Shut Out(6)

“I’m not surprised,” he said. “Seems like I should have hired you as a tutor, huh?”

“I doubt even I could have saved you if radii are beyond your comprehension.” The joke slipped out before I realized it.

“True,” he said, stepping a little closer to me. “But if I’d been smart enough to hire you, maybe I would have been smart enough to learn the material.”

I was fighting off a smile when I saw Randy coming up behind Cash. That killed the smile. And in a weird way, I was grateful. It made me uncomfortable to be so comfortable around Cash.

Though I also didn’t want to be present for the drama that was about to unfold.

“Hey, loser,” Randy snapped. “Leave my girl alone.”

Heat flooded my cheeks as Cash’s face darkened and he turned to face Randy. “Sorry. I didn’t realize Lissa was your property.”

“Don’t get an attitude with me,” Randy said. “I’ll kick your ass right here and—”

“Randy, stop,” I hissed, sliding around Cash to stand between them. “Don’t do something you’ll regret. There are teachers around.”

Randy glared up at Cash, who was at least two inches taller. “If he’s messing with you, I’ll beat the shit out of him.”

But I knew it wasn’t about me. Had Cash been any other guy—played any other sport—Randy wouldn’t have left his seat. He really wasn’t a jealous or possessive boyfriend most of the time. This was one hundred percent about the rivalry and the fact that Cash played soccer. I was just serving as a good excuse for a fight to break out.

And I certainly wasn’t okay with that.

“I wasn’t messing with anyone,” Cash said. “I was coming up here to get a fork”—he pointed at the silverware container by the tray rack—“when I accidentally bumped into her.” He used the same hand to gesture to me. “I was just making sure she was okay. Didn’t realize that was crossing the line. Next time, I’ll just let her fall into the trash cans, if that’ll make you feel better.”

“You being a smartass?” Randy growled.

“Randy, come on,” I demanded, tugging at his arm. “You’re embarrassing me. Just let it go.”

Randy resisted for a second before finally relenting and letting me pull him away. “Prick,” he muttered after we’d taken about three steps.

“Yeah, he is,” I said, though I was sure we had very different reasons for thinking so.

“Randy, hold up.”

Despite my efforts to keep dragging him forward, Randy turned around to face Cash again. “What?”

I glanced over my shoulder and watched as Cash took a step forward. “I don’t know if you heard, but Pete went to the hospital last night. Tore his ACL after that stunt you and your buddies pulled yesterday. He won’t be able to play all season. Hope you’re proud of yourself.”

I froze. What?

Randy shrugged, and Cash turned and walked away.

“Come on,” Randy said to me. “The library can wait, right? Let’s go sit down and—”

“What stunt?”

“Huh?”

“What ‘stunt’ did you and your buddies pull?” I asked. “What is Cash talking about? How did Pete tear his ACL?”

Randy looked away from me, his eyes darting around for a second before finally coming to rest on the floor. “Nothing,” he said. “I mean, we didn’t do anything to the kid. It’s his own fault. He should have known not to run through the woods when it was so dark, and—”

“We?” I repeated. My hands balled into fists at my sides. “Randy, two days ago you promised me you weren’t going to get involved with that stuff.”

“Lissa, lighten up. It’s no big deal,” he assured me.

“You promised me,” I whispered. I wanted to yell—I was angry enough—but my voice just wouldn’t rise. “You promised me you wouldn’t get involved. Now that kid won’t be able to play all season because of you.”

“I swear it isn’t a big deal. Besides, it’s his own fault. He got hurt when he tried to run away from us.”

“What were you going to do to him if he didn’t get away?” Randy started to open his mouth, but I quickly shook my head. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. It doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is that a poor freshman is in the hospital now, and no matter how you try to excuse it, you lied to me.”

“He’ll be fine,” Randy said, shrugging. “I don’t see why you’re freaking out so much.”

I just stared at him. After more than a year, I thought we were past this. Past the lying and promise-breaking. After more than a year, I thought he understood me better than anyone. Maybe I was wrong.

An injury kept my father from ever playing sports again. Rationally, I knew that Pete’s situation was nothing like Dad’s, but to me, it didn’t matter. The fact that Randy’s actions—the entire football team’s actions—had hurt someone, ruined someone’s season, made me sick. This was bigger than just an egging or a few shouts across the lunchroom. This was dangerous.

And Randy, the one person I trusted to understand my feelings on this, thought I was “freaking out.” That was the worst part of all. Worse, even, than having him break his word to me.