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  “That’s absurd,” I say without hesitation.

  Mr. Lynch directs his spite toward me. “You would say that because you don’t know what it’s like to win. You don’t know what it’s like to feel the power one gets through victory.”

  “Actually, Rosie—” My father attempts to interject but is interrupted.

  “Hold up, John,” Dickhead Lynch cautions. “If your daughter can give it, she can take it.”

  “Leave her alone,” Jacob warns. “She’s allowed her opinion.”

  Ignoring those around him, Mr. Lynch remains focused on me, awaiting my response.

  Unperturbed, I accept the challenge. “I don’t care for the ‘power’ you speak of.” I used air quotes around the word for emphasis. “And I have better things in life to focus on that don’t revolve around victory parades and confetti. Jacob has the rest of his life to be serious, so if he happens to lose at something that has zero to do with football, man up and move along. You’re a busy man, Mr. Lynch, I’m sure you too must have more important things to concern yourself with.”

  Clearly not hearing a word I’ve just said, he leans forward in his seat. “I don’t raise pussies. So, no son of mine will lose to a team of benchwarmers,” he says evenly, but smiles to pass it off as a joke.

  “Benchwarmers?” I chide. “I think you’re misusing the term.” Why do I even feel the need to retaliate? “We’re not living your childhood, Mr. Lynch. The only expectations Jacob needs to live up to is his own, and even if he did lose to a group of art nerds or ‘whatever we call ourselves’…” again I use air quotes, “… who happened to have Hans from Germany on their side, it would be a humble lesson to learn... and not just for Jacob.” I hold his gaze, so he’s aware of the pointed remark.

  The usually quiet, passive girl they’d watched grow up, suddenly has some fight in her. Mr. Lynch raises his brows. His wife, who’s no doubt experienced a year too many of her husband’s shit, hides her smile. My father gives me a wink—always my supporter—and my mother stares wide-eyed like her daughter has grown two heads. But Jacob, the boy I could easily throat punch and feel no remorse, he’s grinning from ear to ear, a newfound respect glowing from his dark chocolate eyes.

  “Get you on a bad day did I, Rosie?” he taunts. It’s a chauvinistic remark he probably used on his wife many times.

  “As good a day as any, Mr. Lynch.” I smile sweetly while gritting my teeth. Snatching my mineral water, I head down the stairs wishing the afternoon would end already.

  “Where are you going, Rosie?” my mother calls, still miffed by my behavior.

  “To cool off,” I yell, so I’m heard. “Before I stab the dickhead,” I say to myself before reaching the pool.

  When I know they’ve all preoccupied themselves, I pull my skirt and tank off before diving in. It’s a burning day, and my temper is just as hot. Adjusting the strap of my bikini, I float to the edge and rest my cheek on the warm paver while idly kicking to keep the rest of me afloat. A good five minutes pass and their lively conversations further up become nothing but white noise.

  “I brought you some lunch,” Jacob says from out of view.

  I slowly open my eyes and squint against the sun. He circles around until he’s next to me, lowering his legs into the water and placing two plates of food between us.

  “Is he always like that?” I ask, speaking about his father.

  Jacob scoffs, “Worse.”

  I suddenly feel bad for him. My dad is the most supportive, generous man I know. I hate to think Jacob doesn’t have the same. Moving so I’m standing in the pool, I meet his gaze. “I’m sorry, but he’s a jerk.”

  “Oh, don’t I know it. I always said that if I ever become like my old man, I’m better off six-feet under.”

  Something happens to my heart, and I feel it somehow thaw toward Jacob. “How does your mom tolerate his bullshit?”

  “She’s used to it, I guess. He places the same expectations on her. However, unlike me, she tries her best to meet them.” He pauses for a moment, tilting his face to the sun before looking back at me. “That was really cool what you did. Defending me. You didn’t have to, especially after all the shit I’ve put you through over the years. I’m sorry for what he said about you.”

  I laugh lightly. “Your father’s words mean nothing to me.”

  “He still shouldn’t have said them. He doesn’t understand anything outside of football. He especially doesn’t understand anyone with a creative streak.”

