Dare You To (Pushing the Limits, #2)(39)

The bell rings and my teacher’s expression gives new meaning      to the term wrathful. A couple more      pounds of chains settle in my stomach. I’ve gone and done it—I’ve broken Scott’s      rules in a very public fashion. How could I do this to Mom?

“Ms. Risk,” she calls from her desk as the rest of the class      files out. I go, knowing the level of shit I’m in is too deep for her to allow      an audience. “Let’s discuss a few rules.”

She “discusses” for a long time, and when she finally lets      me go, I race down the stairs. Scott made it perfectly clear I was never to miss      my bus. The idling buses greet me through the window when I reach the bottom      floor. I have seconds before they leave.

A high-pitched whistle catches my attention. Ryan leans      against the last locker with a shit-eating smirk on his face. He lifts his right      hand and shows me his palm. Written there is the word that makes me want to      vomit: can.

The buses roll out of the lot. Ryan withdraws his hand, and      strides out the door.





Chapter 21

Ryan

DEEP, THROATY LAUGHTER fills      the school’s weight room when Chris rips off the Kick Me sign Logan planted on      his back. The laughter grows when Chris wads the paper up, throws it at Logan,      and flips him off.

“All right, girls.” Coach bangs his hand against one of the      lockers to gain our attention. “I’ve got this week’s study hall list.”

The laughter switches to groaning. Coach is serious about our      grades. Each week he pesters our teachers for a progress report and if he sees      our grades slightly teeter, we end up in after-school tutoring. I wipe my hands      on a towel and prepare to lie back to finish my reps. I’m no Logan, but I keep      my grades at a decent level.

“Allen, Niles, and Jones.”

Chris tilts his head back and moans. “Damn science.”

I snap the towel at him. “Have fun.” Nothing can lower this      mood. I finally got the better of Beth. And it’s about damn time. No one has      bested me this long.

“Screw you, Ryan.” Without another glance, Chris leaves the      room.

“Stone!” calls Coach.

“Yeah?”

Coach stares at me oddly and hitches a thumb in the direction      Chris just went. “Study hall.”

“For what?” My grades are fine.

He shrugs. “Your English teacher requested you.”

Back talk will get me push-ups or laps, so I suck up any      commentary and head out of the room and down the empty hallways. When I finally      reach study hall, I’m immediately greeted by Chris’s chuckles. He leans back in      his chair, ignoring the science book in front of him. “My life just got      better.”

If it weren’t for the tutors and teachers in the room, I’d tell      him where to shove it.

“Over here, Ryan.” Mrs. Rowe waves at me as if I’m across a      stadium. Her hair has a green tint today. I acknowledge her with a movement of      my chin and walk over to her desk.

I slide into the chair next to her. “I passed the quiz and I’ve      turned in my papers.”

Her hand flutters in the air. “Oh, you’re not here because of      your grades.”

My eyes narrow as my muscles tighten. “Then why am I here?”

She shuffles through a stack of papers, searching for      something. Possibly her mind. “Your coach said we could request you for any      academic reason. It doesn’t have to be a bad reason. Stop being so      pessimistic.”

Pessimistic? “I’m missing weight training.”

“So you are,” she says as she pulls my George the zombie tale      out of the stack. “You haven’t turned in your paperwork for the writing      competition. What you should be worried about is missing your opportunity at a      college scholarship. If you win this competition, you’ll receive money toward      any Kentucky school of your choice. It’s not a full scholarship, but it’s      something.”

“I’m not going to college,” I say plainly.

She freezes and stares at me as if I’d announced her impending      death. “Why not?”

I gesture at my shirt. Is this lady for real? “I’m a      ballplayer. I’m going to play ball.”

“You can play ball at college. Ryan....” She falters, then      places my story in front of me. “This is the most magnificent piece of writing      I’ve seen from a high school student. Ever. Have you considered that you’re more      than a ballplayer?”