Going Under (Going Under 1)

I looked up at the sound of my name and saw Dane Wickham, my only friend at my new school. He had unexpectedly turned out to be pretty cool, even if he was one of the rich kids, and we’d hung out together at his house after practice a couple of times.

I gave him a curt nod and asked, “What’s up?”

He shook his head and said, “Nothing that amounts to anything.”

I sat up in my seat and said, “I hear ya.”

I decided Dane could be my only access to the inside information on Claire, so I asked, “Hey, do you know Claire?”

He wrinkled his forehead and asked, “Claire Deveraux?”

I gave him a shrug. “Maybe. I don’t know her last name.”

“Long brown hair?” he asked, then held his hands up to his chest with cupped hands and added, “with a gorgeous pair of br**sts?”

I wanted to correct his assessment of her hair color because it was all wrong, but he had her br**sts right on. “Yeah, what’s her deal?”

“She’s Henderson’s girl,” he said in such a matter of fact manner.

“I know that much,” I said, a little irritated by hearing the proof of her association with my nemesis.

“You’ve heard of America’s Sweetheart? Well, she’s East Franklin’s sweetheart. Everyone loves her and things always tend to go her way if you know what I mean. I don’t have to tell you how hot she is and she’s smarter than anyone else in our class. She’ll be our valedictorian for sure. Her parents are well off, so she gets everything she wants and she’s dated Forbes since the middle of our sophomore year. Their parents are big buddies, so they’re always going on all these family vacations together.”

I bet that lucky bastard was definitely getting in her pants every chance he got and that was probably fine with the parents as long as she was staying within her own social class.

“I saw you talking to her in the parking lot this morning. You trying to put the moves on her?”

There were quite a few moves I’d like to put on her, but I said, “Nah, just thought I’d mess with Henderson by talking to her. I figured she’d run and tell him.”

“You shouldn’t push Forbes because he pushes back and he doesn’t always play by the rules. He’s a loose canon,” he warned, then added, “Claire thinks she knows him, but she hasn’t seen the side of him I’ve seen. Trust me, he’s an underhanded dog.”

The thought of Forbes being a threat made me want to laugh. “Dude, I’ve seen loose canons and Forbes Henderson is nothing more than a sparkler from a roadside fireworks stand to me.”

“There’s something I need to tell you about him and his pals. I overheard them talking about taking you out so you can’t play anymore. I don’t know the details, but it’s going down sometime before the first game. I think you should tell Coach.”

I appreciated the heads up, but I took care of myself and didn’t need anyone doing it for me. “No way, dude. I rather get my ass kicked than be a snitch.”

“It’s your funeral.”

“Not a word to Coach. I can handle whatever they can dish,” I warned. “But thanks for telling me. I know you didn’t have to do that. If you hear something else, will you let me know about it?”

“Sure, no problem.”

I considered the different scenarios of what taking me out meant. Most likely they would try to catch me somewhere outside of school and jump me or something like that. There was only one little flaw with their plan. Those little rich punks didn’t realize they were screwing with the wrong person.

When homeroom was over, I walked down the hall to my first period class. I passed East Franklin’s happy couple and Claire’s eyes briefly caught mine as she was being spun around by the guy trying to take away my chance at a football scholarship and ultimately the loss of any future worth having.

I turned my eyes away from her and the prick I hated, then went to my first period Calculus class. While I waited for class to begin, Claire’s riding companion walked into class and took a look around before spying me. She took the seat in front of me, then spun around in her desk and extended her hand. “We’ve not officially met. I’m Payton Archer and you are?”

Her hotness level was flaming, but she didn’t impress me nearly as much as Claire. I took her hand and said, “Jessie Boone.”

She wasted no time cutting straight to the chase and asked, “So, Jessie Boone, what kind of move was that you tried to put on Claire in the parking lot?

I laughed and said, “That was not a move and if she thinks it was, then Henderson is seriously lacking in the skills department.”

“I won’t disagree about Forbes and his skills, but I’m calling bullshit. I know the game like your crotch knows the palm of your hand and I definitely saw a move, so I’m giving you the luxury of a warning. Do not mess with Claire because of what’s going on between you and Forbes. Do we have an understandment?”

I leaned forward and whispered, “Do you suffer from restless lip syndrome because they make medication for that?” My insult strangely brought a smile to her face.

Our calculus teacher, Miss Dulaney, started class and Payton whispered, “You might score some touchdowns on the football field, but you can forget about getting into Claire’s end zone.”

6 The Tardy Nazi

Claire

I sat in Mrs. Jenson’s homeroom watching her peer over her ancient reading glasses while she called attendance. What happened? I thought senior year was supposed to rock. It’s supposed to be one of the most fabulous times of my life, but as I looked around this classroom at my fellow classmates, I realized that this is not the awesome I was promised and I want a refund.

I stupidly placed myself on Mrs. Jenson’s tardy radar when I breezed into homeroom by the skin of my teeth as the bell rang. I attempted to sneak into a seat without calling attention to myself, but only managed to successfully gain the unwanted scrutiny of my new homeroom teacher when I stumbled over Griffin Jackson’s backpack in the aisle, causing the heel of one of my new boots to skid across the freshly waxed linoleum tile. Griffin quickly reached for my arm, touching my breast in the process, and saved me from sprawling out on my back in front of the entire class.

He softly whispered, “Sorry, Claire,” and I wasn’t certain if he meant for touching my boob or leaving his backpack in the aisle, but it was my fault I stumbled because I was thinking about pale blue eyes and black, spikey hair.