  “You don’t seem as enthused about the game as he does.” Being a non-football fan, I haven’t been to any games, but his reputation precedes him. According to teachers and students, he’s a natural-born talent. Yet, there doesn’t seem to be any passion alighting his eyes.

  “I do enjoy it. Just probably not enough to ever make him happy.”

  There’s a moment where we both fall into quiet reflection.

  “What would you do otherwise?”

  Jacob again lifts his face to the sun before lying on his back, lost in thought.

  “I don’t know. My whole life to date has been my father’s doing. All I know is, wherever I end up, it will be far, far away from here.”

  3

  THEN

  “I just don’t understand why we have to be here,” Kevin Foster says to Ms. Zagwich, crossing his feet on the chair in front and defiantly folding his arms. I’m standing by the door at the back of the room observing the five committee members already seated, debating if I should turn on my heel and pretend to be none-the-wiser, especially because, for some unexpected reason, Jacob and his football buddy, Kevin, are sitting in on the meeting.

  “Because…” Ms. Zagwich starts, sitting on the edge of the table and crossing her left ankle over the other, “… you two have been nominated by Coach Carter to diversify your resumes, and this is what he thinks is best.”

  “But we don’t know the first thing about organizing a prom. Can’t you let…” he glances at the girl next to him who he’s probably never noticed before, “… Rebecca—”

  “It’s Anna,” she corrects in annoyance.

  “Whatever,” he rudely dismisses. “Can’t you let Anna, and whoever else, take care of this? I got a game to focus on.”

  Ms. Zagwich smiles tightly. She’s probably just as unhappy with the situation. Being the drama teacher, she isn’t used to dealing with football egos.

  “Kevin’s right,” Jacob finally speaks up, albeit with more manners than his friend. “This isn’t the best use of our time. We have state finals coming up and—”

  “Miss Reign,” Ms. Zagwich interrupts the boys when she sees me standing at the door. She looks both relieved and happy. Everyone, including Jacob, turn, and I wish I hadn’t hesitated making a run for it earlier. “I was hoping you were planning on joining the committee. Come in.”

  “Actually, I was—”

  “You will be our only artistic influence,” she interrupts. “So, you’ll be playing a vital role. Come on, come in. And look…” her voice raises an octave, “… Jacob is here, which means you can squeeze in a little extra rehearsal time.”

  Fan-fucking-tastic. I roll my eyes.

  Kevin turns in his seat, throwing a mocking glance at his friend. Jacob responds with a not-so-subtle kick to the back of his chair. So, Jacob was attending rehearsal under sufferance which makes things far more awkward. Almost like I’m his jailer.

  But back to the present, things are certainly not going to plan. Everyone continues to stare. Their levels of varying scrutiny forcing me to respond in some way. My legs decide what’s best and soon I’m joining the small group sitting together. Jacob watches and smiles, his unwanted attention causing my cheeks to redden. Before I reach my destination between Jacob and Anna, I’m elbowed out of the way by non-other than Chelsea Campbell, the glorified, complete bombshell-complete bitch cheerleading captain. She takes the seat I’d already committed to, forcing me to sit behind the group. Jacob notices but says nothing as she sidles up
to him, her perfectly glossed lips smile playfully as a polished hand rests on his muscled forearm. Jacob shuffles over to make more room, but Chelsea leans in close, big doe eyes set to flirt mode as she begins whispering tales of gossip like he’s at all interested.

  “Ms. Campbell, how lovely of you to join us,” my teacher says with an air of disappointment. Her life just got a whole lot harder as did everyone else’s in here.

  Chelsea turns to face Ms. Zagwich, switching from popular gossip girl to teacher’s pet in a heartbeat. “You’re welcome. I’m here to lead this year’s prom,” she starts, voice like honey. “And to ensure it’s not a fu…” She pauses a moment before correcting herself. “Not a balls-up like last year’s was. I have a lot of ideas that I’m sure will trump any you’ve heard so far.” Her confidence is cringeworthy.

