“At least I don’t look like a walking douchebag.”
I moved to my car, but suddenly he clamped a hand around my arm and jerked me around.
I stumbled half a step before breaking free. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
He smirked. “Or what?”
My hands curled into fists. “Try it again and find out.”
His grin grew wider. “You really want to do this?”
“No,” I replied flatly. “But you seem like the type who needs to learn the hard way.”
He apparently didn’t like that answer because he reached out and shoved me hard. I staggered back a step, but the moment he stepped forward again, I swung and hit him on the side of the jaw. His head snapped back, and he stumbled into the side of a parked car.
For a split second, he just stood there with a shocked expression on his face. Then he lunged at me and swung. I ducked and punched him in the stomach. He grunted and yanked my hoodie, throwing me to the side, where my cheek hit the side mirror of the car.
Pain exploded behind my eye.
I shoved him back and threw another punch, connecting again. He wobbled a bit.
Then someone shouted from across the lot. “Hey! Break it up!”
Westly wiped blood from his lip and glared at me. “This isn’t over,” he spat, then took off with his friends.
Not wanting to get into trouble for fighting again, I hopped into my car and drove off. At a red light, I flipped my visor down and checked myself in the mirror. It didn’t look too bad, but when I pressed my fingers against my cheek, I knew I’d have a bruise there soon.
Later that evening,I was lying on my bed with an ice pack pressed against my face when I got a text from Rowan:
Where’d you disappear to? You left before the game was over
Turns out baseball really isn’t my thing
Well thanks for trying I guess
Now I felt like an asshole. It wasn’t his fault that Westly and his buddies ruined the game for me.
Want to come over and play video games? My dad isn’t home and my mom’s in her room for the night
Give me a few and I’ll be right there
Just like when I went to his house, he knocked on my window instead of going to the front door. I pushed it open, and he climbed inside. He took one look at my face and froze. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s not nothing.” He stepped closer, getting a better view of my cheek.
“It’s just a bruise.” I moved to my bed and sat down.
“How did you get it?”
“I tripped,” I lied.
“You tripped?”
“Yep.”
“Into someone’s fist?”
