“Technicalities.” The warning bell rang, pulling us from our conversation. I glanced at the door again, but she had already disappeared inside.
“Let’s go before Coach decides we need a pre-practice lap around the entire goddamn school,” Rodney said, pushing off the wall. He was trying so hard to fill Mac’s shoes, as the new LB1. The whole team was meeting at the field. As we made our way toward the locker rooms to stash our stuff, the conversation turned toward the weekend.
“We still good for Friday?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Dalton replied. “I heard Lindsay’s throwing something at her place. Her parents are out of town.”
“Doesn’t she have a boyfriend?”
Dalton shrugged. “She certainly didn’t seem to when she was all over me the other day.”
Diego made a sound of disgust. “Man, seriously?”
“Relax, Saint Diego,” Dalton teased. “We can’t all be pious little virgins.”
“I’m not—Jesus. I’m just not a jackass.”
“That’s because he’s got eyes for one girl,” I grinned, elbowing him. “What was her name again? Maria? That one chick Miranda’s always being a bitch to?”
Diego flushed, immediately defensive. “I do not—look, I barely know her.”
“But you want to.”
“Bet she does,” Rodney said with a smirk.
Diego groaned and shoved open the locker room door. “I hate you all.”
“Hey, didn’t your dad say he needed help at the clubhouse this weekend?” I directed the question over my shoulder as I opened my locker.
“Yeah. Saturday morning. Didn’t say for what, though.”
“Cool. I’ll be there. Got nothing better to do.”
“Same. If I survive this week,” Diego grumbled.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of classes and Coach barking about footwork. I didn’t see the blonde again, though Dalton and Diego proudly informed me they had discovered her name from one of the cheerleaders always hanging around us. Holly McCarthy. From California, of all places. Fitting. At the end of the lunch hour, we made our way back inside. There was some sort of commotion over by the stairs.
“Miranda’s on the warpath again,” Dalton muttered. Diego’s face darkened, his brow furrowed. We all knew Miranda’s preference for victim. And whether he admitted it or not, it bothered the hell out of the guy. Sure enough, Maria wascowered back against the wall. But, much to my surprise, she wasn’t the one Miranda had her attention on.
Malibu. Again.
Standing tall. Standingloud. Miranda’s nose was about an inch from Malibu’s. And the chick didn’t seem the least bit fazed. The crowd parted a bit, allowing us close enough to see her raise one eyebrow in a quiet challenge. Oh, cat fight.
“Did she just call Miranda a pick-me bitch?” Diego asked, leaning a bit closer to the two girls who looked about a second away from tearing each other’s faces off.
“I think she did,” Dalton cocked his head, watching the drama unfold.
I crossed my arms and watched as Malibu, aka Holly McCarthy, verbally dismantled the most feared girl in the school without blinking. That same sharp tongue that had laid into me, ripping Miranda to bits. The crowd was eating it up. Miranda looked like she might explode. Holly? She didn’t flinch.
I shook my head as Miranda stormed off, Holly watching her go with a gleam in her eye. “Still don’t like her,” I muttered. “But damn. She’s got balls.” My friends all nodded in agreement, and with that, we headed to third period.
Chapter Five
? Holly ?
A few months later, Maria and I were sitting in my room. Next week was finals, and, after that, the blessed relief of Christmas break. The first time I brought Maria home, my mother nearly hit the floor. I could see the emotions at war on her face. On one hand, I had made a friend. On the other, said friend dressed in faded thrift store T-shirts and beat-up sneakers. Maria won her over pretty quickly, though, showing up at our front door with a plate of hojarascas. Since then, much to my dismay, Mom has treated her like a charity case. Maria hasn’t seemed to mind though, and has become very good at fending off my mother.
She was droning off about science and reading from one of the many textbooks scattered around us.
