Beastly (The Ever After Collection) (3 page)

American Literature, too, flew by without incident. She and the rest of the class spent the hour taking a test on
The Scarlet Letter
, and Emma had no reason to talk to the new boy – Heath Thompson – again.

It wasn’t until Emma’s last class of the day that she realized she
did
share more than just that one class with Heath. Like all seniors, she was only forced to endure Gym class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and while Heath wasn’t in the Health class she had on the other three days of the week, he
was
most certainly present in the gymnasium when she and Collette exited the girls’ locker room that Tuesday afternoon.

She couldn't have
not
noticed him. He was in the middle of center court, having what looked to be some sort of show down with Coach Benson, Maple Valley High’s resident Gym teacher and boys’ basketball coach.

Emma hesitantly trailed after Collette as she pushed her way through a group of their peers to get a better look at what all the commotion was about. When she got to the front of the small crowd that had gathered, she could see that Coach Benson was holding Maple Valley High’s standard Gym uniform out to Heath, who looked like he was trying to set fire to the sloppily folded pile of clothes with his glare alone.

“You’re kidding.” Heath’s voice was soaked in derision as he took in the plain gray t-shirt, shiny red athletic shorts, and pair of white tube socks.

Emma watched in fascination as Coach Benson’s eyebrows crawled up to nearly his hairline. (It was quite the impressive feat considering how much it had receded in the four short years Emma had known the man.) “I kid you not.” Emma cringed in secondhand embarrassment for the coach. “This is the required uniform for Gym.”

“I’m not wearing that.” Heath’s words were firm, as unyielding as the rigid line his mouth had fallen into as he crossed his arms over his chest. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt that day, tighter than the sweatshirt he’d worn on his first day of school, and the thin material it was made of stretched over his arms as he crossed them, allowing Emma – and the rest of her classmates – to see the muscles of Heath’s biceps as they bulged underneath.

Heath was more built than she’d thought.

Heat crept up Emma’s neck as she realized the sharp turn her thoughts had taken, and she forced herself to concentrate on
why
it could be that Heath was so upset about a t-shirt and pair of shorts. She didn’t see anything outwardly wrong with the clothes Coach Benson was offering him. There were no stains or holes that Emma could see.

Sure, the uniform wasn’t exactly a fashion statement (at least, not a good one), but it was unoffending and comfortable enough. Emma would know. She was wearing one such uniform that very second.

“Yes, you
are
wearing this uniform. And I prefer that when my students address me they call me either coach or sir. You got that, kid?”

Emma could practically see the tension radiating off of Heath’s stiff form and thus, was entirely unsurprised by his response. “I’d like to see you make me,
sir
.”

Emma didn’t think she’d ever heard anyone manage to say the word “sir” so disrespectfully before – so utterly full of loathing.

Coach Benson’s already red face purpled. “Unless you’ve got a doctor’s note explaining how your skin is allergic to polyester or some such bullshit, I expect you to dress appropriately for my class. If you insist on defying my rules, feel free to sit out and take a zero.” Coach Benson gestured jerkily at the bleachers on the other side of the gym. “Your choice, kid.”

Emma mustn’t have been entirely inconspicuous in her staring because Heath somehow managed to catch her in the act from where he stood arguing with Coach Benson. He sneered, and Emma’s face flushed as red as the pair of shorts Heath was being offered before she was able to sever eye contact. Embarrassed beyond what was logical considering the fact that literally
everyone
was staring at Heath, Emma forced her eyes to remain glued to her white tennis shoes.

That didn’t mean that her ears still weren’t riveted to the scene playing out before her, however. She heard Heath mutter “gladly” and something softer after that that vaguely resembled the word “asshole” before his loud footsteps echoed throughout the large room, his dingy sneakers slapping against the linoleum floors as he made his way towards the bleachers.

Risking a peek, Emma watched as he haphazardly tossed his backpack into a row of the collapsible wooden benches before plopping down beside the bag.

Coach Benson glared at the lot of them. “Stop your gawking. You have warm-up laps to run. Go.” Without further ado, he blew his whistle.

Emma kept pace with Collette and Luca, who joined them as they circled the gym, as she ran. She made sure every time she passed the bleachers that her eyes were directed anywhere but at Heath. Even if she swore that she could feel the heat of his gaze on the back of her head every single time she ran by him.

Things only continued to go downhill from there.

Coach Benson, closet sadist that he was, announced that the team activity they’d all be forced to participate in that day was flag football.

Emma groaned aloud. In her experience, “flag football” consisted almost entirely of the girls in her class attempting to grope the boys in lieu of actually grabbing the flags that hung around their waists whilst said boys peacocked about.

Needless to say, Emma and Collette spent the majority of the game doing what they always did when such an activity was announced – chit-chatting under their breath while “guarding” each other. Collette was in the midst of reciting a rather creative list of Lulu Jennings’s multiple shortcomings – the girl was chasing Luca about with a dreamy, awe-struck look in her eyes – when a football came flying at Emma out of nowhere.

She didn’t really have time to think about what she was doing. Her body merely reacted involuntarily and she caught the pigskin.

It was a mistake.

She’d only been standing there in shock for half a second – Collette looking equally surprised beside her – when she was plowed into from behind. She toppled forward and her chin hit the ground with a loud
thwack
. The coppery taste of blood exploded in her mouth as she bit down hard on her tongue.

“Crap, Emma, are you okay?” Coach Benson asked as he hustled over to where she’d fallen. Or was pushed, rather.

