

  Coach Benson blew his whistle, signaling the end of class at three o’clock on the dot. Emma stood, but before she could make a hasty exit, a hand – Heath’s hand – wrapped itself lightly around her wrist.

  She tensed, grudgingly turning to face him. “What?”

  Heath frowned, letting go of her wrist before stiffly shoving what looked like a crumpled ball of paper into her hands.

  Emma was baffled, but reluctantly took the thing. Heath trudged away immediately after, disappearing into a throng of her classmates.

  She looked down at the ball of paper. Except… that wasn’t what it was at all.

  Upon closer inspection, it was something much more special – breath-taking even. A perfectly formed origami rose. And upon each pedal, two simple words were scrawled.

  I’m sorry.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Emma was not a cyber stalker.

  She hadn’t been reduced to some creepy cretin pathetically prowling the Internet for any information she could glean about Heath Thompson – a frustratingly common last name, she’d discovered quite quickly.

  Really.

  But unbelievably, the new boy didn’t have a Facebook or a Twitter account. Nor did he belong to any other social networking site that Emma had searched. She’d been practically forced into consulting the god-like entity known as Google.

  And even that hadn’t offered her any answers.

  Emma had absolutely no more information about Heath than when she’d started her sleuthing. Which, frankly, wasn’t much. She’d made a list, pathetically short as it was.

  Heath was handsome.

  Heath was incredibly rude and presumptuous.

  Heath could think of ‘Q’ words at the drop of a hat.

  Heath refused to dress for Phy. Ed. for whatever reason.

  Heath was apt in the practice of making origami flowers.

  And the last, most important tidbit of information: Heath had become a permanent fixture in Emma’s thoughts.

  It was incredibly rare for someone to catch her attention the way that he had – in a matter of days no less. Her head told her to stay away from the unruly boy, but the mystery behind his actions ensnarled her. He was a conundrum – smart and handsome, but callous and mean at the same time. Not exactly an unheard of combination. But then there was the rose…

  Emma couldn't deny her body’s attraction to him either. Though she adamantly refused to believe that that had anything to do with the non-stalking she’d been doing.

  Emma struggled with the decision of whether or not to approach Heath for the next three days, yo-yoing back and forth in that special sort of purgatory that horribly indecisive people often suffered. On Friday night the choice was made for her by Heath himself.

  * * *

  School had passed by quickly that afternoon, ending in a spectacularly embarrassing pep rally. Emma, as a homecoming candidate, had to offer a few inspirational words to Maple Valley High’s football team.

  Of course, she hadn’t realized she’d have to make such a speech going into the rally and had had her nose stuck in an intriguing historical romance she’d downloaded onto her tablet the night before when she’d heard herself being called to the podium of the auditorium. In front of the entire student body.

  She hadn’t even been aware of the rival team’s name at the time – the Sacred Heart Knights, she now knew – and her speech, if it could be called that, had been a repetition of painfully generic phrases like “Good luck, boys!” and “I know you can do it!” And, of course, no one could forget the plethora of “Go team!”

  Thankfully, only her friends seemed to have realized how godawful her “speech” had truly been. They had no qualms about telling her so either, sniggering about it for the rest of the afternoon before dragging her to the football game later that evening.

  Maple Valley High won the match handily, with Gunther throwing five touchdowns for an easy 35-10 victory over the Knights.

  Spirits were high amongst players and fans alike, and Emma couldn't help her matching jovial mood as she and her friends walked to the dance that was to take place in the school gymnasium immediately after the game. Even the stupid crowning ceremony looming in the back of her mind couldn't touch her good mood.

  Cheeks flushed a pretty pink and hair windswept from the strong October breeze, Emma was unaware of the many appraising glances she received as she, Collette, and Luca made the small trek from the football field to the high school.

  “Call me crazy, but I think that last 'go team!' was real tonight,” Collette teased as Luca opened the door for the two girls.

  “You learn to appreciate good football when it’s all your father ever watches, and hey, at least I knew what was going on. I think you were paying more attention to the Knights’ tight ends,” she grinned at the pun, “than the game itself,” Emma shot back, eyes glittering with mirth.

  Ignoring Luca’s disgusted snort, Collette threw her hands up in surrender. “You caught me.”

  “You girls never compliment me on my tight end,” Luca pouted as the trio of friends made their way down the hallway in the direction of loud, booming music. When they reached their destination, they came to a halt, taking in the streamer and balloon decorated gym before them.

  “That’s because you have no butt. You’re basically a walking bean pole,” Collette countered, nearly shouting to be heard over the pounding bass that resounded throughout the room.

  “Ah-ha! So you have noticed the goods!”

  “Yeah, the lack thereof!” Collette immediately attempted to backtrack.

  Emma laughed outright at the splotches of red that exploded across the apples of Collette’s cheeks, but before she or Luca could properly tease her about it, Lulu Jennings flounced over to them, latching onto one of Luca’s arms with her hands – or talons, as Collette would probably refer to them.

  “Come dance with me, Luca,” she demanded, fluttering her eyes at him.

  Luca glanced at Collette, but she was refusing to look at him, and so he half-heartedly agreed. “Sure, Lulu.”

  Emma almost thought steam would come spouting out of her friend’s ears as she watched them walk away.

  “I’m not surprised she’s attracted to poles,” Collette muttered spitefully. “The girl is so brain dead that stripper may very well be her only viable career choice.”

  “You’re just mad you didn’t ask him first,” Emma pointed out, fighting not to laugh out loud when her friend nearly choked on her own spit.

  Before Collette could deny it, however, the two girls were approached by M
aple Valley High’s star quarterback himself, Gunther Kingston.

  “Hello, ladies,” he greeted them, throwing a beefy arm around each of their shoulders in what Emma suspected he thought was a smooth move.

  “Gunther,” Collette addressed him curtly for the both of them, jabbing an elbow into his ribs and forcing him to release her. Emma glared at her friend, her actions having caused the football star to squeeze her more tightly to his other side where she was attempting to subtly move out of his snug embrace herself.

  “That’s no way to treat the man of the hour.”

  “Only in your own mind would you occupy someone’s thoughts for an entire hour,” Collette retorted, rolling her eyes.

  “You wound me,” Gunther deadpanned, turning the entirety of his attention onto Emma. “Surely you appreciated my prowess tonight, Emma?”

  “You played well,” she admittedly reluctantly, still attempting to somehow move out from under the weight of his heavy, musclebound arm.

  “Better than well,” Gunther scoffed. “Luckily for you, I’m as magnificent a dancer as I am an athlete.”

  When he attempted to pull her out onto the dance floor, she managed to free herself from him in a slickly executed move – namely quickly ducking out from under his arm. “No thanks. I don’t think, you know, your girlfriend would appreciate that.”

  He had the nerve to laugh at her before darting forward and snatching the wrist of her left hand in a restricting grip. He tried again to tug her forward. “Come on, babe.”

  Collette, thank God, quickly grabbed her right hand and jerked her away. “This babe said no, you cretin. Now get lost.”

  Gunther’s green eyes flashed with something more frightening than mere anger before he managed to replace his glowering expression with a smug, cool smile. “Whatever. I’m sure I’ll get my dance later.”

  Emma frowned. “Why-?”

  “Don’t count on it,” Collette snapped before Emma could finish her question.