Dancing with the Varsity Bad Boy

Chapter 16

Violet's POV

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Things have been strange since Gypsy and I went back to our place. The pass few days have been... different. Before Wednesday night the football players hardly acknowledged us, unless my brothers were playing a game and they wanted to know if I'd be watching it at theirs. It used to be a nod, or a "hello". Now it's a "Hey Violet", or "how's your day going Violet?", or a "everything alright Violet?"

It's just.... strange. Although Jordan has gone back to his "Hey sweetheart," if he sees me at class. He's back to being his normal cocky self, the kind, considerate and gentle sides of him have vanished and a large part of me wonders why.

It's almost as though the "Badass" stuff is a mask he wears. If anyone can understand wearing a mask it'd be me or my house mates.

Gypsy hops towards the front door, the click of her crutches on the hardwood floor my tell that I need to get a move on. Grabbing my sport's bag, and backpack I rush out after her and lock up.

"Hey girls, heading to Ethic's?" Jordan shouts over to us as he too steps out of the football house. I lock up, attempting to ignore that this is the first time he's really said more than two words to me.

"Yeah, Vi wanted us to get in early," Gypsy says, shifting on her crutches a little before she heads to the passagener side of my car.

"I can give you both a lift," He says, I can feel his gaze on me, watching me as I struggle to manover my bag and lock up, my fingers stiff and unwilling to move quickly.

"Thanks, but after Ethic's I have sciences, then Arts and Vi has Arts, then creative writing before she heads to dance," Gypsy shrugs, waiting patiently for me. I finally manage to get the key into the lock and lock up before heading to the car.

"I'll see you both there then," he shrugs and I look up to just catch him getting into his truck before driving off. Gypsy gives me a look, her keen eye picking up on the differences.

"He seemed eager to play driver for us," she comments as I unlock the car door and get in. She struggles with the door, but soon she's slid into her seat and I jam the key into the ignition.

"He's probably just wanting to know when dad is going to be popping in, you know what football players are like when they learn who my dad is," I shrug, not willing to question this futher.

"You know, it's totally possible he genuinely cares about you Vi. I know you think differently, but your easy to love, easy to be around. You're probably an athlet's dream girl considering your happy to support but not demand their time and attention when you know they need to focus on training," she shrugs, while I scoff.

"Please, the only reason I'd ever be considered anyone's dream girl is because of who my father and brothers are. No one is ever interested in learning who I am," I scoff and pull out of our drive way, music playing loud enough to be a distraction from the pain already eating away at my fingers.

"I think you sell yourself short," Gypsy mutters, and goes quiet, watching the world pass us by.

"Has Eric spoken to you since...?" she shakes her head, and sighs.

"No, not really. He just wants to talk about the classes we share, and possible tutoring sessions." She says, real sadness, and loneliness in her voice.

I can understand that, I might be her best friend, but I'll never be able to understand the trauma, the guilt, she battles with. I'm willing to bet that they both suffer with survivors guilt, it's something Tamsyn has really thought about although we've never been able to get her to see a therapist for that guilt.

"Tamsyn and Imogen will be home by the time we get in tonight," I tell her, hoping it'll cheer her up.

"I know, they texted me this morning. Have you heard from Lex?" She asks and I nod with a hum, pulling into a parking spot just before Amy, a Delta and a right pain in my ass, can take the spot. The blarring of her car horn makes me grin and Gypsy rolls her eyes at me, even as she giggles.

"Lex texted this morning that he'll be home in two days," I tell her, answering her first question before she can distract me with another.

"You love winding her up, don't you?" Gypsy asks as I park and turn the engine off. I retreive our bags for this class from the back seat before I turn back to Gypsy.

"I might," I shrug and open my door. Getting out, I stroll round my car to open Gypsy's door, and wait for her to get out on her crutches.

"Why? She's a nasty piece of work," Gypsy asks, and I raise an eyebrow at her concern.

"Because she doesn't work half as hard as some of the other dancers in class, but she still gets more chances than anyone else there. The only hard work she does or talents she has is on her back in an athlets bed," I grumble and shut the car door when Gypsy takes a step away, the clicking of her crutches now lost in the noise of the crowd. Gypsy glances around us, nervously biting her bottom lip, her cheeks red with embarressment she shouldn't be feeling. I give her time to settle, get used to the noise before we head for class.

"You b***h!" The screech of Amy's voice only brings a smile to my lips as she strops towards us. Gypsy stiffens, her nerves on edge, her breathing picks up into shallow gasps. I reach out and place my hand on her shoulder, grounding her until she calms her breathing.

