chapter 5
738 Words
Chapter 5: Marcus
The locker room was loud, filled with the slamming of metal doors and the shouts of the team getting pumped for the game. I sat on the bench, pulling my sneakers tight. My nose still throbbed from Julian’s punch, and my cheek stung where Cynthia had slapped me.
She had a hell of a right hand for a scholarship girl.
The door to the locker room flew open. Coach Miller marched straight toward me, his face completely red. He held a printout in his hand.
"Vance! My office. Now," Miller barked.
The room went dead quiet. My teammates stopped talking. I stood up, grabbing my jersey, and followed him into the small, cramped office. He slammed the door shut and threw the paper onto the desk.
It was a copy of my failed statistics quiz from this morning.
"Care to explain this?" Miller demanded. "Principal Higgins just got an anonymous email with a scan of your actual graded paper. He called the athletic board. You're benched, Marcus. As of five minutes ago, you can't touch the court tonight."
My jaw clenched so hard it ached. Julian. That bastard must have bribed the student teacher grading the papers to get a copy before the system even updated. He wanted to destroy my season before the scouts arrived tonight.
"I have a makeup exam scheduled for Monday morning, Coach," I said, my voice dead and cold. "My tutor already signed off on it with Higgins."
"It doesn't matter!" Miller yelled. "The board saw the failing grade. Until that makeup score is officially logged on Monday, you are sitting on the bench in your street clothes. Julian’s dad is pushing the board hard on this."
I stood there, fury boiling in my veins. Julian thought he won. He thought he took my court and my reputation in one move.
"Fine," I said, my voice dropping low. "I'll sit on the bench. But I'm still wearing the jersey for the warm-ups."
I turned and walked out before the coach could argue.
Five minutes later, I walked out of the tunnel and into the brightly lit gymnasium. The bleachers were packed. The noise was deafening, the crowd wearing our school colors.
My eyes immediately scanned the front row.
Cynthia was sitting exactly where I told her to. She was wearing my oversized black varsity jacket over her clothes, looking small and out of place among the rich kids. Her eyes met mine, full of anger, but she didn't look away. She was playing the part because she loved her scholarship too much to lose it.
I didn't jog out to the court with the rest of the guys. Instead, I walked straight across the glossy wood floor, right toward the front row of the bleachers where she sat.
The crowd’s murmurs started immediately. People pointed. The cheerleaders stopped their routine to watch.
I stopped right in front of Cynthia. I reached out, grabbed her hand, and pulled her down from the bleachers onto the court.
"What are you doing?" she whispered furiously, trying to pull back. "Everyone is staring."
"Julian leaked my failed grade. I'm benched tonight," I muttered, gripping her waist and pulling her flush against my chest right in the middle of the court.
Cynthia gasped, her hands pressing against my jersey to keep some distance. "Then why are we doing this?"
"Because Julian is sitting over there in the VIP box with his parents, watching us," I whispered, my lips brushing against her ear so the crowd would think I was whispering something romantic. "He thinks he broke me by benching me. We are going to show him he didn't."
I looked up at the glass VIP box. Julian was standing against the railing, his face completely twisted with pure rage as he watched me hold his ex-girlfriend on my home court.
I looked back down at Cynthia. Her breathing was shallow, her eyes wide.
"Kiss me," I commanded, my voice flat and dangerous. "Make it look real."
Cynthia’s eyes flared with pure shock. "No, Marcus. That wasn't part of the—"
Before she could finish, I leaned down, caught her jaw with my hand, and pressed my lips hard against hers right under the bright stadium lights.
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