She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not(5)
“I’m going to go out on a limb, and figure you just insulted me.” I shake my head. “I forgive you for that, but let me tell you, if my sister ever hears that you called her stupid, start running. She’ll wipe the floors with you.” I think Kenny just growled at me. “But, following your logic, I have question for you.” Pausing, I smile for effect. “If you’re so smart, and you’ve got it all figured out, how come you’ve responded to me every time you’ve laid eyes on me today?”
Kenny is not pleased with my assessment of her—or my response to her ridiculous logic—so I leave her to her muttering and head to my own class. Advanced Weight Training—it has not skipped my notice that Kenny’s and my schedules speak volumes about the differences in our attitudes.
I’m headed into Advanced Weight Training, she’s heading into Spanish III. I’m sure the rest of her schedule all carries the phrase Advanced Placement in front of it as well, while mine most certainly does not. Life Science is the only class I can identify that is not setting her up to rule the world.
Yet… her personality doesn’t strike me as someone who wants to rule the world. In fact, it appears she wants the world to ignore her completely, ducking out of the spotlight every time it’s remotely close to her. She’s a puzzle, and, after what I saw at lunch today, I’m determined to figure her out. Something about her… she’s gorgeous, but that’s not it—or not all of it. Something hit me today, and made me seek her out at lunch.
Since it’s the middle of January, baseball hasn’t started yet. That means two things: long days at the field, getting it ready, and long days in the gym, getting my body ready. I’m a catcher; it’s my job to be the strongest and smartest person on the field because, while everyone else takes care of their area, I take care of them.
It’s more than squatting behind the plate and hoping that my pitcher puts the ball into my mitt—it’s analyzing the batters, the runners, my players, spotting any weakness before it can be exploited and fixing it. Which might be why Kenny fascinates me so much; she doesn’t add up.
I think about her while I go through my warm-up round, then though plyometrics and agility. I get lost in the familiar motions, barely hearing the noise of other people around me until I stop to stretch, breathe, and drink water. By the time I get to wallsits with the medicine ball, I’ve got a game plan mapped out.
Whoever Kenny is, and however tough she’s pretending to be, she’s scared. I’ve seen it a thousand times. Batters who talk shit because they’re terrified of the curve. Pitchers who throw the fastball time and again because they’re trying to prove they’re enough on their own. Kenny stays removed, keeps her circle of friends to one person, and attacks the everyday nice guy because she doesn’t trust the rest of us. Why is another thing altogether, but that will take more time.
First order of business is to get her to trust me, and see that being friends isn’t an awful concept. I blow out a breath, and head to the showers when the ten-minute bell rings, reminding myself to hydrate. Tomorrow, I begin wooing Kenny, and it might just be the hardest game plan I’ve ever had to play out.
Chapter 5: Traitor
Kennedy
“Gia, I swear to God that I will make your life painful if you do not get out of that bathroom and down the stairs so we can go to school.” I slap my palm on the bathroom door to emphasize my point, swinging into Brandon’s room and digging around for the shoes he swears are lost forever. Within thirty seconds, I find one under his bed and the other in it.
I step out of his room, raising my hand to bang on the door one more time, halting at the last second when it swings open. Gia raises a light brown brow at me, perfectly posed in the doorway. At fifteen and 5’7”, she’s two years younger and already three and a half inches taller than me. I take the time to scan her outfit, noting the thin romper that’s barely made modest by the open front cardigan, left hanging off one shoulder. Since it’s better than the skirt she was barely wearing last week, I’ll take it.
I look up at her and note she’s taken the same perusal of me, no doubt horrified by the plain teal Roxy sweatshirt, jeans, and Chucks. My dark brown hair is piled into a top knot, and the only makeup I’m wearing is a smear of cherry ChapStick I got from kissing Macy when I set down her cereal this morning. Gia and I are the oldest kids, the two high schoolers who have limited time here left, but that’s about the only thing we have in common. We’re absolute opposites in every other way, from our coloring and height, all the way down to our interests and time management.
“It’s six-thirty. Bus will be here in less than fifteen minutes, and the boys aren’t done with breakfast yet. Oh, and Macy wants her hair braided.”
I don’t wait for her response—she doesn’t always like it, but Gia understands how to do her part in order to survive. Jogging down the stairs, I snag the two Spiderman, and one Elsa, backpacks from the landing, bringing them all into the kitchen with the newly discovered shoes.
The boys—Brandon and Rylon—are at the table, pretending to eat their cereal. Really, they’re just picking out the marshmallows and tossing them into each other’s mouths. Macy is standing in front of the stove, staring at her smudged reflection, curtsying and twirling in the new layered tutu dress April found her.