Gin

Clay Houser has a shit-eating grin as he walks up to our lunch table. He’s got a towel thrown over one shoulder that looks like it came from one of the locker rooms.

My stomach churns at the thought of him tossing it at my face when it has God knows what all over it. It’s been a quiet Thursday so far, with most people just ignoring me or giving me dirty looks.

“Asshole alert,” Lauren says when Clay stops at our table.

Clay sneers at her. “What’s it like for a dyke to suck dick for drugs? Bet you gag on ’em.”

She laughs bitterly. “Curious about sucking dick, Clay? There are some videos online you can watch to learn.”

Raj tries to muffle his laugh. Clay’s cheeks darken with embarrassment.

“You bunch of freaks deserve each other,” he mutters.

I put an arm out to shield my face as he starts to throw the towel, but it surprises all of us when he tosses it at Raj instead of me.

“Wrap it around your head, Osama,” he sneers.

Several football players behind him are laughing it up. Raj is trying to ignore the whole thing, but the look on his face is gutting me.

Shame. Clay Houser made Raj feel ashamed of who he is, and it sparks my temper into an instant inferno. Raj doesn’t say a mean word to anyone. His parents are dead, and the only reminder he gets of them at Roper High School is the taunting of rednecks.

I reach for the towel and get up from the table, advancing on Clay. I’m not even thinking; I’m just letting my white-hot rage guide my every move.

“Clay, I hope this towel is dirty.”

There are only a few steps between me and him now, and he’s giving me a bewildered look as I get closer. His cheering section has gone quiet.

“What are you doing?” he scoffs and looks from side to side.

My voice is ominously even. “I’m gonna shove this towel so far down your throat that you choke on it. I hope you taste ass and crotch as it goes down.”

I throw myself at him then, rubbing the towel in his face. He seems too stunned to move for a few seconds, but then he grabs my shoulders and throws me off.

“Crazy bitch,” he says under his breath.

I’m hurling myself at him for a second round when someone hooks an arm around my waist.

“Stop, Gin.”

I turn to see the assistant principal, Mrs. Metz. I take a few deep breaths, and it sets in what I’ve done.

Shit. I’m probably getting a detention. It was worth it, though. After nearly a week of merciless tormenting over that stupid rose, I boiled over. Clay’s treatment of Raj was just the last straw.

“To your office?” I ask Mrs. Metz.

She drops her hold on me. “I think that’s a good idea.”

I sulk the entire way to her office, sitting down and staying silent once we’re inside.

“Gin, what’s going on with you?” she asks, closing her office door.

Mrs. Metz seems okay. She’s a Native American woman who married a Roper guy and now finds herself working at a Podunk school in the middle of nowhere. Still, I’m not apologizing for what I did to Clay. He deserved it—and much more.

I shrug. “Just the usual. Football players thinking they own the world around here.”

She furrows her brow and sits down behind her desk. “How so?”

“Did you see what happened?”

“I just saw you lunging at Clay, and that’s so unlike you. There must have been a reason.”

“Yeah, he threw a towel at Raj and said something about him putting it on his head.”

Mrs. Metz’s expression darkens.

“Roper’s finest,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Gin, I agree with you that Clay’s behavior was unacceptable, and I will address it. But you know your response wasn’t okay either.”

“I’m tired of it.” I hold her gaze across her desk. “Football players get anything they want. They make derogatory, sexist, racist comments and everyone chalks it up to ‘our boys blowing off steam.’” I emphasize my words with air quotes.

“When those comments happen, you need to report them.”

I shake my head. “That’s a lot of reporting. And then what? They’ll get in trouble? No. They’ll get a slap on the wrist from you and a pat on the ass from their piece-of-shit coach.”

“Gin.”

I cross my arms and narrow my eyes. “I know you have to talk the talk, Mrs. Metz. Tell me what I did was wrong. But you know I’m right. And I’m not sorry for what I did. Clay’s a disgusting pig. Raj is my friend. He doesn’t stand up for himself, but I won’t just sit there while he gets treated that way. I wouldn’t let anyone be treated that way.”

