“How is this funny?” Nix frowns. “Mav, got his ass beat.”
“Dude, it was Cocoa.” Dee chortles, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “She did this to him. That girl’s a firecracker.”
Nix’s mouth forms a shocked “O.” I clench my jaw, ready to throttle Dee.
“Did she take a baseball bat to your head?” he quips.
I step in his direction and he scurries to the other side of Nix’s car.
“Shit.” He hunches over, holding his midsection. “My stomach hurts.”
“Are those scratches?” Nix asks, titling his head to the side. “Looks like you were attacked by a cat.”
I shoot daggers at him. “You want to join Dee in his ass whooping?”
“Sorry,” he says quickly, trying not to laugh. “I don’t want no smoke.”
“We’ll chump her up for you,” Dee offers with faux seriousness in his voice. “Just say the word. We can’t have a girl beating up our two-hundred-pound football player friend.”
They erupt in laugher.
“Fuck you both,” I snap and stomp towards the building.
“Wait, Mav,” Nix calls. “Where you going? We’re only joking.”
“Did you cry afterwards?” Dee hollers.
I go to physics and eagerly await Cocoa’s arrival, but she doesn’t show. By lunch, my temper surpasses boiling point. I storm into the cafeteria and zero in on the table where she usually sits. Her friends are there, but she’s absent. I swiftly make my way over to them. I know she came to school today. After second period, I checked the parking lot and saw her car.
“Where is she?”
“Who?” Jamal asks.
I grab him by the shirt. “Don’t fucking play with me!” I yell.
“We don’t know,” Lucy squeaks. “She wanted to eat lunch alone.”
In agitation, I bound outside to search for her. I’m gonna blow any second. The nippy temperature does little to cool my disposition. Fuck it. I’m going to her house. Then I spot her, sitting in her car and hastily duck behind a tree to avoid being seen. My heart rate instantly slows, and my anger evaporates. The mere sight of her calms the beast within me. This is what she does to me. I watch her for a few minutes before heading back inside to lie in wait for her.
“You’re such a wuss.” I sigh, popping the last piece of bologna sandwich into my mouth.
I took the high road and got to school late on purpose to avoid Maverick, even going so far as to eat lunch in my car. I’ll deal with him tomorrow and ask Mr. Barnes for makeup work. Right now, I’m still reeling from Saturday night. I literally spent yesterday in bed recovering.
Bruises dot my torso, arms, and legs. Thankfully, my long-sleeve shirt and thigh-high stockings cover them. I had a knot on my forehead too, but ice helped with that. But my neck is a different story. This morning, I liberally applied foundation to hide his handprint and the huge freaking hickey he left. Oh, and my house key is missing from my key ring and I’m betting Maverick took it.
Now before going to bed I lock my bedroom door and wedge a chair underneath the doorknob for added safety. Needless to say, it’s been difficult falling asleep. I turn the heat up another notch. This weather is driving me nuts. I miss California so hard. Me and the cold don’t mix well at all. Winter hasn’t even officially started yet. I’m doomed. I glance at the clock on the dashboard. Lunch ends in fifteen minutes. I better head inside. I quickly polish off the rest of my ranch-flavored potato chips and Mountain Dew, then gather my trash.
“Just a few more hours,” I mutter, throwing my cell phone in my fanny pack.
I shut off the engine and exit the car. I’m ecstatic Thanksgiving break is next week. On Monday, I’m driving to Fort Washington. No Maverick for seven whole days. I toss my trash in the garbage bin on the sidewalk and go into the building. I speed walk to my locker. The last thing I want is to be caught in the hall when the bell rings. Strong arms encircle me, and I’m dragged into a classroom.
It happens so fast I don’t have time to react. There are boxes everywhere and a couple desks—nothing more. I whirl around the instant I’m let go.
“You can’t keep doing this, Maverick.” I stomp my foot. “I’m not yours. You said I was at the movie theater, but I’m not.”
His muscles tense. “Yes, you are.”
“Are you in la-la land?” I throw my hands up. “We haven’t had one civil conversation since meeting.”
