Rough Guy: Providence Prep High School Book 3

by Allen, Jacob

  I sighed. At least I’d given it my best shot. But once again, like as had happened so many times before, I found myself on the short end of the stick. Just as I had with my friends, my family, and my dating life before, I had lost.

  “OK,” I said with a sigh.

  Emily smiled.

  “You’ll find someone good, Nick.”

  But I doubted that. I seriously doubted that. I had high hopes for Emily, and I figured that Adam’s awful behavior would be all she needed to see to realize that I offered her something much more stable and much more peaceful.

  But I guess assholes, like my father, like my brothers, and like Adam, got their way.

  Maybe it was time for me to be a little bit more of an asshole.

  “Come on,” Emily said as she crouched over Adam. “It’s time to go home.”

  It’s time for me to adopt a little more of this Broad Street Boys persona for myself.

  * * *

  Present Day

  I leaned forward, prepared to kiss her.

  I was in a rush. I was on some exhilarating high. None of this made sense. This girl was the one who’d started this whole chain reaction of me being so angry and bitter about everything. This girl was the one who had rejected me two weeks ago. This girl…

  Was also quite beautiful. She didn’t wear a ton of makeup, but that was precisely why she was so beautiful. And she was so fucking smart, too.

  And, really, let’s be honest—she was the sixth wheel, the final piece of bringing the Broad Street Boys and the girls together. That’s not to say that this was some noble effort to unite two kingdoms like it was Game of Thrones or something; rather, it was my way of saying I was not going to be the fifth wheel any longer, and neither was Samantha. We were going to be our own thing.

  And then, on the deepest, most selfish level… I had to have her. I was tired of getting rejected. I was tired of getting turned away.

  So I wasn’t going to let that happen anymore. I was going to stare rejection in the face and either accept it on my terms, or push back and force it to bend to my will.

  That’s what had happened with basketball. Coach had rejected my attempts to be more than I was at the moment, so I walked out. That’s what was happening with football now—no schools were giving me anything, so I was constantly sending out highlight reels to make them want to sign me.

  And now, it’s what was happening with Samantha. She wanted to reject me before? OK, fine. But I’d seen enough in the time since to know she was physically attracted to me. I wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip by again.

  I kissed her… but when I made contact, it was not on her lips. It was on her cheek.

  Again.

  Again, rejected.

  Again, pushed away.

  Again, denied what I wanted.

  “What the hell, Samantha?” I said before I’d even left her face. “You just said show you how I felt.”

  “I know, I know,” Samantha said, clearly frustrated. She looked like a pouting teenager. “But I don’t want to wind up like the others.”

  “That’s what this is about?” I said. “You think Emily and Jackie are miserable?”

  “No, I think they’re getting played. I think—”

  “No, no, fuck, that,” I said, restraining myself from almost saying “fuck you.” “You really think Adam and Kevin are going to pull something on them? You think this is some grand set up to embarrass them before we go to college?”

  At least Samantha had the honesty to nod her head. Not that I should been surprised, but I suppose even the most honest of people probably would have hesitated for a moment or two before confirming that.

  “We’ve done some shitty things over the last few years, Adam especially,” I said. “Adam is the king dick. Kevin is the dick enforcer. I’m the dick enabler. We recognize that. And that’s not even counting Ryan, who somehow does his own thing with the girls in his grade. But we are not sociopaths. The closest one is Adam, and even he is someone who just needed to figure out things with his parents. If they wanted to hurt Emily or Jackie badly, they would have done so by now.”

  “Or they’re waiting for the big moment of the end of the school year to humiliate all of them.”

  “You mean when everyone walks away and they don’t get to relish in the glory of such a stunt?”

  Samantha, for as smart as she was, sure had fallen prey to a pretty stupid story in her head.

  “Half the reason those two acted the way they did was so they could get attention from Emily and Jackie,” I said. “They did it in really retarded ways, but they did it. You can’t see that?”

  “I can see how they made their lives miserable until the last few months,” Samantha said. “I can see that three years means a lot more than three months or however long Adam and Emily have been together. Look at it through my lens.”

  “And look at it through mine,” I shot back. “They don’t have Stockholm Syndrome. They’re genuinely happy. And it’s going to continue, you know. Adam and Emily are going to go to Vanderbilt. Jackie and Kevin are probably going to Knoxville.”

  “And what for us, then? Whatever we would become?”

  I shrugged.

  “I’m living in the moment right now, Samantha, because the future isn’t looking very promising.”

  Samantha wasn’t buying it, though. She didn’t seem to accept any of what I was saying.

  “I know you’re attracted to me. I can tell right now, by the way you’re looking at me, that that is the case. I just don’t know why you think I’m part of a conspiracy to make all of you miserable.”

  Samantha bit her lip, looked like she wanted to say something, and then somehow, someway, stopped herself from saying it. That, more than anything else, might as well have been the ultimate rejection. If Samantha was censoring herself from saying what she wanted to around me, she was essentially devoting all of her mental energy to rejecting me.