Mrs. Metz nods curtly. “Just head for your next class, okay? I’ll handle Clay.”

“Do I have detention? Are you calling my mom?”

She shakes her head.

“I don’t mind if you call my mom. Just know that she may break into applause,” I say. “She might order me a cake for tonight that says, ‘Way to go, Gin.’”

Mrs. Metz is trying not to smile. “Go to class. If anyone asks, I talked the talk, okay?”

“Yeah.” I stand up and sling my backpack over my shoulder. “And I listened.”

Once again, everyone’s talking about me. All afternoon, people whisper and stare when I walk into a room or when I’m in the hallways. Apparently, they’re saying I tried to start a fight with Clay, and he refused to fight me.

He’s a real gentleman, that Clay.

I make it to the end of the school day, feeling lighter as I walk backstage in the theater. I’m working on creating abstract castle spires with my crew, and it’s not easy. We had to throw out our first attempt, which looked like tie-dyed lollipops.

My crew of three freshmen boys and one sophomore girl are all staring at me in wide-eyed silence.

“You guys, it was no big deal,” I tell them. “I didn’t fight anyone. Let’s get to work on Castle Spires 2.0, okay?”

I lean the pieces of plywood I cut yesterday up against some five-gallon paint buckets, then pass out brushes and get them going on painting the spires dark gray, which will be their base color. I’m on my knees, stirring paints to be used as accent shades when a deep voice sounds behind me.

“Reporting for duty, boss.”

I stop stirring, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. It’s Chase, but what is he doing here? I turn and give him a confused look.

“Why aren’t you at practice?”

“I’m on my way there. But when I’m done, I’m volunteering here.”

“Here as in…?”

He grins and points at the spires. “I’ll be helping you with…whatever that is.”

I lower my brows in frustration. “They’re castle spires.”

“Yeah, I figured.” His cocky grin widens, and he winks at me.

My face warms against my will. I clear my throat and return to stirring, forcing myself to look impassive.

“Okay, well…wear old clothes you don’t mind getting paint on.”

He nods and walks closer to me. “Okay. I’ll be here by five.”

I look up at him. “We’ll be waiting with bated breath.”

Another grin from him and another somersault in my stomach. I want to focus on the paint I’m stirring, but he’s holding my gaze, and I can’t make myself stop staring into his faded denim-blue eyes.

“See you soon, Gin.”

He hooks the second strap of his backpack over his arm and shrugs it all the way on, then walks away. I still can’t stop staring. I watch as he jogs down the stairs on the side of the stage.

Madison stops in the middle of the scene she’s rehearsing to say something to him. I don’t hear what it is because I’m entirely focused on Chase, but he smiles and nods at her before heading out an auditorium door.

One of the freshmen clears his throat. My attention snaps toward him, and he snickers.

“You need something?” I ask, my tone agitated.

He shakes his head. “You just looked distracted.”

“Just paint, would you? We’re behind schedule since we had to trash the first set of spires.”

“What are we doing with these? They aren’t abstract. Aren’t they supposed to be abstract?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “We’re getting there, Skippy. First, they need a base coat of gray.”

Returning to the paint I’m stirring, I take a deep breath and try to think about anything but Chase. He had to have heard that I jumped one of his teammates at lunch today and tried to stuff a towel in his mouth. But still, he showed up here with that flirty grin.

And why is he volunteering here? I’ve never seen Chase volunteer for any team or activity. The drama club often gets stuck with Jack Pearson, the loudest a-hole imaginable.

It has to be about me. I know that, and it makes my heart pound and my blood race with nervous energy. Chase is still trying to persuade me to give it up to the Roper High football team, and even though there’s a zero percent chance that will happen, I don’t mind his attention.

I pretend I mind, but deep down, I like that he texts me. My senior year is nothing like I expected it would be, but that’s been the one bright spot. Chase Matthews finally actually sees me. And when he looks at me, emotions flicker in his eyes. Sure, they range from pissed off to confounded to amused, but the point is—they’re feelings. I never thought we’d even have a conversation, and now we’ve had several.