  Ms. Zagwich takes a moment to gather her words. “Well, I do like your enthusiasm. However, no student will be a leader of this event, simply to avoid what happened last year. You will, however, be working in a team. So, if for instance, you have an idea for decoration, you’d turn to Rosie who will be in charge of the artistic side given that’s her strong suit.”

  Chelsea shrugs. “Who’s Rosie?”

  I sigh. Chelsea and I have attended the same school since sophomore year, and she still can’t place my name with the person she barged out of the way. Jacob covers his mouth to hide his laugh, but he isn’t laughing at my expense. With a thin, exasperated smile, Ms. Zagwich points to me.

  Chelsea turns, brows knitted in annoyance as she looks me up and down before turning back to our teacher. “Ms. Zagwich, I’m all for working as a team, but perhaps having a new girl in charge of the decoration isn’t such a great idea.”

  Jacob’s laugh erupts, and I too have to bite my bottom lip from joining in.

  Chelsea remains undeterred. “There’s a lot of girls with high hopes, me included, and I don’t want them to be let down.”

  “That’s very sweet of you, Chelsea, but Rosie has been at this school for the same amount of time as you. You could perhaps use this time consulting with her about decorations as well as getting to know her, since clearly you’ve seemed to have, um… overlooked her presence.”

  Chelsea’s shoulders sag, and I wonder if I’ve managed to make a new enemy all without saying a single word to her.

  Ms. Zagwich checks the time and claps her hands over her thighs. “Well, I guess this is us… Team Prom. There may be only a small group of us, but you each play an important role in ensuring its success. Take this time to better know each other but, before you do, I’m sure you’re all wanting to know that this year’s theme is—”

  “Casino Royale? Can we have real poker chips?” Kevin offers with misplaced enthusiasm.

  “No,” Ms. Zagwich says, taken aback.

  “Hollywood Star,” Chelsea coos.

  “Sorry, but no.”

  “Fairy tale?” Anna asks.

  “Nope. You’re all close, but so far away. A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” Ms. Zagwich exclaims, excited despite the group falling silent.

  “I don’t get it,” Chelsea says, her shoulders further slumping, her dreams of glitz and glamor dashed.

  “I love it,” I admit, and my teacher’s eyes gleam.

  “You already have some ideas?”

  “I do. It’s a great choice.”

  Jacob leans back, a small smile playing on his lips as he slips a note across my desk. I eye him suspiciously and flatten my palm over the piece of paper before lowering it to my lap and reading.

  Posie, why are you always the smartest one in the group?

  When he sees I’ve read the note, he slides back until he can rest an elbow on my desk. “Well?” he prompts.

  “Why on earth would you think that?”

  “Just stating a fact. Pretty sure you know more about Shakespeare than Shakespeare himself.”

  “I probably know as much about it as you know about football because it’s in our lines of study.”

  “Hey, Rosie,” Kevin says, overly sweet as he saunters to my desk. Behind him, Chelsea is having an extremely animated, extremely one-sided conversation with Ms. Zagwich about how she predicts a student body rebellion over the ‘unpopular’ choice in theme.

  I glance up at the boy who I know very little about, and who most likely barely knew I existed until today. Even Jacob appears taken aback by his approach.

  “Yes?” I ask.

  He grabs a chair and swings it around to sit on it backward. He’s a good-looking boy. Different to the classic charm of Jacob. Kevin is blond with a surfer tan and blue eyes and a jawline you could crack an egg on. He also doesn’t have a shy bone in his body. “I dig that you know A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream.”

  “And I’m confused that you do.”

  “Not by choice.”

  I don’t know whether to believe him or not. The chances of Kevin knowing about A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream is equivalent to me knowing who won the Super Bowl in nineteen eighty-nine. Slim to none. And to be honest, I’m rather impressed.

  “So…” he continues knowing he has my attention. “Wannabe Titania to my Oberon?”

  Oh!

  “The fuck?” Jacob asks, both confused and amused.

  Makes two of us.

  Kevin blushes a little, and I’m suddenly seeing a softer side of him. Perhaps he isn’t such a jerk after all. Guilt niggles away that perhaps while I felt these boys had been judging me the whole time for being different, I too had been judging them.