  I guess not all rejections could be overcome or ignored.

  “Alright, fine, you want to be that way, be that way, you stupid fuck,” I said.

  And there’s the temper.

  “I didn’t expect you to fall in love with me here, but if you want to resist your own desires, that’s for you to deal with. I might have gone too far calling you a loveless whore, but it’s not wrong to say that if you keep fighting this so you can go somewhere else, you’re never going to be happy. You’re just going to turn into a miserable cat lady who reads the Wall Street Journal or the New York Times every day on her porch, wondering why she lost out on her love, using her brain to figure everything out when she can’t do that.

  “But at least I’m smart enough to back the fuck off. I hope you change your mind.”

  I couldn’t help but mutter one more “dumb bitch” before I walked off. God, how much of an asshole was I when I got upset?

  By now, I didn’t even care about the rejection. I was so used to being in second place in my world that silver was practically running through my veins. It wasn’t something I thought about so much as it was just a part of me.

  I didn’t look back as I stormed to my car, knowing that if I did, I’d just say some more stupid shit to Samantha. She didn’t deserve my fucking presence, and I didn’t deserve to deal with her stupid issues. I was a fucking stud athlete at Providence Prep. I didn’t lack for pussy. Even if I lack for people I’m actually attracted to.

  I got home in a fury, storming right upstairs to my room as soon as I arrived. I heard my father calling my name, but I ignored him. Instead, I went to the back of my closet, finding the extra liquor that Clarke had bought me in preparation for my little stunt with Samantha. I’d intended to use it for a second placement if things got worse, but now, I suppose it was going to serve the real purpose—to get the purchaser or the user fucked up.

  The only trap to this was that I had effectively barricaded myself to my room for the rest of the night. If I walked out and my father saw me drunk, that was a guaran
teed way to ensure I was punished for the rest of the school year. There was also the chance that I may have actually tried to fight him, and that would have gone well beyond even what I wanted to do.

  So, I did what any good drunk did. I pulled out my phone and started texting.

  Specifically, I started texting Samantha.

  And I started to say some crazy shit.

  “Why would you refuse me when you like me?” I wrote her.

  I didn’t expect her to reply. But when the text bubble popped up on my phone, showing her beginning to message back, I was glued. I didn’t even open any other apps to see what she was going to say.

  “Because I knew you’d act like this.”

  I knew that was a lie. It was a nice retroactive answer, but it wasn’t her answer at the time.

  “Liar,” I wrote back.

  “Asshole.”

  Well, this was a pleasant little game, wasn’t it?

  “Yes. But not always.”

  “Enough of the time.”

  “You know why I put the bottle of liquor in your locker?”

  “No.”

  “Because I wanted to be close to you.”

  This time, the conversation paused. The bubble popped up numerous times as she struggled for what to say, but it never actually sent a text, suggesting that she was struggling with what next to say.

  “I made sure right after I got myself in detention,” I wrote. “I didn’t like being told no. It was a challenge to me.”

  Again, she struggled with the right words. Funny how when we were in person, she could say the truth without thinking, but now that she was over text, she had to choose her words with the precision of a scientist writing a lab report.

  “I guess I like being a masochist, getting rejected.”

  Finally, I got something. It was Samantha “laughing at” my text by choosing that as her reaction. I gave her a few seconds to start typing before I decided to say something more.

  “I don’t know who else I’m going to go for as smart and pretty as you.”

  “Stop it.”

  For once, I decided to listen to her. For a couple of minutes, she didn’t say anything. I thought of writing something back, but, well, that had not worked out well the past few times. I just shut my mouth and waited to see if she was going to add something more. I took the chance to use the bathroom, and when I came back, she’d responded.

  “You actually think I’m pretty?”

  I smiled.

  “Absolutely. Your legs are sexy and your face is beautiful.”

  I put my phone down and opened my laptop, going to her Facebook page. When I came back to my phone, she’d already written a couple of messages.

  “Why wasn’t this Nick the one walking with me?”

  “You can be so sweet. And then you can turn sour in a heartbeat.”

  “If this was the Nick that I had walked with…”

  She didn’t finish the thought on that text. But the implication was pretty clear.

  “You would not have turned your cheek to me.”

  She gave me a thumbs up. I laughed. For such an intimate-building text, for something that was trending toward some honest moments, she could respond in such silly and kind of awkward ways. She was still sober Samantha Young, I guess; me being buzzed didn’t change that at all.

  “What are you doing right now?” I said.

  It was a silly request. I was too drunk to drive—talk about ways to really kill not just my athletic dreams but my entire life.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I want to see you.”

  I wrote the response before I could change it. Although, honestly, with how buzzed I was beginning to feel, I was probably just going to say something that straightforward anyways.

  “You have to do something first.”

  “What?”

  “You know what.”

  Oh, do not make me play games like this. This is too ridiculous.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  I put my phone away as I struggled to guess. Pick her up? Drive her somewhere?

