Love Me, Love Me Not Page 20

  I try to ignore it and keep walking, but his bony fingers land on my shoulder.

  “Hales,” he says louder, drawing attention from the other girls now, too.

  I turn around to face him. “Chase,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

  “Where’s your boyfriend?” he says with a sneer. “I thought he never let you out of his sight.”

  I swallow against the lump in my throat. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Ain’t no reason for him to act like he does unless you’re fucking him.”

  “I’m not,” I say, trying to step away from him, but he squeezes my shoulder.

  “You’re looking good,” he says, his eyes roaming up and down my body, but stopping at my chest. I cross my arms self-consciously and take a step back.

  He takes a step forward, still holding on to me.

  “Please,” I beg, my heart beating like a drum. “Leave me alone. I haven’t done anything to you.”

  Just then, a large-framed man appears behind Chase. “Is there a problem here?” he asks, using his elbow to nudge Chase’s hand from my shoulder and putting himself between us. He makes a clear path for me, so I take it without a second thought. “Thanks,” I whisper before rushing to a nearby bathroom in record time.

  I lock the door of my stall and lean against it, letting out a long breath as I get my racing heart under control. God, that was scary. Chase has never made me feel like that before. Liked a caged animal.

  I take another deep breath and dry my sweaty palms on my jeans. I found a new place to live, new friends, a new sort-of boyfriend, but I’ll never be able to escape my past. It’s always going to be there, just waiting to creep back in and steal me away from everything good when I least expect it.

  That’s the part Sherry and Brad don’t understand. It’s easy enough to tell me to move on from my past, but I can’t stop things like this from happening. I’m powerless against Chase. My mom. My shoulders droop. If they want to ruin my life, they’ll eventually find a way. Maybe not today. Maybe not next week. Maybe not until I move away from the Campbells, but they’ll find a way.

  I see Brittany’s shoes under the door to my stall. “You can come out,” she says. “He’s not coming in here.”

  I slowly unlock the door and come face-to-face with the mirror. What I see brings tears to my eyes.

  Scared, helpless Hailey.

  It’s the old me.

  One run-in with Chase and I’m right back where I was months ago. How can he do that to me? How can I let him do that to me? A tear rolls down my cheek and onto the edge of the sink.

  Michelle and Abbie join us. “He’s gone,” Michelle says. “That guy spooked him.”

  I wipe my cheek.

  “I’m strong, right?” I ask Brittany.

  She wraps me in her arms. “You are the most kickass, badass, rock-star, superhero foster kid I know. He needs to get the fuck out of your way because you’ve got plans and there’s no room for his extra baggage on the Hailey freight train. If he doesn’t, you’ll smash his useless ass into a million pieces.”

  I smile.

  One last glimpse in the mirror tells me all I need to know. I do have this. She’s right. I might need a little pepper spray to help, but I can deal with Chase and my mom. I will not be helpless Hailey ever again. I refuse to do it.

  I straighten my shoulders and take a deep breath. Brittany hugs me again, smiling at me in the mirror.

  “I just texted Adam and told him we’re ready to go. Do y’all want a ride home?” Abbie asks, catching our eyes in the mirror.

  “Let me see how much longer Gil and Gigi are going to be,” I say, fishing my phone out of my bag.

  Gigi texts back that they’ll be here at least another hour, so Brittany and I take Abbie up on her offer. Even though nothing ended up happening with Chase and I’m feeling better about myself, he did kind of ruin our fun shopping trip. Plus, it’d be nice to get back to Pinehurst and see Brad before his parents return. We’ve hardly talked at all today.

  I’m a little nervous to step into the mall again, but Adam and his friend meet us at the bathroom and walk with us all the way out to his car. If Chase is still around, he doesn’t show himself.

  “So, are you going to the game in Charlotte next Saturday?” Abbie asks when we’re just about home.

  “Yeah,” I reply with a nod. It’s the championship game—it’s not like Gil and Gigi would ever miss that. Gil could be on death’s doorstep, and he’d still have the nurses wheel his hospital bed into the stadium.

