"Have you seen the bruises on his hands and face?"
"Yeah, I heard he beat up someone twice his size!"
"That's impossible, he's already a giant!"
I looked up from my locker. Two girls a year younger than me were unabashedly gossiping about the nature of Grayson Rogers' injuries, and it bothered me.
I closed my locker and walked up to them. The girls looked at me in surprise.
"And?" I asked. "Did he win?"
"Oh," the left girl said. "I don't know, I think so."
"How can you not know? Who's your source?"
"Uh..." she fidgeted. "A guy in my class told me."
"And how did he know?"
She shrugged. "I don't know."
Of course. It's just high school gossip. Calm down.
But what if it's real?
Only one way to find out, I thought, as I left the girls with a quick goodbye.
Ask the source.
***
"You're coming with me to the game tonight, right?" Aria asked me during English.
"Of course," I said, eyes on the whiteboard lest the teacher thought we're not paying attention. "I promised you I would."
"I know, I know. Just checking. Also, I'm going to text you a few potential outfits tonight."
"Alright."
The teacher added another note to the board then, and we both turned silent as we copied it.
"Oh," I said when I was finished. "My car wouldn't start this morning."
"What?" Aria turned to me with wide eyes. "No shit! The tarot reading from Monday came true!"
Just an unlikely coincidence.
"Guess it did."
"Sucks for you, though. I hope the bus wasn't too bad."
"Oh, no. Grayson Rogers gave me a ride to school."
At this, Aria dropped her pen. It clattered loudly on her desk, and she scrambled to pick it up.
"No. Shit."
"Yeah."
"He didn't!"
"He did."
"What? That's insane! He normally doesn't even drive a car to school. I heard he's got this crazy mountain bike thing."
It's true.
It's what other people didn't know: Grayson Rogers taught himself how to ride a bike.
The first year the Rogers family moved to Falcon Lane, I often found myself watching through my bedroom window how Grayson Rogers tried to ride a bike.
Tried, and failed. Many times.
I had thought it strange that Grayson hadn't known how to ride one, or that his parents weren't there to teach him.
I found myself rooting for my neighbour, secretly cheering him on and wincing whenever he hit the hard concrete. But Grayson always bit through the tears, even when he was only ten years old.
And even though I was only ten years old, I admired that.
***
Grayson Rogers was sitting on the hood of his truck when I exited the school building.
The sight was strangely aesthetically pleasing, and I stopped dead in my tracks.
The dark jacket, dark curls, and dark eyes; everything reminded me of Heath Ledger in Ten Things I Hate About You.
I secretly loved that movie.
A few kids bumped into me, complaining loudly how I was standing in their way. But that didn't bother me. What bothered me was the way people looked at Grayson as they gave him a wide berth.
There's distrust, and suspicion, and straight-up dislike.
For someone they didn't even know.
When Grayson spotted me, he quickly slid down the truck and straightened his jacket.
"Hi."
"Hello," I said. "Were you waiting for long?"
"Nah. Only an hour or something."
"That's long."
Grayson shrugged, and again, it looked awkward instead of angry or threatening.
I knew how sensational and wrong high school gossip can be, but every time I met Grayson, I felt like they really missed the mark with him.
I got into the driver's seat, then stared at my feet in surprise.
"What?" Grayson asked nervously. "If you want to take the bus, that's-"
"No, I... " I started laughing. "I can't reach the pedals."
I swung my legs for emphasis.
I watched Grayson's eyes drift down, watched him process the fact that my feet were nowhere near the pedals. Then, he also laughed.
"Oh, right. I'll adjust it for you."
He leaned in and fumbled for something underneath the chair. He's so close that his dark curls brushed against my cheek.
I knew I could lean back, knew I could move my legs to give Grayson better access.
But there's something interesting happening while his hands bumped against my knees as he searched for the handle.
"Found it," he grunted, and sure enough, the chair lowered in short, sudden bursts. "Can you reach it now?"
He looked up, and it put our faces at a kissing distance. I knew this because I'd kissed him less than a week ago.
It had been too dark then, too dark to appreciate the two small birthmarks underneath Grayson Rogers' left eye, and the espresso hue of said eyes.
I knew I should move back, but it's not unpleasant to be this close.
I watched Grayson's ears turn slightly red. Then, he swallowed, and started leaning in, like he's going to kiss me.
It startled me out of my staring.
I quickly looked away and put my feet on the pedals. "Oh! Right, yeah, I can reach them now."
From the corner of my eye, I saw Grayson lean back.
"Good," he mumbled.
"Let's see if I can drive your truck," I half-joked, but it sounded a little awkward, even to my own ears.
***
Friday night, the stadium was packed with people wearing yellow and green around their necks, on their bodies and on their faces.
Aria didn't join in because she didn't want to break her goth aesthetic, but I put a yellow and green stripe on my cheeks to show my support for the Ravenwood High team.
Aria waded through the sea of people, a spot of black in the colours.
We found pretty good spots on the left.
"Damn, it's warm tonight," she said, pushing up the sleeves of her black dress -- the winner of the five outfits she texted me. "Can I have some popcorn?"
I got the bag of popcorn from my backpack and handed it to her, who tore it open immediately.
"I also brought coke and water," I said.
"Cool. I brought wine."
Because it's tradition, I wasn't surprised.
I was the first time, though.
"So how was the ride with Grayson Rogers today?" Aria asked, while she poured the wine in a red cup. "Did you kiss again?"
"No, but I think he wanted to."
She nearly spilled the wine. "No way! How do you know? Did he say?"
"No, he leaned in like he was going to kiss me."
She handed me the cup, then poured one for herself.
I took a sip. "It frustrates me, Aria."
"What? That he's trying to kiss you?"
"No. Well, a little," I admitted. "When I saw him leaning in, it felt too soon. I don't really know him, but..."
Music started playing, and the stadium lights dimmed for a few seconds to alert the audience that the entertainment was about to start.
"But at the same time," I shouted, "it feels like I've known him all my life."
"What?" Aria asked, leaning in, but it's then that the trumpets started playing.
The school band marched onto the field, followed by a group of jumping and cartwheeling cheerleaders, and I knew I'd lost Aria's attention.
When the big entrance was done, the head cheerleader took a step forward, her blonde hair shining underneath the harsh stadium lights, and waved at the public.
Beside me, Aria waved back like her life depended on it.
I knew she's been crushing on Jenny Robinson for years. I didn't think it's odd. Jenny Robinson looked beautiful, and she's rumoured to be super friendly. Everyone adored her. Everyone probably had had a crush on her at some point in their lives, too. But the thought never crossed my mind.
For curiosity's sake, I tried imaging kissing her, but all I felt, if anything, was a mild nausea.
Because I didn't know Jenny at all.
The thought felt like another clue, like I solved part of the equation, but at the same time, it didn't.
The question: Do I like boys?
Not an answer: I don't want to kiss Jenny Robinson.
A/N:
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