Rule #9 by Sheri Duff
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Five more long, grueling minutes before the bell rings for lunch and we are free. The room smells stale, like someone took off their shoes after football practice. Half the class is asleep, some with their eyes open. I’m not sure what is worse, the conversation with my mother this morning or sitting in Reeves’s class, struggling to start our assigned reading, In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. I don’t like fictional work based off of true stories, especially when they’re about murdering an entire family. There’s enough of that on the news and it’s depressing. I’d much rather read a romance novel about sweet baseball players who stick up for their girl, even though boys like that don’t really exist. Not that I like baseball players, because I don’t. I’d want them to be football players.
I wish I could find a boyfriend to confide in. Is finding a boy who can be my friend too much to ask for? I want a boyfriend who will listen to me. Really listen, not like my dad used to listen to my mom, with one-word or grunting responses. I want a boy who will give a crap. And that stupid “yes, dear” is ridiculous, too. I don’t want to end up with some boy who will just do what I want to make me happy. If that’s all there is, I’ll settle for the convent. Even though I wouldn’t look good in a habit.
Reeves stands in the back of the room talking to one of the football coaches about a new kid. “I hear he’s smart, reads the play quickly, and has a nose for the ball.” Great, a new football player for my dad to drool over.
The bell jolts the class awake and it’s a race for the door.
I find Natalie in the hall. Her head is down as she shuffles toward the commons. “You okay?” I lock my arm through Natalie’s.
“Yeah, Colby’s a jerk. I should’ve known better. I totally jacked it up with Tyler, though. He won’t even talk to me.” Natalie allows me to drag her through the hall.
“I wouldn’t talk to you either.” I won’t bullshit Natalie. She’d call me out if I tried. We tried to get her to go with the right boy, but Natalie has this habit of chasing the wrong boy. Not that my recent choices top my friends’. But that bad-boy image isn’t something I crave. Okay, I like bad boys, but I want a nice bad boy. Does that even make sense?
If she wanted to, Natalie could date the nicest boy in the school, Tyler. He changed over the summer and he’s really cute. But no—she wants a hot, mean bad boy. She doesn’t believe she deserves better. In my opinion, Colby isn’t all that hot. I don’t care how the specks in his eyes sparkle when he smiles. The jerk doesn’t smile enough for the specks to make a difference, in my opinion.
Natalie thinks so, though.
Once we get through the lunch line I ask Natalie, “Where’s Vianna?” I look around the lunchroom. The commons is filled with those who can’t leave during lunch, either because they don’t own cars or they’re not supposed to leave. It’s not hard to escape the grounds. The security guard doesn’t check our IDs to confirm our open campus privilege. Which means most of the kids in the commons are freshman and makes for a loud forty minutes since their voices echo up the walls.
Natalie finds an open table. She allows her plaid backpack to hit the floor, then slides her half-empty tray onto the table and sulks. “She ditched us for Hunter. They went off campus for—”
“What?” I say. I can’t hear her.
“Burritos,” she yells.
I spot Colby sitting across the room, next to some freshman girl wearing his red-and-white Northridge letter jacket. “What the hell is he doing here?” I drop my backpack next to Natalie’s. He goes to the rival school, but his mom is the attendance lady at ours.
“They deserve each other.” Natalie stares down at her food.
“Nobody deserves that scumbag.” I look over to find Colby feeding the girl apples. What an idiot. “Think about it, Natalie. All he can get is freshmen.”
“And me,” she says.
Crap. I shouldn’t have said it. I hate that jackass.
Colby catches my eye, his arm still wrapped around freshman girl’s neck. He tilts his head back and lips the words “hey baby.”
“Can you believe him?” Natalie turns away, taking her plate along with her and not on purpose. I grab the plate before the celery sticks and plain chicken patty can topple onto my friend’s lap. My loud friend, full of fire most of the time, is letting this creep poor water over her. It really pisses me off.
I look back at Colby. “Asshole,” I whisper. I force my eyes to lock on his, even though I can feel the hairs on my neck stand on end.
“Let it go.” Natalie puts her hand on mine. “You don’t have stick up for me.”
“He’s a little prick,” I say, still holding my defiant stare. Colby’s eyes dart away. “See? He’s not as tough as he thinks. I win.”
“I. Don’t. Think. You. Caused. That,” Natalie says.
A tray filled with food slides next to me. Then the thud of an orange-and-black Cincinnati Bengals backpack hits the table. I turn to find Mr. Linebacker with the nametag Jack, only without the nametag. His piercing emerald eyes fixed on Colby.
“Crap.” I look down at my plate. It’s him. Dad’s Alec or Jake or Jackson or whoever is Jack, Alicia’s friend’s brother. He’s also the linebacker that Reeves was talking about, the super-gorgeous linebacker, the boy at the Fieldhouse, the boy my dad wants me “to show around the school.” Nice. How did I not see this coming? Of course it’s him. I’m so screwed.
Jack sits. Close.
I push the backpack away. “Wrong orange.”
“I’m not from around these parts. So for me, it’s the right orange.” He pushes the backpack where he set it in the first place.
“Your little kittens didn’t make it to the Super Bowl.” I move closer to Natalie.
“Your donkeys choked.” He digs into the food piled on his tray.
“Don’t call my Broncos donkeys.”
He doesn’t look up from his food. “Then don’t call my Bengals kittens.”
Natalie shoves me closer to Jack. She gives me that “what the hell is your problem” look, also known as the “don’t be stupid, the boy is hot” look.
She sticks out her hand. “Hey. I’m Natalie.”
Jack shoves his burger into his mouth with his right hand and shakes Natalie’s hand with his left. “Jack.”
“This is Massie.” She bumps me closer.
“I know who she is,” he says in that damn voice. And winks. At me.
I blush and turn away. That’s when I see my dad leaving the athletic wing. “I gotta go.” I stand and leave my friend with gorgeous linebacker Jack.
I dump my food in the trash. I wasn’t hungry anyway. I open my planner and read the quote of the day so I don’t have to look at Jack as I scoot out of the commons. Today the quote is from Mother Teresa: “If you judge people, you have no time to love them.”
I slide my thumb along the spiral spine. “Colby is a big ass. I don’t want to love him. And Mr. Linebacker. Dang it. He’s so damn cute.” I mumble under my breath. “Football players.”
My phone vibrates and I pull it out of my back pocket.
Text from Mom: Massie, your dad would like to take you out to dinner tonight. I’m working late so I think this would be a good opportunity for you to spend time with him. He’s trying and you need to try as well.
The text stops but she’s not done. My mother can never say anything quickly or get to the point. My mom also won’t learn the abbreviated form of words; she considers this lazy. She doesn’t want the abbreviated words spilling over into her business world. Blah, blah, blah.
Text from Mom: I understand the whole “you know who” thing was hard, but that is over. Alicia is not her and you could at least give Alicia a chance. Everyone deserves a chance. You’ve told me that exact same thing.
Text from Mom: Remember Blake? I saw from the beginning that he didn’t deserve you. I could tell that he was one of those boys who use girls and when he’s done he moves on.
Text from Mom: Sorry, I didn’t mean
Text from Mom: Love you that is… I love you, Massie. You are amazing.
Finally she’s finished.