My ears ring.
“He’s loud,” Kirk continues. “Flashy. Fuckboy jeans. Eyeliner.”
Something cold coils in my stomach.
“And what,” Dan says carefully, “does that have to do with the game?”
Kirk’s smile widens. “Oh, come on,” he says. “You don’t put that together?”
Marco lunges forward a half step. “Stop.”
Kirk finally looks at him. “Why are you so defensive?”
Silence stretches. Then Kirk turns back to me.
“Guess it makes sense,” he says lightly. “You playing soft lately. Hanging around guys like that.”
My vision narrows, and I hear my pulse in my ears.
“Heard he goes both ways,” Kirk adds. “That true?”
Marco snaps, “Enough.”
Kirk ignores him. “Makes you wonder, right? All that time together.”
My hands clench.
“Maybe that’s why you’re so distracted,” he continues. “Hard to focus when you’re busy?—”
He doesn’t finish the sentence, because something inside me breaks cleanly and completely.
I don’t think.
I don’t plan.
I don’t calculate consequences.
I just stand and swing.
My fist connects with his jaw with a sickening crack that reverberates up my arm. Kirk staggers back, shock flashing across his face for exactly one second before rage takes over.
He comes at me hard.
His fist slams into the side of my face. Pain explodes near my eye, white and blinding. I barely feel it before Marco and Dan are between us, hands grabbing shoulders, voices shouting.
“Hey! Hey!”
“Break it up!”
Kirk thrashes, trying to get another hit in. I lunge back, adrenaline screaming through me, but someone grabs my arm, pulling me away.
The room is chaos now. Lockers rattling. Someone yells for security. Someone else swears loudly.
Coach’s voice cuts through everything like a blade. “Marshall!”
I freeze.
He’s already striding toward me, face thunderous. He takes in the scene in a single glance—Kirk being restrained, me standing there breathing hard, blood starting to trickle down the side of my face.
