Looking to Score(60)

“I can’t believe it’s really you. I mean, last time we saw you, you were—”

“Fat and running across the president’s lawn,” Chuck interrupted with a booming laugh.

Ice filled my veins. It was insane how easily he insulted me. “What did you just say about my girlfriend?” Oakley growled.

Chuck glanced at Oakley, then did a double take. “You’re Oakley Davis. You play for UT, right?”

“We really need to go,” I said again before jerking out of Legacy’s grip.

“You’re dating this guy now?” Chuck asked before tipping his head back and laughing. “Here, let me airplay it to the flat screen. I’m pretty sure I have it saved.”

Before I could stop him, Oakley lunged after Chuck. He was fast, but not fast enough to get the phone before Chuck had cast the video to the biggest screen in the frat house. I watched in horror as my lumpy and dimpled ass filled the screen. Everyone had gone silent, even the DJ stopped the music to watch.

I couldn’t actually remember that night, but I had seen this video hundreds of times. I had watched it obsessively when it was circulating around USC a few months ago. I knew the whole fucking video by heart, but seeing Oakley watch it made me feel the same way as the very first time I saw it.

My stomach dropped as naked Amanda happily ran through the grass singing USC’s fight song. Legacy was laughing, both in the video and standing right next to me. I started tossing my cookies right onto the president’s slippers, tits heaving with each retch, and Legacy’s voice filled the room: “Oh my God, she’s such a sloppy mess. So fucking pathetic,” followed by more giggling. “Look at her ass jiggle.”

“See? That’s why I didn’t recognize you, I was looking for that fat ass.” Chuck sneered at me when the video cut off. Chuck moved forward and pinched my stomach. Hard. I gasped and swatted him away, but he refused to move.

“Leave her alone,” Oakley yelled.

“What? She likes it,” Chuck said with a hard laugh before grabbing my throat and squeezing hard. “She likes being pushed around and teased. She’s desperate. Or at least she was. Doesn’t matter how much weight she loses, Amanda Matthews will always be nothing more than a fat, pathetic bitch.”

This time, I couldn’t stop Oakley. His fist connected with Chuck’s jaw, and Chuck fell backward, yanking him off of me. He was back up again before Oakley could land the next punch, and he started swinging wildly in an attempt to defend himself.

The whole frat house went wild with coeds chanting, “Fight! Fight! Fight!” Phones were being whipped out faster than dicks on Tinder.

“Oakley!” I yelled. “Stop, he isn’t worth it!”

Oakley threw one last punch, blackening Chuck’s eye before we heard the police sirens.

Fuck. Fuckity Fuck Fuck.

I grabbed Oakley’s arm, hoping to pull him out of the room so we could escape, but the crowd grew thicker. The video of me was on loop, and I felt the familiar vise of a panic attack closing my throat. “We...we have to l-leave,” I croaked out as Oakley wiped the blood on his knuckles off on Chuck’s shirt.

“Breathe, baby,” he said over the loud shouts as uniformed officers ran inside the frat house. A pair of cops took one look at Chuck, who was out cold, and started putting Oakley in cuffs.

My lungs felt like they were filling with sand. My eyes watered as I willed my voice to work. “Please don’t take him,” I choked out, but it sounded like more of a whisper.

“Oh my God, she looks like she’s going to puke again,” Legacy shouted.

Strong arms wrapped around me, and I was guided outside by a female officer. “Someone call the paramedics,” she said into her radio. No. I didn’t need paramedics. I needed to get to Oakley. “Sit down on the concrete and put your hands over her head.”

I helplessly did what she said as she spoke into her radio again. Outside, blue and red lights flashed across the pavement. My throat kept closing up. My vision was speckled with anxiety. “I think it’s a panic attack,” another officer said.

I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again only to see Oakley thrashing against the cops holding him so he could get to me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as they forced him into the car. And when the door was slammed shut, locking him inside, my chest constricted.

“Fuck,” I croaked.

“Hey, girl,” the female officer said, sounding impatient. “Who do I need to call for you?”

I tilted my head back and let the events of the night swallow me whole. “Call Coach Howard.”





I was sitting on a bench outside the police station when Coach Howard emerged from his car. He refused to acknowledge me, though we had locked eyes. It was four in the morning. The remnants of my panic attack still rocked me to my core, and I couldn’t shake the impending sense of doom traveling up my spine. Everything was ruined. Everything.

I continued to sit outside, waiting for word. The police officers got my statement, and I made sure to tell them about Chuck grabbing me. They asked if I wanted to press charges for assault, and I told them yes. I was tired of letting people from my past run all over me. I wasn’t the same girl that left a crying mess. And I certainly wasn’t going to let him get away with tormenting me any longer. Besides, it would help Oakley’s case if a judge knew he was defending me. I didn’t even have to be a good publicist to know that.