Page 87 of Playing with the Heartbreaker

CHLOE

Life looks a little different now that Rhoads and I are official, going on a month. For one, my friends don’t spend every waking moment hounding me about him. For two, I’m getting a lot more dirty looks from girls in the hallway when they see us holding hands.

I just roll my eyes and move on.

Swooning girls? Where?

The soccer trophy arrived, and it’s now displayed in its full glory in the case near the weight room along with a newspaper article all about our win and a team photo of us all cheesing like there’s another prize for who can show the most teeth.

Now that it’s nearly subzero temps, Rhoads and I quit training outside during free period. Instead, we’ve been playing Mario Kart. I even beat him twice.

Now, the semester is nearly over and the event I’ve been dreading has arrived. Funny, though, I’m not dreading it anymore.

“Are you sure you want to go?” I ask Rhoads. “We don’t have to.”

We’re dressed in our formal wear—both of us this time—and standing in Jenson’s hospital room. He’s sleeping now. Or he’s faking it, so we’ll leave. We have been here a while. With all the physical therapy he’s had today, I’m sure he’s exhausted.

“I think it’s time I give Jenson a little room to breathe. And have a little fun.” He smiles, a genuine one. It’s like telling me about this hurt has lifted a veil. I can see the whole of him shining through. “Plus, having my girlfriend beside me feels nice.”

I kiss his cheek. “It’s good to be here.”

“Gross,” Jenson groans from the bed.

“I knew you weren’t sleeping,” Rhoads says.

“I would be if some people would get out of here.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll hold down the fort.” Candace crunches her snack, licking orange dust off her fingertips and flipping the TV on.

Jenson pulls the blanket down enough to glare at Candace. “I’m really fine here alone. Honestly, I’d prefer it. You’re the loudest eater I’ve ever met.”

Candace ignores her brother. “I’ll let you know if anything happens. I promise. Oh, here. Take something for the road.”

She hands me a silver cellophane package.

“Cinnamon?” I ask.

She screws up her face in mock horror. “I’m sorry? What did I do to offend you so much?” She laughs. “Not in a million years. It’s s’mores.”

“You are the best,” I say.

“You know what? I kind of am. Now go on.” She shoos us out the door.

* * *

Blue LEDs light the tunnel made of fake snowflakes that lead into the school gym. Inside, a forgettable pop song blares from the DJ booth, colored lights flashing here and there and illuminating the pulse of bodies already dancing. If what they’re doing can be called dancing. Suddenly I wish we hadn’t come. That instead we’d gone to Peggy’s for hash browns or even just to Coffee Jungle to hang out in the canopy of the Tree House. Anywhere but the site of the last dance’s humiliation.

A few weeks of not totally hating Graham hasn’t changed our past, hasn’t changed my memory of the last dance I attended. Though I’ve made steps forward, being here still sends a wave of nausea into my stomach.

I shake my head, take a deep breath, and grab Rhoads’s hand, dragging him into the gym.

It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dimness, but when they do, I can’t help but marvel at the decorations. Charlotte has outdone herself this year. Posters and memorabilia dating back to Cardinal Ridge’s inaugural year trace the school’s history around the perimeter of the gym. A glistening globe catches my eye on a table filled with yearbooks. I pull Rhoads toward it.

“This looks familiar.” I pick it up and turn it over. Cobalt glitter falls from the top of the snow globe, shining among the tiny sports balls and die-cut numbers, commemorating Cardinal Ridge’s championship years. I smile as I catch sight of this year.

I bob the globe back and forth in my hands. Another number catches my eye, but it’s different from the rest. “Cardinal Ridge didn’t win a championship in 1960.”

“It doesn’t say 1960, does it?” A mischievous glint shines in Rhoads’s eyes. He winks.