  As soon as I grabbed my phone again and looked, I felt slightly stupid.

  “Apologize.”

  I dropped the phone, leaned back into my pillows, and let out a loud groan. It was so simple, and yet…

  Why was it so hard? Why—

  No, fuck it, just do it. Say it. Don’t think about it. You’re texting, not in person.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She gave a thumbs up. But she wasn’t done.

  “For?”

  Oh, shit, now I have to think about it. Now I have to think about what to say.

  But before I could think about it, she called me. There was no getting around this now—not if I wanted to see her, not if I wanted to kiss her. Answer the phone, stumble over my words, and I might have a chance. Ignore the call, send it to voicemail, and I’d all but ensure that Samantha would never so much as look at me in the hallway ever again.

  “Hey,” I said upon answering, probably just a couple of seconds before it would have fully gone to voicemail.

  “So what are you sorry for?”

  Not even a hello either, huh?

  “I am…” I began.

  I let out a sigh. I wasn’t good at these kinds of things. None of the Broad Street Boys were. No one in the Locke family was. We were used to just doing things, and if things went to hell, we brushed over them. I knew how to interact with guys very well, thanks to my time in athletics. But with girls?

  My experiences revolved around alcohol, flirting, and sex. Not in being vulnerable. Not in admitting weakness. Not in doing something like this.

  “I am sorry for saying the things I did, for—”

  “What things did you say?”

  Oh, she was going to bury me in my sins, huh? This was like the dog who had peed on the carpet getting his face shoved into his own urine.

  “For calling you a dumb bitch,” I said. “For… for calling you a loveless whore. For all the things that caused you to slap me.”

  “Good.”

  A tense silence followed. Was I supposed to say something more? Was there something I was missing in the apology? Or had I hit everything I needed to?

  “What else?”

  Oh, God.

  “Something I said?”

  “You haven’t apologized for the big thing yet, Nick.”

  The big thing.

  The only thing.

  “I’m sorry for planting the bottle of alcohol in your locker,” I said.

  The irony of apologizing for that while looking at the bottle of Fireball by my bed was not lost on me. I got up and put it back in my closet as I continued to speak.

  “I’m sorry that I put you in this spot. I—”

  “I want you to admit to Principal Collins on Monday that you did this,” she said.

  Oh, fuuuuuuck.

  “Why?”

  I knew as soon as I asked the question I had no moral standing to ask it. I alone had perpetrated this act, I alone had thought of it, and I alone was responsible for it. Even now, Adam and Kevin were still having befuddled conversations with Emily and Jackie about why Samantha would have had a bottle of liquor in her locker.

  “Do I really have to outline why, Nick? You’re not that stupid.”

  “No, I’m not, and no, you don’t,” I admitted. “OK. I can do that.”

  That was very easily said. I didn’t know how it was going to turn out to actually admit it to Principal Collins. Was that going to destroy my own hopes and dreams for college?

  What do you care more about, a pipe dream that has a one in a million chance of happening? Or actually being a good guy, accepting rejection can happen, and moving past one here by being honest?

  Maybe, instead of playing the victim, you can take responsibility for the mistakes. Maybe then, it’ll all stop.

  “Meet me at the library downtown in half an hour,” Samantha said. “I assume you still want to meet m
e in person?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes, one hundred—”

  “Then see you there.”

  With that, she hung up.

  But with that, she had also given me the lifeline I so needed. She gave me what I finally wanted.

  An invitation.

  The question was, would it last past Monday? Or would I have the courage to follow through on what drunk Nick promised?

  13

  Samantha

  Listening to Nick on the phone made me suspect a couple of things.

  One, it sounded like he might have been a little buzzed. There was a certain slur to his words that wasn’t obvious; it wasn’t like he was stumbling drunk. But his words weren’t quite as pronounced and sharp as they had been in person.

  Two, that might have been the best thing, because if alcohol made people reveal their true selves, this was showing that Nick was a lot nicer and a lot more insecure than I had suspected. I’d rejected him on the basis of being only partially revealing of himself, but maybe him being fake was actually his way of preventing his best side, not his worst side, from showing up.

  The third thing had nothing to do with Nick, but everything to do with myself.

  Part of the reason I insisted he apologize was, of course, because he had done something wrong, and I needed him to admit as much. But part of it, I was realizing, was that a part of me was still trying to distance myself from him and was looking for any excuse to avoid him. If Nick didn’t apologize, it was easy for me to shove him away.

  But was that shoving away really in my best interest? I’d always kept him at arm’s length for fear of his worst side, but Emily and Jackie had stopped doing that, and that had seemed to work out pretty well. I’d looked at them judgmentally for so long, but they weren’t stupid. They knew what they were getting into.

  Maybe it wouldn’t work out for them. But by this point, I think it was fair to say that there was no reason to assume Adam and Kevin had some nefarious plans in place.

  And so it was that, with some degree of nervousness but also excitement, I agreed to meet Nick outside the library, outside the very spot where we had first met.