  “What?” he replies defensively most likely regretting his admission.

  “You know the play?” I ask to put him at ease.

  “I’ve only read it fifty million times,” he says coyly.

  “I gotta say, bro…” Jacob begins. “I didn’t quite peg you for a Shakespeare genius.”

  “That’s because I’m not. My sister is a Juilliard student and that was her piece last year. I’d stay up at night running through lines with her on Skype.” He says it like it’s no big deal. Like he doesn’t understand it could be just he and I, out of the whole school, who knows anything about it. “So…” he continues, wiggling his brows, “… how about it? Do you have a date?”

  “Oh, um…” I hesitate, not because I see Jacob clench his teeth and wonder why, but because I wasn’t even planning on going. “Prom, it’s… it’s not really my thing.”

  “But you’re helping to plan it,” he states, confused.

  “That’s where my commitment stops. I’m sorry.”

  “Well, Jacob’s already committed to me,” Chelsea states it as if I had to be told. She slides her arm over his shoulders possessively, a move to prove an unnecessary point. Jacob doesn’t bristle at her touch, but he doesn’t seem to enjoy it. “We’ve been prom dates since freshman year, hey babe?”

  I give a small smile because while they’ve sweetly promised themselves to each other since freshman year, Jacob had painted a big red target on my back, taunting and pranking me for exactly that long. I’m suddenly uncomfortable with the group gathered around me because while they’re all close friends, each one of them has demonstrated on more than one occasion that I’m an outsider, so their sudden attention has me all kinds of suspicious.

  Checking my non-existent watch, I make out it’s time go. Pushing back, I grab my bag from the floor and make to stand, Chelsea closely watching with unveiled spite as I pull my long, dark hair over one shoulder. Like she has anything to worry about. There isn’t a single guy in the school who hasn’t had a boner for her at one stage or another. With her lengthy, platinum hair she wears loosely curled every day, to her stunningly long, toned legs perfect for high kicks and landing jumps, she has most girls either wanting to be her or idolizing her.

  And worse? She knows it.

  “I’ll come with you,” Kevin offers, and I try not to be visibly weirded out by his random offer.

  “No. I’ll take her,” Jacob counters.

  I stare wide-eyed at them both wonderin
g what the hell is going on.

  “I’m fine. I—”

  “Jacob, you can’t go,” Chelsea whines. “Now we have our… theme…” she says the word with a roll of her pretty eyes, “… which is shit, I might add…” she looks pointedly at me as if it’s all my fault, “… we need to discuss what we’re wearing.”

  I bite my tongue because after all the shit Jacob has given me over the years, I’m purposefully missing an opportune moment to take a stab at him being bossed around.

  “You guys stay here,” Kevin asserts, hooking his bag over a shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”

  Before the others can respond, he gestures for me to head out first. As I do, I glance back at Jacob who appears out of sorts, his concerned eyes locked onto mine.

  “You don’t need to walk me out, Kevin,” I say as we enter the corridor, a little flustered by this level of attention.

  He’s unfazed by my brush-off. “You never know what weirdos are out and about after school hours.”

  I want to ask if he put himself in that category but decide it’s safer not to.

  “So, prom,” he initiates.

  Sigh. “I said no.”

  Our footsteps echo through the corridor lined with student lockers and trophy cabinets until Kevin swings the front doors open hard enough for us both to walk through at the same time. “Heard it loud and clear, but a beautiful girl like yourself shouldn’t be stuck at home on prom night.”

  Did he just call me beautiful? What is going on in the world for him to say such a thing to someone who, before now, he’s never even thrown a hi at.

  At the top of the concrete stairs, I look up at him and squint against the afternoon sun. “I’m not stuck anywhere, Kevin, and it’s not because I don’t have a date. I’m not going as a matter of choice.”

  Undeterred, he persists, “I’m going to be just as stubborn about taking you as you are about not going.”

  I laugh because despite it all, he’s being somewhat of a gentle giant. Kevin is much taller than me, and when he playfully nudges my arm with his, I’m sent off-balance until he realizes his error and wraps his large hands around my shoulders to steady me.