From now on, though, I have to watch myself. No one can know I secretly like him. God, that would be humiliating. I just got busted by a freshman getting googly-eyed, and that’s very un-Gin-ish.

I’m cool AF. Calm AF. Collected AF.

I finish stirring the red paint and move on to shaking the can of purple.

He’s probably volunteering here so he can make a last-ditch effort to convince me to be his tribute tomorrow night. His plan was likely to get friendly with me during the week so I let down my guard and then make me feel like it would mean something to him if we had sex.

It’s not happening. He’ll have to give another girl a rose in the morning, and he’ll be screwing her tomorrow night.

The thought turns the churning warmth in my belly into a pile of smoldering ash.

As promised, Chase shows up backstage just before 5:00 p.m. His hair is damp like he just took a shower. When he’s a few feet away, I get a hint of a soapy smell that confirms he did.

Be cool, Gin.

“Hey,” he says in greeting.

“Hi.” I point to the brushes and paint I set out for him. “You can start with those. We need all those boards painted green. They’re going to be grass for our outdoor set.”

He nods and arches a brow playfully. “You don’t trust me with anything harder than grass?”

“Let’s see how you do with that first.” I give him a half smile.

After walking to the other side of the set building area, he looks back at me. I put him on the opposite end of me deliberately, so the freshmen are between us. I don’t need anyone else noticing how hard it is for me not to pay attention to anything but Chase when he’s around.

I’m working with Lane, one of the freshmen boys, on our abstract castle spires. No matter what we do, they won’t be Broadway quality, because they’re made of freaking plywood, but we’re doing our best. We’re trying to make them look like they’re from Van Gogh’s Starry Night.

“Like this?” Lane asks me, swirling his brush through the wet paint.

“Yeah, that’s good.”

As always, I’m listening to the rehearsal with one ear. It’s hard not to follow along and learn all the lines when you hear them repeated so many times.

“Sometimes it’s overwhelming being a prince,” Aiden, who plays Prince Charming, says. “I wish I could just say what I’m really thinking sometimes, you know?”

There’s a long pause before Madison says, “You…uh, I mean…you can?”

I turn my head to the side and feed her the next line in a loud whisper. “Can’t you? You’re the only one here who definitely won’t get beheaded for having an opinion.”

She repeats the line, and Aiden moves on with his part of the scene. I think Madison learned the first act of the play, but she struggles with the second and third acts. And her understudy, Grace, doesn’t seem to know any of it. She should be the one helping Madison remember lines, not me.

Hopefully by our opening night in a month, Madison will know the script by heart. Otherwise, it’ll be pretty painful to watch.

Lane and I finish our spires, and they look much better than our first attempt did. It’s approaching 6:00 p.m., and everyone’s packing up to leave.

“Need help cleaning up?” Chase asks me.

I glance up at him. “I’ll get it when I’m done, thanks. Great job on the grass.”

He shrugs. “It was kind of hard to mess up.” He runs a hand through his hair, now dry and back to its usual dark gold shade. “You’re not leaving?”

“I have a few things to finish up. I have to teach lessons at the Y at seven, and there’s not really enough time for me to go home in between.”

Our eyes lock, a silent spark of electricity passing between us. Is he thinking about seeing me at the Y the other night, or is that just me?

“I’ll stay and help,” he offers.

“No, you don’t have to. I don’t mind.”

“I know, I just—”

“I’m not having sex with you,” I blurt.

Lane widens his eyes and walks away. Chase gives me a sheepish grin.

“I don’t expect you to, Gin. I’m just offering my help with the painting.”

My cheeks warm with embarrassment. Where did that outburst come from?

“I know, but if you’re trying to make nice so you can bring me a rose again tomorrow…please don’t. Please. It’ll be another no. It’ll always be a no.”

Chase’s expression sobers. “I know. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Then…why are you here?”

“Yeah, why are you here?” Madison barges in between us, addressing Chase. “And what are you doing after? Want to get something to eat?”

“No, I’m not leaving yet.”

Madison looks at Chase, who is looking at me. She turns to me, then back to him, with a confused look.