If Amy says anything about Gypsy today, she's getting b***h slapped into next week, to hell with the consequences.

It wouldn't be the first time I've gotten into trouble because someone has said something about my family, and it won't be the last time either.

"You took my spot!" She snaps, crossing her arms over her ample breasts.

"It doesn't have your name on it, nor did it display a reserved ticket. The spot was free for anyone to take," I shrug, smirking as her faces twists into an ugly mask of fury.

"Jordan Mathews parks next to that spot! You took my chance to talk to him this morning!" I stare as Amy throws her tantrum, her voice rising into a screech that has a headache blooming behind my ears.

Bloody hell, I thought we left High School behind!

"I'm not moving Amy, you'll have to find another way to crawl into his bed," my lips pull back in disgust as I push past her, Gypsy and I walking away.

"At least I'm not desperate enough to use my fake disability to get into his bed. Your just trying to get attention and trust me, there is nothing special about you he's going to like," I freeze, a muscle ticks in my neck and I let out a shuddering breath.

When will people stop presuming I'm faking the arthritis? Yes, I dance, that doesn't mean I don't have the disease. I've lost so many "friends" because they thought I was faking to get attention.

Not all disabilities are visible, more than 70% are invisible and I'm so tired of society seeing only what it wants to see.

"Vi, don't. It's not worth...." Gypsy starts to say in a whisper when I turn around to face the little slut. Jordan's pick up parking next to my car, the bast'ard hemming my door in.

"For your information Amy, I've never opened my legs for Mathews, nor any other member of the football team, unlike you," I know I'm speaking loud for Jordan to hear me, because as soon as his car door slams shut he's frowning at me.

"I'll never degrade myself by giving my body to a man whor'e who won't even remember my name. I'm not, never have been, interested in Jordan. I will not be one of his conquests," I scoff and stalk off, Gypsy hopping beside me, her lips twitching with her suppressing a laugh.

Stalking into the classroom, I help Gypsy get into her seat before I take mine, anger shimmering as I slam my books onto the desk.

"Calm down Vi. She's not worth it," Gypsy holds my hand and taps the pressure points on my wrist with a slight smile.

"I hate people thinking I'm faking being in pain just to get attention. Why would anyone fake being in pain?" I sigh when a bag is dropped on the table next to me. Looking up, Jordan smiles down at me.

"This seat taken, sweetheart?" He asks with a wink.

I raise an eyebrow at him, and roll my eyes.

"I have a name, I'd would prefer you use it. But no, the seat is free," I shrug, and get my notes out of my bag and pass them to Gypsy to look through.

"Your Violet Beckingham, right?" I look up at the 6'1 muscled up and attractive hockey player coming to a stop in front of my desk.

"Yeah, that's me," I say, tilting my head back to look at him. Brett Andrews grins down at me before pulling his right arm out of his leather jacket.

The new tattoo I'd only finished designing a month ago now gleams on his skin. The colour and detail breathtaking, just as I'd pictured it.

"I was hoping you'd be up for a consultation now your no longer staying at the football house?" He says it like a question as I stand and take his hand, twisting his arm this way and that so I can get a really good look at the tattoo. The Eastern and Western dragons intertwined, fire and ice, a clash of opposites. The contradiction that is Brett Andrews

"They did a good job getting all the details," I mutter, tracing the faint outline of a hidden symbol only me and him would spot.

"Yeah, it took six visits in order to get this finished. So, you up to design me another one?" He asks, a challenge in his brilliant green gaze. I scoff, and take my seat again.

"Pop around ours any time after 6.00pm and we," I say while drawing his attention to Gypsy, "will be more then up to design another tattoo. You pay half tonight, half upon completion just like last time," I tell him, writing our my number and our address down for him. I might have designed his first tattoo but that meeting took place at a little cafe I enjoy sitting in between classes.

"Sweet, I'll be there at 7.00pm, I like to shower after practice," He winks at us and returns to his seat as the professor calls the class to attention.

"You can't seriously be thinking of letting Andrews round yours," Jordan near hisses and I glance at him to find his lips pressed in a thin line, his jaw clenched.

"Why do you care who I let visit?" I ask him, confused by this sudden outburst.

"I don't care, anyone by Andrews," Jordan says, keeping his voice down so he doesn't gain the professor's attention.

"What's your problem with Bret?" I ask, pulling my notebook towards me and a pen so I can take notes.

"Nothing, just don't buy his nice guy act he does," Jordan says, scowling at the back of Bret's head as though intent on burning a hole through the guy's skull.

Before I can question him further, the professor glares at me, having heard us whispering. I sigh and let it go.