Shut Out(7)

“I’m going to the library,” I murmured, scooting past him and heading toward the cafeteria doors. The whole place suddenly felt too loud, too chaotic.

I could feel the familiar panic setting in as I fought to restrain myself. I needed to get out of there.

“Come on, Lissa,” I heard him calling after me. “Don’t be mad. I’m sorry, okay?”

But I just kept walking.





chapter four


“You really expected otherwise?” Chloe asked over the phone that night when I told her about Randy and the hazing. “Come on, Lissa. That rivalry has been going on for, like, ever. Promises or not, there’s no way any of those boys are going to miss out on a chance to torture the soccer team.”

“Someone got hurt, Chloe,” I said bitterly. “Bad this time. And for no reason. There will never be a winner, so what’s the point? There is none. The fighting is stupid.”

“Maybe. But there’s no use complaining about it. It’s not like it’ll ever end.”

When I first became friends with Chloe Nelson last year, after Randy and I started dating, I wasn’t sure what to think of her. I heard she’d slept with two-thirds of the boys on the football team. I’d thought she was kind of a slut at first—that’s what everyone called her—but we became friends fast. Faster than I did with any of the other football girlfriends.

Don’t get me wrong—the other girls seemed okay, but I hadn’t entirely trusted any of them. Not with my secrets and not with my boyfriend.

But in a weird way, I’d known I could trust Chloe.

I also knew that she was right.

This stupid little war would never end on its own. But I had to do something. I just had to.

“I’m sorry for bitching,” I told her. “It’s just… It’s getting out of hand, you know? It’s too chaotic. Too out of control. And even before that kid got hurt, it was getting in the way of my relationship. I mean, he just forgets about me anytime the feud comes up. I hate it.”

“Have you tried telling him that?” Chloe asked.

“Sort of…”

Chloe sighed. “Lissa.”

“I know. You don’t have to lecture me.”

“Too bad. I’m going to anyway.” She took a deep breath. “You need to tell Randy how shitty this whole thing makes you feel. I know you like to be Little Miss Ice Queen and stay cool and aloof and whatever, but he’s your boyfriend. You need to relax for once in your life and just let him know that this hurts your feelings.”

“I know, I know. It’s just… It’s hard. I want to, but I always seize up. I mean, we just got back together a few weeks ago.”

“Maybe you two broke up because you weren’t open enough with him.”

That so wasn’t why we broke up. But I would never tell anyone, not even Chloe, the real reason.

“God damn it, Lissa. You know, you are the only person who can make me sound like a f*cking Hallmark card. Just talk to him, all right?”

“Fine.”

“Good. He’ll probably be nicer to you than I am, anyway.”

“I like it when you’re mean.”

“Meow,” Chloe said. “Oh, baby.”

I laughed. She was really the only person who could get me this loosened up. If anyone else made the jokes she did, I would get so uncomfortable. Not with Chloe, though.

“I hate this, Chloe. Instead of it being just me and Randy, lately it’s been me and Randy and the entire soccer team.”

“Bow-chika-wow-wow. That sounds like a good thing to me.”

“God, Chloe.”

“Sorry. I couldn’t resist.” She giggled.

“You know what I mean, though, right? It’s—”

Plink.

I frowned and stood up from my desk chair, carrying my cell phone with me to the window.

“Lissa, you there?”

“Yeah. Just a second, Chloe.” I covered the receiver and leaned against the cool glass of the window, staring into the semidarkness below.

Plink, plink!

The pebbles hit the other side of the glass, right where my nose was pressed. I squinted, trying to make out the figure standing in the bushes by the edge of my house. The orange glow of the streetlamp fell across sandy hair and a blue T-shirt. Both were unmistakable. Randy had about a million Hamilton Panthers shirts in his drawers. Football pride and all that.

I put the phone back to my ear. “Chloe, I have to go. Randy’s outside. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Have fun,” Chloe teased. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“There isn’t anything you wouldn’t do.”

“That’s the point.”

“Good night, Chloe.”

After tossing the phone onto my bed, I flipped the latch and pushed the window open, careful to move the screen aside before leaning into the warm late-August air.

“You are such a cliché,” I hissed down at Randy.

“Clichés work, though, don’t they?”

“What do you want?” I asked.

“I’m proving it.”

“Proving what?”

“Friday night,” Randy reminded me. “You told me to prove that you meant more to me than the rivalry. I’m here to prove it.” He whipped out a small bouquet of flowers from behind his back and looked up at me with a hopeful gaze, the light from the lamppost glinting off his brown irises. “I’m sorry about today. I want to make it up to you. See?” He waved the bouquet a little, making sure I didn’t miss it.