After lunch I headed straight to the girls' locker room for gym. But the gym teachers hadn't unlocked the locker room yet so, anyone who was there was forced to sit and wait outside in the hall. I had Pre-Calc with Jet last period and I couldn't wait for the end of the day. Sliding my back against the wall, I sat down, placing my bag with all my new notebooks and folders beside me.
"Hey."
It was the absolute last voice I wanted to hear.
"Four classes together? What are the odds?"
Trying to get rid of the grimace on my face, I looked up at Brad. He was smiling down at me like he was my best friend—like he wasn't someone who had just lied to all my friends.
"I never invited you to sit with us," I said. I don't know why I said it—maybe it was my frustration and annoyance with him—but I didn't regret it.
If he was surprised by my comment, he didn't show it. "But you should have," he said.
I couldn't contain my surprise at his remark. Had he really just said that? Arrogant much?
When I didn't say anything, he continued, "I'm the new kid. It would have been the right thing to do to invite me to sit with you and your friends at lunch. I made you look like a better person in front of them by telling them you did that."
A better person? He had actually convinced himself that he had lied for my benefit? I was speechless. I couldn't believe this guy was for real. The gym teacher had arrived, unlocking the locker room door. I narrowed my eyes at him and gathered my things to head inside. I didn't think I had ever been as happy as I was when I was able to turn my back to Brad (even if it was only for a few minutes) and walk into the girls' locker room.
Grace, who thankfully had gym the same period as I did, walked up behind me. We both picked up a lock out of the box on the side and chose lockers next to each other.
"So," she said, opening a metal door, "what's up with you and Brad?" Grace can sometimes be what people would call a busy-body. She is the queen of gossip and always makes a point of what is going on in the high school.
I groaned. I couldn't help it. Usually, I didn't mind Grace's questions, but I did today—solely because she had chosen to include Brad. "Nothing," I spat.
"Woah," she said, "Doesn't sound like nothing to me. He's really gotten under your skin, hasn't he?"
I nodded but didn't answer her. I pulled out the gym clothes I brought and started to get dressed as Grace did the same. We were silent for the next few minutes as we got dressed.
"I think he likes you," Grace said innocently as she shut her locker door.
"What?" I burst out—a bit louder than necessary—receiving more than few strange looks from my surrounding peers.
"I think he likes you," she repeated.
"He just met me," I pointed out.
"Sometimes it only takes one look." Grace shrugged.
"Yeah, and that look told me I don't like him," I said, "Besides, I already have a boyfriend, remember?"
"I know that," she replied, "but Brad doesn't."
She had a point. Maybe if I told Brad that Jet was my boyfriend, he would back off a bit. I already felt like I was suffocating from the amount of Brad I had gotten today. The only time I didn't see him had been in the parking lot this morning.
I followed Grace out of the locker room, savoring what I knew would be my last few remaining seconds of peace but I had to face Brad again. I honestly didn't know what was wrong with me. It wasn't like I had never dealt with hot guys before—I mean, come on, I'm dating Jet, and I was best friends with him for years before that. But, I realized as I noticed Brad walking towards me from the opposite side of the gym, it wasn't his looks that bothered me so much—it was his attitude. He thought he was the coolest, the hottest, the best. He thought he knew everything. He thought he knew me. And it was for that reason and that reason alone, that Brad bothered me so much.
"So," he said, walking up to me, "you play any sports?" He looked down at my feet to match my pace. Or maybe he was just admiring my long, lean legs. I walked faster. But he easily caught up, not one step faltering.
"I have a boyfriend," I blurted out, not even realizing (until after I said it) that it was in no way an answer to his casual question. My cheeks burned in embarrassment.
"Umm, yeah. That guy John from lunch, right?" Brad said, staring at me.
I nodded. I was sure my cheeks turned an even darker shade of red. He already knew that Jet and I were together. So much for Grace's theory. Why won't he just leave me alone? "I don't," I said, looking away from him.
"You don't what?" He frowned.
"I don't play sports," I clarified.
"Oh." He seemed surprised. "Why not?"
I shrugged. "I tried track once in middle school but didn't like it." The truth was that running in circles on two legs wasn't nearly as fun as running on four in my wolf form. I quit after two days. "Why do you ask?"
It was his turn to shrug. "I just took you for the athletic type. You look—I mean, you're—you look in shape," he finally managed to say. It was the first time all day I had seen Brad uncomfortable. His discomfort made me smile.
"My brother was on the lacrosse team and I think my sister is trying out for the freshmen girls' soccer team. But I'm not really a big fan of organized sports. I like to do my own thing," I said.
"And what's that?" Brad asked, quickly recovering from his stumble on words.
Great. What was I going to say? It wasn't like I could openly tell me about my extracurricular activities. But then, the gym teacher, Mr. Douglas started talking and I was saved.
"Gather round everyone," Mr. Douglas said, "Today we are going to head out to the fields to get a jump start on our first unit."
"What is it?" someone from the back of the group called.
"Archery," Mr. Douglas replied, "Now follow me." We did as he instructed. Brad still walked beside me but thankfully didn't talk to me again.
Archery. I had never shot an arrow before. I had never shot anything before. I remembered Cole telling our parents about this gym unit when he went through it two years ago, but I didn't know anything about archery other than what Cole told me. I had seen cartoon characters and people on T.V. shoot arrows and it looked easy to them. But, then again, T.V. could make anything look easy.
When we got out to the field, Mr. Douglas explained the rules and showed us how to hold the bow and arrow. And then he demonstrated how to shoot. His arrow didn't hit the middle of the target—it was two rings out—but at least it hit the target.
Hitting the target was something I quickly realized was a lot harder than it looked. I shot three arrows—one fell a few feet in front of me, another shot out towards Brad's target to the right of me, and the third soared way over beyond my target and out of sight. Archery was definitely not my thing.
I looked over to Brad's target. There were four arrows on it—all of them sitting nicely in the target's red center. I watched as Brad placed another arrow on his bow. His kept both his eyes open, staring straight ahead to his target. He arched his back and pulled the string of the bow towards him—the muscles in his bent arm tensing. He was completely focused. It was just him, the arrow and his target. He breathed in and when he let the breath out, he released the arrow with it—sending the arrow towards the target. It hit. I watched in awe as the fifth arrow sunk into the dead-center of the board, the previous ones surrounding it like points on a star.
I shuddered. I looked to Brad—the distinct expression of satisfaction on his face as he admired his perfect shot. I felt cold with dread and I unconsciously took a step away from him. It was like every nerve in my body was telling me to run like hell—to get away from Brad—and never look back. I shook my head, trying to clear it. Why would I need to run? I had no reason to be afraid of him. So he was good at archery? Big deal. He had probably already done it back in his old school—which, I realized, I didn't know where it was. I glanced between the target and Brad again. Once more, I felt shivers run up my spine.
I had been wrong earlier. There were two reasons why Brad bothered me. His ego was one.
His aim was the second.