  “What about you, Brittany?” she asks.

  “I’m not sure. I’d need a ride.”

  “Why don’t y’all come with us?” Abbie says. “Michelle and I got a hotel room in the same hotel as the team. You can stay with us. It will be fun!”

  “I’m sure Gil and Gigi wouldn’t let me,” I say, shaking my head. I can’t imagine spending an entire night with Michelle.

  “They won’t care. Just ask them!”

  “It would be fun,” Brittany says, rocking her shoulder into mine.

  I give her a look, then say, “Maybe,” as I study the pine trees passing by. There’s no way I’m asking them.

  Brittany is dropped off first, and then it’s my turn.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I say with a wave to Adam as I step out of the car. I’m about to shut the door when Michelle’s legs hit the ground.

  “I have something to tell Brad,” she says, joining me outside the car.

  I glance inside to Adam, who shrugs his shoulders and gives me a sympathetic look. I roll my eyes, blow out a long breath, and then walk up the path to the doorway, completely ignoring her behind me.

  When I reach the porch, I push the lever on the doorknob to let myself inside, but it’s locked.

  Reaching into my jacket pocket, I find it’s empty. I try the other one and then both pockets of my jeans, but all I find is my phone. “Crap,” I mumble, trying the door again and then hitting the doorbell. “This day just gets better and better,” I say under my breath.

  Michelle steps up next to me as Adam pulls out of the driveway. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

  “I lost my key.”

  “I can let you in. I always water Mrs. Campbell’s plants when they go on vacation.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a key chain with five or six keys and then unlocks the door.

  I step inside and punch in my four-digit security code for the alarm, while she waits on me.

  “Well, thanks,” I say when I’m done, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t think Brad’s here.”

  She continues standing next to me. It’s like she wants me to invite her to stay, but I’ve had more than enough Michelle for one day.

  “Yep, you bet,” she says, checking her phone. “You’re right. He’s at dinner with the team.”

  My jaw clenches at her response. Are they still texting each other? How often does that happen?

  “I guess you can talk to him at school,” I say, and hold the door open a little wider. She finally takes the hint and climbs down the steps before crossing the lawn toward her house.

  After slamming the door, I fall against it and groan. Then I grab my phone.

  Why are you still texting her? I type to Brad.

  Who?

  Michelle?

  I haven’t texted her in weeks.

  You told her you were at dinner with the team.

  No.

  ARE you at dinner with the team?

  Yeah, but I didn’t tell her that. Maybe someone else did?

  That makes no sense. Why would she make it seem like she was texting with him if she wasn’t? I groan when I realize the answer—to get under my skin. Ugh. That’s exactly what she did, too.

  Sorry, I type. And congrats on the win, BTW.

  Thanks. Are you home?

  Yeah.

  Mom and Dad there?

  Not yet. I came back with Adam. They’ll probably be here in another hour or so
.

  I’ll be there in ten minutes.

  I smile at my phone as I take off my shoes and jacket. When I’m done, I reply, Good. I was hoping we could spend a little time together.

  Yeah? What’d you have in mind?

  We still haven’t played chess. I want to, but … it just hasn’t felt right. Well, being with him always feels right—very right—but I start to feel guilty when things go too far. Like I’m testing an invisible boundary and one time I’ll push it beyond its limits and everything that’s finally good in my life will come crashing down.

  Not chess, but maybe … checkers? I type.

  His response comes in not even two seconds later. I’m in.

  Do you know what checkers entails? I don’t even know what it entails since I typed it on a whim, so there’s no way he could.

  Nope.

  And you’re still in.

  Yep.

  I smile and shake my head. You should really ask for more details before you agree to something. I could totally take advantage of you.

  And that would be bad how?

  You’re okay with being taken advantage of?

  By you during checkers and chess? Hell yeah.

  I laugh at his response. Good to know.

  Excited for checkers. Driving now. See you soon.

  Not even a minute later, the phone rings.

  “Hello?” I answer, expecting Brad.

