“Let me know if she isn’t in class,” Tate called out to me as I backed my bike out. I adjusted my helmet, Tate handed me my backpack, and I cranked it up. Within seconds, I was on the road and pointed toward the Clark Science Building.
By the time I parked and got inside the building, I was five minutes late. I took the stairs at a run. I got to the third floor landing and almost smacked into a couple kissing when I turned the corner. They split apart and the male spun his head to see me.
Felix.
“Watch it,” he muttered, his face flushed and sweaty. His eyes narrowed when he saw it was me.
I was planning on ignoring him—until I caught a look at who he was with. It wasn’t Bianca, and for that I was glad. After the game when I’d followed her home, she’d told me that he hadn’t actually hit her, but he’d pushed her a few times. She’d made excuses for him . . . he was frustrated about the game, etc., but he was trouble waiting to happen.
“Hey, Max,” Cyndi, the waitress from the coffee shop, said. She raked fingers through her long red hair as she tried to put it back in place. My eyes went to her shirt, which was halfway unbuttoned, giving a perfect view of her cleavage.
“You see something you like, Kent?” Felix asked, a sneer on his face.
I shook off his irritating tone. Don’t get sucked in. I forced a nonchalant shrug. “Carry on,” I said and kept going up the stairs.
He called up after me. “You seem to be running late this morning, Kent. Hope everything’s okay.”
I stopped on the landing above him and glared down. “Yeah. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
His shoulders puffed up. “Just being civil, that’s all. Making conversation.”
I searched his face, looking for clues that he’d been the one who messed with my car—but all I got was a blank stare. No gleam of amusement or knowing look. Either he’d learned to hide his expressions better and had become more sinister with his pranks, or he didn’t have a damn clue what was going on.
I exited the stairwell and rushed into class. There she was in her usual seat and all my anxiety melted. She had her blond hair up in a tight ponytail and wore a gray shirt that said Nap Queen.
Mr. Whitt came into class and we got started, but Felix’s image loomed in my head again. Something was tugging at me, pricking, and I couldn’t nail it down.
Then it dawned on me. The knife in my tire—I recognized it. Coach had given the team pearl-handled knives freshman year after we’d won the Southeastern Conference. He’d also had them engraved with our first initial on the metal end. It was small and barely noticeable, but most decidedly there.
The knife in my tire had a pearl handle.
I waited until Whitt wasn’t looking, pulled my phone out, and texted Tate, asking him to check the knife.
He replied right away. I was just about to text you. I remembered too. Yes, it’s the same. I pulled mine out to compare. The initial on the bottom is F.
Fucker!
“Where are you going?” Sunny asked as I gathered up my things. “Max?”
My chest rose as I shoved my laptop inside my bag. “I’m going to find Felix. He messed with my car this morning.”
“Don’t,” she said softly, careful to keep her voice low so Whitt wouldn’t hear us.
I slipped out of class, ignoring the look Whitt sent me.
“Max, wait!”
I flipped around to see Sunny had followed me. I bounded down the steps of the stairwell, stopping at the third floor landing and spinning in a circle. He was gone. I raked my hands through my hair. “He was in the stairwell five minutes ago—with Cyndi,” I said once she came to stand next to me.
“He wants you to lose your cool, Max. Don’t let him win.”
She was right, but what else was he capable of?
I waited outside the Clark building for an hour, but I didn’t see Felix leave when classes got out. I did see Sunny head out for her next class, and I waved at her as she made her way in the opposite direction. As for Felix, I figured he either left through another exit or was in another science class.
I drove to where he lived with a couple of other football players. His Tahoe wasn’t there, but I parked and waited.
Tate called.
“What?” I said, answering the phone after taking off my helmet.
“I know you’re pissed, but you need to chill,” were the first words out of his mouth.
“Why?”
“Because if you go off half-cocked, you’re going to hurt yourself, him, and the entire team. Plus, what if it wasn’t Felix? Maybe someone is setting him up. Just because it’s his knife, doesn’t mean it was him.”
That sounded farfetched.
“You have to think long and hard about what you do next.”
Oh, I was. It was all I could think about. My fists itched to pound him into the ground.
“Think of everything you’ve done this year for the team—and the whole fake thing with Sunny—are you just going to throw all that away?”
“I don’t think I can be around him and not punch him,” I bit out.
“I know. Just get through the game. We’re so close. Just think about your shiny little trophy. Felix would laugh his ass off if you threw it away on a fight with him. He’d love it if you broke your hand on his face.”
I exhaled a deep breath and clenched my hands.
Maybe Tate was right.
Just get through the game.