Ruin(13)

“It’s more of an instruction card.” I waved her off. “Clearly he’s trying to push me out of my shell.”
“Well, you are kind of like a hermit. And you did grow up in—” She paused “What’s the name of that rock you lived under? The one with one store?”
I sighed. “Bickelton.”
“Right. There.” She shook her head. “You need to get out and live. Methinks that Weston Michels thinks so too…”
“But—” I didn’t want to sound lame. Insecurity won over, making my voice shaky. “Why me?”
“Why not you?” She threw the letter onto the table. “You’re beautiful and you sparked his interest. Does there have to be a reason?”
“There’s always a reason,” I explained. “Guys like that don’t just pay attention to girls like me.”
“Girls like you are the reason guys like him exist.” Lisa smiled warmly. “You don’t see yourself how others see you. Maybe he sees more than you do when you look in the mirror. Whatever it is, don’t brush him off. He’s making an effort, and if I were you, I’d say thank you to God in my prayers tonight.”
I smiled. “Maybe I will.”
“Great.” She stood abruptly and stretched. Something glittered beneath her shirt — was that a belly ring? “Now, let’s get ready for our first class!” She did a little dance and ran off to her room, leaving me with my coffee and my note.



Chapter Eleven

Drugs suck. Getting hit by a three hundred pound lineman? Yeah, sucks way harder.

Weston
“Michels!” Coach Jackson yelled. “Where’s your head this morning, huh? Focus!”
Right. Focus. Stop thinking about red hair and mega-watt smiles and what that smile would feel like if it was directed at me again, and that red hair again running through my hands, and—
“Michels!” The football snapped just in time for me to grab it and finish the play. I seriously needed to stop getting so distracted by her. What the hell was wrong with me?
By the time practice finished I had enough bruises to last me a lifetime, not the best sign for a quarterback.
“Where were you today?” Brad asked throwing off his clothes and jumping into the shower.
“Not present,” I grumbled doing the same.
“Right.” He snorted. “Better get present if we want that bowl game this year.”
I hated talking about the future. What was the point anyway? I nodded and gave him a gruff. “Yeah, you’re right.”
Once I was done showering, I went to one of the many school coffee shops and grabbed a protein shake. Two classes and then I could see Kiersten. She would have read my note by now, so she was either pissed or smiling. I hoped she was smiling. In fact, I hoped that when she woke up and read the note, she’d forget all about how to frown.
****

“Lunch.” I pushed a pile of food toward Kiersten and watched for a minute as she examined it with distaste. “You have to eat.”
“Not hungry.” She pushed the tray away and crossed her arms over her stomach.
“Bad first few classes?”
She glared.
I held up my hands. “Wanna talk about it?”
“I can’t.” Her face flushed as she looked around the cafeteria. Most everyone was staring at us as if we’d just announced we were going to adopt one of Brad Pitt’s twenty children.
“I’ll take care of it.” I sighed and sent a quick text to James. He hated covering for me, but at least it got people to stop gawking. I watched him across the cafeteria. He looked at his phone, scowled, and then threw his newspaper onto the table. In an instant he was walking toward us, after two or three strides he collapsed onto the floor.
Everyone gasped.
“Okay, so now they aren’t staring.” I nodded to Kiersten, “What happened in class?”
“Is he all right?” She pointed at James.
“Low blood sugar.” I looked away for a brief moment and cleared my throat. “So class?”
“Should we, like, call someone?” She pulled out her cell. I grabbed her wrist and shook my head. “He’ll be fine in about ten minutes or as long as it takes for you to tell me your story.”
“O-okay.” She kept staring at James but at least she was talking. “I raised my hand in class, but the professor reprimanded me for correcting him.”
I winced.
“And I made two new friends.”
I smiled.
She didn’t.
“Let’s just say they’re a bit more friendly than you.”
I swear I saw two deaths by my hands. “Who were they? Did they touch you? Hurt you? I’ll kill them, seriously. I’ll—” I stood and started frantically looking around the cafeteria for any punk freshman that was staring at her cross-eyed.
“Sit down.” She pulled me to my seat and shook her head. “I told them I had a boyfriend, case closed.”
“I meant friends who were girls.” Blood roared in my ears. “Not guys.”
“Well?” She threw her hands into the air in frustration. “They were the only two people that approached me.”
“I bet they were,” I grumbled.
“Wes?”
She called me Wes.
I could die happy.
Most people called me Wes. I hadn’t told her it was okay. It seemed natural. It’s how I’d signed my note.
I was turning into a chick.
My smile grew as her eyes narrowed.
“What?” she asked.