  “Please, please, let’s go to Charlotte with Abbie.” It’s Brittany’s fast-paced, excited voice.

  “You’re forgetting that Michelle will be there, too.”

  “Don’t worry about her. I’ll keep her bitchy attitude in check.”

  “You can go.”

  “I already asked my foster mom. She said only if you’re going and the Campbells are staying in the same hotel.”

  I groan.

  “Come on, Hailey. It’ll be fun. I promise.”

  I groan again, but finally say, “I’ll ask.” Brittany’s done a lot for me. If she wants to go, it’s the least I can do.

  A high-pitched squeal pierces my eardrum. When she’s done, I add, “Don’t get your hopes up, though. Gil and Gigi might be planning on driving home that night. If they are, I’ll have to go with them.”

  She squeals again and then hangs up.

  Brittany’s right—it would be fun with just Abbie. The problem is Michelle. Stupid, stupid Michelle. If she weren’t around, things would be so much easier. I’ll probably never understand what any of them see in her, although maybe every group of friends has that one annoying person they all just deal with. Like Brad always says, congruency is boring. Maybe you need a little Michelle in your circle to keep things interesting.

  CHAPTER 25

  One minute left and we’re down by four points. I don’t see any way the Patriots can pull off the win now. My heart breaks for the whole team, but especially Brad and his dream of Duke. He’s worked so hard, but it all comes down to a few seconds. A few measly seconds can reverse eighteen years of dedication.

  “Come on, Pats!” Brittany yells from beside me, bouncing up and down.

  The stands are painted in green and yellow—from clothes to signs to foam fingers—and it seems like our entire school must be here. The sound is deafening.

  They get ready for another play. I hold my breath as Brad draws back his arm, but instead of throwing it, he frantically searches for his teammates. Two players from the other team rush toward him, and I cringe, anticipating the impact. Fortunately, he tosses the ball just in time and those players change course. Unfortunately, Brad’s teammate drops the ball.

  They try again two more times, but it’s the same result.

  There are only fifteen seconds left now, and they still have a quarter of the field to go. There’s no way. Abbie must agree because I see her wipe her eyes, already resigned to the loss.

  I watch Brad in the huddle. Even though I can’t see his face, I can tell he’s yelling. His entire body is wound up with energy. He doesn’t think it’s over.

  They line up again, and Brittany grabs my hand. I grab Abbie’s, and she grabs Michelle’s. We squeeze and watch the final play of the game. Brad gets the ball, steps to the side, and a big guy runs right at him. “No!” I yell. The worst part of these games is watching him get tossed around.

  Brad must see the big guy because he changes direction, only to have someone else come after him. “Throw the ball!” I yell. Anything to prevent him from getting tackled.

  But he doesn’t throw the ball.

  He spins around, just out of the grasp of the guy who dove at him, and then he runs. He never runs. What is he doing? There are two guys from the other team in front of him. He rushes past one of them, who grabs his waist, but he shakes free and keeps running.

  Oh my God!

  Brittany starts pulling on my hand. “Go, Brad!” she yells. “Go! Go! Go!”

  He’s so close now, but there’s still one player in his way. The player lunges at Brad’s knees and I tense, hiding my eyes in my shoulder. I can’t watch.

  The deafening crowd becomes eerily silent.

  “What happened?” I ask, glancing at Brittany, still unable to look at the field. “Is Brad okay?”

  Brittany’s jaw is practically touching the ground and her eyes are as big as full moons. “What?” I ask again, tugging on her arm.

  “He just freaking hurdled that guy!” she yells. “We’re waiting on the ref.… Touchdown!” The crowd erupts in cheers and starts storming the field. We’re caught up in the wave and couldn’t resist if we wanted to. It’s like we’re on a magic carpet with a mind of its own as we’re carried down the steps and onto the field.

  Once we’re on the grass, the crowd spreads out more. “Let’s find Brad!” I yell.

