Liz Reinhardt - Rebels Like Us

And, with that macabre image in my head, I duck out a side door that leads to a sunny courtyard and feel the rough clamp of a hand on my shoulder. I open my mouth to scream, but a second hand covers my mouth.

SIX

“Nes, shh. It’s me. It’s jest me.” I hear Doyle’s voice and quiver like a plucked bowstring.

I beat my fists on his chest as he yanks me under the shade of some trees. Real trees with wide, glossy leaves so dark green, they’re almost black, and white flowers that smell like rotting summer.

“You scared the crap of me,” I hiss.

His chuckle mixes with the lazy, hooded look in his eyes and takes the wind out of my fury. “I was worried about you. Was it bad?”

“Armstrong just basically told me to buy a cardigan and join the cheer squad.” I spit out the words as we hunker down on the soft grass, hidden in the hot shade.

“Are you into that? Cheer?” Close-up, I’m able to confirm that his eyes are almost a light purple, like a lavender. What a waste, for a boy to have what my abuela would call “Liz Taylor eyes.”

Though, waste or not, they’re throat-closingly beautiful.

“What do you think?” I walk my fingers along his hand because I can’t help it. “And why are you here? You should go before your ex gives her commandant uncle stalker notes that detail your every move.”

“I think I’d rather have you on my baseball team than cheering for it.” His voice is all hungry and honey. “And I think Ansley might be targeting you because things didn’t end well with us, so I’m feelin’ kinda responsible for this BS.”

“Great. Of all the boys who could have been landscaping half-naked in my backyard, it had to be the queen bee’s ex. What are the chances?” I should feel prickly, but those eyes...looking into them is like sliding into a hot tub. Their warmth bubbles all around me like the jets are on high.

“I thought about what ya said. To Ansley. And about me and her. And you’re right. It’s time for her to get off her damn pedestal. I’m tired of how everyone jest lets her get her own way all the time.” Fury must change his eye color, because they’re a deep blue now, like the clouds around a full moon.

“There’s a whole system stacked in her favor, Doyle. I should have listened to you. I should have kept my trap shut. Unfortunately, I suck at that.”

He leans close, predator-like, and I feel very ready to be devoured. And equally ready to bolt.

“Goddamn, I love the way you can’t keep your mouth shut, Nes. You’re the first person around here in a long time who’s had the balls to jest say what’s on your mind to anyone, no matter who they are. It’s sexy as hell.”

My hand twitches, and he takes it in his.

He threads our fingers together like being this close is no big thing. And I guess I overplayed the whole flirty, badass NYC vibe...because my heart is a bird throwing itself against the bars to escape its cage, but he’s looking at me like we’re both cool with everything happening at warp speed in the secret shade of this tree.

I love the way our fingers lock together, but this is fast. On top of the dizzy feeling I get when I hold hands with Doyle, I’m upset about my idiotic trip to the principal’s office, I’m miserable over facing Ansley, I miss Ollie so much it feels like I have a cough drop permanently lodged sideways down my throat. And there’s Lincoln.

I want... I have no idea what I want. My vision goes grainy and Doyle’s voice coils softly through the fog of my chaotic thoughts.

“Yesterday, in your yard after school, I was actually hatching this whole plot to get your attention somehow next time I saw you. Then you jest walked outta your house in a bikini. Hand to God, I thought I was bein’ punked.” His ears burn pink.

“Your ears are blushing,” I whisper.

He leans lip-to-lip close. Every nerve in my face goes tight. I smell his warm hay scent mixed with the heady aroma of those heavy cream flowers sizzling in the morning sun.

The bell screams, and the courtyard fills with students. I jump up, my pass a congealed wad of pulp in my sweaty palm. “Crap! Doyle, I skipped. Like I’m not in deep enough trouble!”

“It’s okay. Teacher’d have to remember to check when you left the office, and Webster won’t bother. You’re fine.” His voice is laid-back as he reaches out to take my hands. I can see that he still wants to cash in on the promise of a kiss that was only barely possible when I was under his pretty-eyed spell.

“I’m not fine.” I slap his hands back. “My life is out of control. You know what? I should never have left Brooklyn, but now that I’m here, I can’t be some psycho debutante’s target. I need to lie low.”

“Meaning what?” Doyle’s mouth twists with a disappointment he doesn’t have any right to feel.

“Meaning, you and I should probably cool it, and I gotta go now so I can make it to my next class on time.” I brush grass off my butt.

“So that’s it?” His eyes flash. “Nes, girls like Ansley have been gettin’ whatever the hell they want since they were spoiled toddlers. No one ever stands up to her and her kind. It ain’t right.”

I shoulder my backpack. “Well, Doyle, maybe guys like you should stop giving girls like her whatever they want. She’s your psycho ex. I’m not about to make this year any harder than it needs to be. I told you—my objective is to get out. Gone. Done. And I’ll forget this place like it was a bad dream as soon as it’s in my rearview.”

“So you’re going to sit back and take it? Let her and Armstrong and all the rest stomp on you? After standing up to her today? Seriously?” Doyle’s mouth pulls tight.

Inside, the crowds in the halls are thinning already, students ducking into classrooms like I should be, and I have no energy left to stand here arguing. I’m not even halfway through my day, and I’m flattened with exhaustion.

“Seriously. Look, we hardly know each other, okay? Sorry if you thought I was going to be the badass rebel who’d shake up the end of your boring senior year, but I’m not here for your entertainment. Or Ansley’s. This semester is my probation, and I’m just biding my time till it’s over.” I walk backward to the door and shrug. “See you around, Doyle.”

I leave him standing in the middle of a last scurrying surge of students, and notice Ansley skip up, grab him by the arm, and stand on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. A long shock of blond hair falls down her back and shimmers in the blistering sunshine.

It’s so cliché, it hurts. And my jealousy is extra cliché. So I clamp down on it, head to US history, and grit my teeth when Ansley and Braelynn jostle against me on their way past, knocking me into a water fountain. Doyle sees me from down the hall and battles against the flow of traffic to make it to my side, but I slip into class before he can, my face hot, the tears so close to falling, I can taste the salt in the back of my throat.

I run my hand behind my neck, above my aching sunburn, and touch my scarlet A, the tattoo that was a fierce joke and a mark of pride.

“‘Pride cometh before the fall,’” I mutter as I pull out my textbook and try to bleach my brain of this whole place.

By the time the final bell rings, I realize that I’m going to spend a lot of time trying to avoid Doyle at every turn because he’s not letting our conversation drop.

“Nes!” Doyle sprints to my car as I throw my bag in the window, lean against the closed door, and cross my arms. When he’s finally standing next to me he just stares, like he’s not sure what to say.

For once in my life, I’m right there with him. But it’s unnatural for me to say nothing, so I say the first thing that pops into my head. The thing I hope is the shortest path to getting him out of my life.