The Library Agreement

11

When the bell rings, signaling the end of class, I am the first one to jump from my seat. Despite the various voices calling after me, I hoist my books under my arm and nearly run out of the classroom—not stopping until I reach my locker. And, even then, people still surround me.

"Charlie, what the hell, man?" Jason Hale—one of my teammates—says, punching me in the arm. "Have you always been a public speaker?"

I shrug, trying to focus on my combination. Right, then left, and then right again...

"And that Hailey girl, am I right?" Aaron Rollins, another football player, remarks with a low whistle. "Man. I haven't heard her say a word since the first day of school. And I know she ain't all that popular, but hey, she ain't bad-lookin' either—you know what I mean?"

This earns chuckles and wolf-whistles of assent, and I feel anger surge through me, hot and vivid. These guys—these idiots—and Hailey? No. Never going to happen.

"You'll never have a chance." I spit out, surprising myself with the intensity of my tone.

"What did you just say?" Aaron snarls in return, and I swivel around to face him, leaning down a little so that we're on eye level.

On any other occasion, I would have backed out of this. I would have ignored him. But not today. Because today, I am fearless.

"I said, you'll never have a chance with Hailey Richards."

At this, Aaron snorts. "More like she'll never have a chance with me. But, God, the things I would do—"

Then, several things happen—all at once, in a matter of seconds. My fist flies into Aaron Rollins' face, connecting with his jaw and eliciting a satisfying crack. There's a howl of pain, and suddenly, three other guys—including Jason—are on top of me, holding me down while I gasp for air, their knees in my gut and hands gripping my wrists with such force, I can almost hear the bones beginning to crack.

"Stop," I wheeze. "Stop."

"Whatcha gonna do about it, Portman?" Jason taunts, and his cronies snigger. "Give a nice little speech and make it all better?"

"What on earth is going on here?!" Comes a familiar voice, and relief washes through me. Jason and the other guys are off of me in an instant—Aaron gives an exaggerated moan from where he sits, leaning up against the wall of lockers.

Mr. Sanchez looks furious. I scramble to get off of the floor, standing upright, trying to ignore the aggravated pulsing in my wrists—I can already feel the bruises forming.

"This is unacceptable. Completely unacceptable." Sanchez fumes, his scalding gaze sweeping over each of us. "Would someone care to explain?"

"It was Portman, sir!" Hale says immediately, and I turn my gaze to him so quickly, my neck nearly pops.

"What?" I protest.

"It was, Mr. Sanchez." Aaron pipes up from his spot on the floor, still clutching his face. "He punched me in the jaw."

Sanchez taps his foot impatiently, glaring at me. I see anger in his eyes, but behind that—there's something else.

He looks so disappointed.

My gut twists; Sanchez is one of my favorite teachers. Surely he knows that I simply acted on impulse, it was really the guys' fault for—

For disrespecting Hailey.

Dammit. I'm in trouble.

"I'm sorry, Charlie. As impressed as I was earlier, this kind of behavior will not be tolerated. And that means no football game tonight."

I don't even protest. I should have seen this coming.

The other four, however, didn't. They exchange nervous glances, looking petrified.

"Sir, we didn't mean to get him kicked off for tonight." Jason starts hurriedly, a note of fear in his voice. "Portman's team captain. Without him, we stand no—"

"Then I suppose you should have thought this through," Mr. Sanchez says evenly, running his fingers over his dark hair in frustration. "Before shoving the blame onto him."

And with that, our teacher disappears—fading into the throng of students once more.

My four teammates stare at me as I collect my bookbag from the floor, slinging it over my shoulder. Even Aaron looks somewhat miffed by the fact that I won't be able to play tonight.

"Have a good game, guys." I say flatly, and don't wait for a reply.

Instead, I turn on my heel and walk away—not daring to look back.

________

I'm standing two feet away from my car, pulling the keys out of my purse, when Charlie's latest text appears on my phone.

Football game is cancelled. Meet me at midnight.

I frown. Cancelled? The weather's been perfect today. How could it possibly be—

Oh.

That explains the ruckus in the hallway after fifth period. Everyone had been talking about it. Apparently the football players got into a scuffle, and someone punched Aaron Rollins in the face, and Mr. Sanchez got extremely angry about it.

But when I'd heard them say the football players, I hadn't assumed—

Quickly, I type back,

That was you? Are you okay?

Worry clenches like a fist in the pit of my stomach as I watch his speech bubble appear and vanish, over and over again, until a reply finally comes through.

I'm fine. See you at midnight.

I hesitate. What if it's serious?

He would tell you if it was serious.

Wouldn't he?

Nevertheless, I respond with a quick "okay" before pocketing my phone and striding over to my car, opening the door and sliding into the front seat. My fingers tap nervously on the steering wheel for a few seconds as I just sit there, my headlights glowing in the afternoon air, biting my lip apprehensively.

Charlie is fine. You'll see him in a few hours.

Nodding to myself, I rev up the engine and pull out of the school parking lot, hoping that I'm right.

________

Hailey arrives at 12:00 A.M. exactly, bursting in through the library door and practically running to the front desk, where I sit, absentmindedly swiveling in the office chair.

"Hey." I murmur, and she narrows her eyes at me.

"Are you alright? I heard what happened after English today. People said it got nasty pretty quick."

The concern in her tone is unmistakable, and I feel kind of bad for making her worry.

"No," I reply hurriedly. "It wasn't bad. It was just a little skirmish. You know those guys—always looking for a fight."

At this, Hailey arches a brow.

"Well, 'those guys' aren't the ones suspended from tonight's game."

I suck in my cheek, biting my lip.

"Nothing gets past you, does it, Richards?"

She ignores my attempt at a joke and leans over the counter a bit, her deep hazel eyes boring into my blue ones.

"Charlie, what did you do?"

"I punched him!" I say, throwing my hands up in the air. "That's all I did, alright? I punched Aaron because he was being disrespectful. He was disrespecting you, and I couldn't bear it. I—I could just stand there and not do anything about it!"

Hailey puts her hands through her hair, looking panicky and scared.

"Charlie, you could have gotten in trouble! People take things like that pretty seriously. You shouldn't have—I'm not worth—"

"Don't you dare." I say, firmly, and her gaze whips back over to me. "Don't you dare tell me that you're not worth it. Don't you dare."

Slowly, her hands lower back to her sides. I see the tears beginning to bite at the corners of her eyes, and it looks like she's trying so hard to keep them from flowing down her face.

"Hailey." I say, making my way out from behind the desk, until I am standing right in front of her. "What you did today—what you said—was one of the most incredible things I've ever heard. Honestly, I couldn't believe anyone could speak like that. But you can. And you did. In front of all those people. And at first, I know it wasn't easy. I know you couldn't quite find your groove, and you weren't quite sure of yourself.

"But then—everything changed. It was like one second you were there, struggling, and the next? You were navigating through it all on your own. You know what that's called, Hailey? Do you know what's that called?"

"What is that called?" She asks me, bringing her eyes up to meet mine, and a tear slips down her cheek.

Instinctively, I reach forward to brush it away with my thumb—a gentle caress over her cheekbone. I hear her breath hitch at my touch, and a small smile tugs at my lips as I whisper,

"It's called courage."