  The four of us continue holding hands and search through the green uniforms, flying confetti, pom-poms, and crazy fans. Then, between two cheerleaders, I see him. His helmet is off, and he’s gripping another player’s hand in one of those man hugs, but his eyes are scanning the crowd.

  “This way,” I say, leading the girls in his direction.

  It’s clear when he spots us because he drops the other guy’s hand, pats him on the shoulder, and then heads directly for us. For me.

  “Congratulations!” I yell when we get close.

  I’ve never seen such sheer excitement on his face. He drops his helmet and rushes at me, grabbing me by the waist when he reaches me and spinning me around.

  “I’m so proud of you,” I yell in his ear.

  Just then, another player thrusts the trophy into his hands. He leans down and says, “Meet me in the lobby of the hotel?”

  I nod and step aside so he can enjoy this moment with his team. From a distance, we watch him hold the trophy overhead and scream while cameras flash and coolers of Gatorade are dumped over the players.

  I can’t even imagine what he must be feeling right now. All his work for years has paid off. He’s getting exactly what he wants. He can go to Duke.

  There’s that small, annoying part of me that feels sad about him moving away, but I push it aside. Tonight is about Brad. Only Brad.

  *

  “Hey! It’s the MVP!” someone yells as Brad enters the lobby. Everyone from the game has moved here, lingering outside and in the lobby, and on the ninth floor where the players are staying.

  My room, with Michelle, Abbie, and Brittany, is on the fourth floor. I still can’t believe Gigi agreed. They were planning on driving home after the game, but when I mentioned Abbie’s idea, she thought it sounded great and quickly booked a room for her and Gil in the same hotel.

  I’m not sure where Michelle and Abbie are right now, but Brittany, Adam, and I have been hanging out in the lobby, waiting for the team to arrive.

  Brad, freshly showered and looking as good as ever in jeans and a gray T-shirt, walks through the crowd, getting slaps on the back, high fives, and fist bumps as he passes everyone.

  “Good game, dude!” Adam says, standin
g and giving him a quick, one-armed hug when he reaches us.

  Brad gives me and Brittany hugs, too, and then says, “Party’s upstairs. Let’s go.”

  We follow him to the elevator and then take it to the ninth floor. As soon as we exit, we realize the lobby was tame compared with this. People pour from one room to another, many of them carrying red plastic cups as music blares every time a door opens.

  “This way,” Brad says, leading us down the hallway to a specific room.

  The security lock is flipped onto the doorframe with the door resting on top of it so we can easily enter. Brad clutches my hand and leads me inside, and we weave our way through all the people. We try to find a place to sit, but it takes forever to move a few feet because everyone wants to congratulate him.

  Suddenly, a piercing whistle sounds in the hallway, followed by a deep, booming voice. I can’t quite make out the words with all the music, though.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “Coach,” Brad says, turning around. “Come on.” We backtrack until we’re in the hallway again, which is noticeably emptier than it was a few moments ago. The football coach stands at the end with his hands on his hips.

  He yells, “Get your asses downstairs right now so you don’t end up in jail.” The regular students dip into the rooms away from the coach, but the football players come out, hanging their heads, and following his instructions.

  One of the guys walks past him carrying a red cup. The coach grabs the cup, sniffs it, then smacks him on the shoulder. “No booze, Sharif. Thanks to some generous parents,” he says to the other players in the hallway, “we have a nice ballroom downstairs where you can party. No alcohol. No drugs. Let’s be safe tonight.”

  The players start working their way downstairs, but the rooms are still crawling with people.

  “Campbell,” the coach says, raising his chin toward Brad, “you and Alvarez clear this place out. Pronto.”

  Brad nods. “Yes, sir.” He turns to me. “I’ll just be a minute. Do you want to wait downstairs?”

  “I’ll wait by the elevator.” I don’t tell him this, but I want to see him in action. From the first day we met, I’ve been impressed by the way he draws everyone in. They all love him. I know why I love—like, I mean like—definitely like because I can’t be thinking love—him, but it’s fascinating watching him interact with people who don’t know him as well. He’s a natural leader. It’s impressive, but also … sexy.