“Ooookay,” she says, shrugging.

She leaves, and slowly, everyone else trickles out of the theater too. Soon it’s just Chase and me.

The bright stage lights illuminate the empty stage, so I switch them off.

“If you want to help, we can paint this last spire,” I say, passing him the brush Lane was using.

He bends to dip his brush in the paint, turning to me. “I’m sorry about what happened with Clay at lunch today.”

“It’s nothing new. Why be sorry now?”

“I’ve never condoned that kind of shit.”

I press my lips together, willing myself not to speak, but I can’t help it. I’m made to fire back.

“So gangbanging is okay, but racist jokes aren’t. Got it.”

Chase sighs softly. “Come on, Gin. I thought we kind of had a truce happening.”

“Is it over?” I set my brush down on the tarp and stand up, crossing my arms and looking down at him. “This whole me being one of the Sweet Sixteen thing, I mean. Are you guys going to ask me again or…I don’t know, jump me behind the school one day?”

He stands up, contrition on his face. “No. I’d never let that happen. I’m not as bad a guy as you seem to think.”

The aggravation in his tone makes me roll my eyes.

“Really? Because I think you lead a group of guys who gangbang a new girl every Friday night of the football season.”

Our eyes stay locked as several seconds of silence pass.

“Clay is benched for tomorrow night’s entire game,” he finally says.

“Whose decision was that? Your coach usually doesn’t give a rat’s ass how you guys treat others.”

Chase looks at the ceiling, locks his hands behind his head and laughs.

“Gin Fielding, you’re not like any other girl I’ve ever met. You drive me crazy half the time and ride my ass the rest of the time. And you say things like rat’s ass.”

My heart pounds as I make myself look dismissive. “I didn’t ask you to come here. And I don’t want to be like other girls.”

Chase puts his hands on his hips, his eyes on me. “I came here because I wanted to. I like that you aren’t like other girls. And it was me who made the decision for Clay to get benched.”

I’m taken aback. “You?”

“Coach would rather have me on the field than Clay.”

“He had to choose?”

Chase shrugs and looks out over the empty theater chairs. “I told him if it came to it, he’d have to.”

“Well, that’s…” I swallow, searching for words. “Thanks, I think. Clay’s really gonna have it out for me now, though.”

“No, he won’t. I took care of it. He won’t bother you again. Or Lauren and Raj.”

I exhale deeply. “Okay. Thanks. Though I wouldn’t have this problem if you hadn’t tried to give me that damn rose last Friday. What were you thinking, giving it to me?”

A slight smile plays on his lips. “If I could do it over again, I wouldn’t. And like I said, I’m sorry. Can we move on? Maybe…be friends?”

“I guess so. But my first order of business as your friend is to tell you that you seriously need to rethink this whole Sweet Sixteen thing.”

“It wasn’t my idea, Gin. This has been going on for years. Since the 90s, I think.”

“So what?”

He bends back down and picks up his paintbrush. “Are we gonna work on this spire?”

I glance over at the digital clock backstage. “We should clean up, actually. I need to get to the Y so I can get changed.”

We clean the brushes and seal up the paint cans. When we’re about to head out, I give Chase a heads-up about the streak of green paint on his cheek.

Oh, to be one of those girls who reaches over to wipe it off for him. I’m so not, though.

“Do you, uh…want a ride?” I ask Chase as we walk out the side door.

“Yeah, thanks.”

He barely fits in my passenger seat with his large frame. I don’t bother asking where he lives, because in Roper, everyone knows where everyone lives.

When I pull into the driveway of his house, he reaches for the door handle and then looks over at me.

“Text me when you get home later. Since we’re friends now.”

With that, he winks at me and gets out of my car.

I should really roll my eyes and make a comment under my breath. But I can’t.

My principles tell me to despise Chase Matthews, but my crush on him won’t allow it. So for now, I’ll have to stay in this weird in-between place.

Because while I secretly like him—a lot—I know what tomorrow morning is. It’s rose day.

No matter how Chase makes me feel, he’s part of something I find sickening. Even my crush isn’t strong enough to overcome how I feel about that.