Before she could gather her bearings enough to answer, Collette had ahold of one of her elbows and Luca the other. Her friends pulled her up to her feet.

“This is flag football, you harpy, not tackle!” Collette was yelling angrily at… Maribeth.

Of course.

Why wasn’t she surprised?

And then the coach was there.

“I’m so sorry, Emma,” Maribeth insisted, eyes comically wide in the perfect picture of concern. “I totally didn’t mean to run into you like that.”

“Yeah right! You’re on the same team as her, for Christ’s sake,” Collette scoffed, taking a step into Maribeth’s personal space.

“Now, now, Collette,” Benson attempted to mediate, placing a restraining hand on the redhead’s shoulder. “Accidents
do
happen.”

Emma stared at the coach in disbelief. Collette and Luca were wearing matching expressions she was sure.

“Are you okay, Emma? Do you need to go to the nurse’s office?”

Emma cringed. Her chin was smarting, but besides that and the blood she could taste pooling in her mouth, she was fine. She didn’t want to go to the nurse’s office only to have said nurse end up calling her dad. He was working tonight and needed his rest. “No, I’m fine,” she insisted.

Coach Benson frowned. “If you’re sure,” he finally said before gesturing at her mouth. “Why don’t you clean up and have a seat on the bleachers then? You can rest for the remainder of class.”

Emma touched her mouth and winced. She hadn’t been aware of the dribble of blood trickling down from the corner of her lip. Excusing herself to use the restroom in the locker room, she spat out the blood that had gathered in her mouth before thoroughly rinsing it out and washing up her face. After briefly examining herself in the mirror, she hesitantly made her way back to the gymnasium. The bleachers, to be more specific.

Which created a bit of a dilemma for Emma. Because she didn't know where to sit. It seemed rude, mean spirited even, to sit on the complete opposite side of the bleachers as Heath, even if he
had
been a jerk to her the last time they’d talked. She could hardly just throw herself down right beside him either, though. Not with the story Collette had told her yesterday about how he’d spurned Maribeth in the middle of class for daring to sit too close to him at the forefront of her mind.

Ultimately, she decided that five feet to the right and two sets of bleachers below him was appropriate. Figuring she’d be forced to endure the painful silence that immediately descended between them for the remainder of Gym class, she was surprised when Heath spoke to her a few minutes later. “I guess I wasn’t too far off with that whole queen thing after all, was I, your majesty?”

Emma stiffened at his scornful tone, scowling at Heath over her shoulder. “The name’s Emma, actually… remember?” she added sarcastically.

He snorted. “I thought protocol was to call royalty by their proper titles.”

Emma glowered, pulling her knees up to her chest like they’d somehow protect her from his surly demeanor. “I’m only a candidate,” she pointed out quietly in objection.

“Semantics. Besides, Blondie must think you’re pretty stiff competition judging by how she took you down like that.”

Emma dug the blunt edges of her fingernails into her knees. “Yes, well, Maribeth doesn’t particularly like me.”

“Not like you?” Heath protested in mock indignation. “How could anyone not like you?”

Clamping down hard on the soft flesh of her inner cheek, Emma forced herself to ignore Heath, staring resolutely forward instead of acknowledging his hurtful words.

“What you’d do, steal her boyfriend?”

Emma’s chest tightened. She knew that Heath didn't know the whole sordid history behind his comment, but the words hurt regardless. Probably a lot more than they should have, coming from a relative stranger who didn’t realize he was stepping on dangerously thin ice. All the same, traitorous tears welled in her eyes, and Emma rested her head on her knees in an attempt to hide them.

“What? Not going to talk to me now? Did I somehow offend your noble sensibilities?”

Attempting to forcefully blink back her tears, Emma turned and glared. “What’s your problem with me?” she demanded.

She didn’t think she was entirely successful in her endeavor – there must have still been a suspicious sheen in her eyes – because Heath immediately stiffened, looking slightly cowed as he turned his gaze away from her. “Nothing,” he mumbled finally, clearing his throat before tentatively adding, “Don’t take it personally. I’m like this with everyone.”

Some of the tension that had built itself up in Emma shoulders fled at the confession. She didn’t allow her glare to lessen, however. “If that was supposed to be an apology, it, well…” she paused, “it wasn’t a very good one,” she finished lamely.

Emma turned away, and an awkward silence befell them after that. It was better than the hostile one they’d been sitting in before, she supposed, but not by much.

She refused to look back at Heath for the remaining minutes of Gym class, no matter how badly she may have wanted to. Not even when she heard him begin rifling through his book bag and the tell-tale sound of paper crinkling did she allow herself a peek.

Coach Benson blew his whistle, signaling the end of class at three o’clock on the dot. Emma stood, but before she could make a hasty exit, a hand – Heath’s hand – wrapped itself lightly around her wrist.

She tensed, grudgingly turning to face him. “What?”

Heath frowned, letting go of her wrist before stiffly shoving what looked like a crumpled ball of paper into her hands.

Emma was baffled, but reluctantly took the thing. Heath trudged away immediately after, disappearing into a throng of her classmates.

She looked down at the ball of paper. Except… that wasn’t what it was at all.

Upon closer inspection, it was something much more special – breath-taking even. A perfectly formed origami rose. And upon each pedal, two simple words were scrawled.

I’m sorry.

CHAPTER THREE

Emma was not a cyber stalker.

She hadn’t been reduced to some creepy cretin pathetically prowling the Internet for any information she could glean about Heath Thompson – a frustratingly common last name, she’d discovered quite quickly.

Really.

But unbelievably, the new boy didn’t have a Facebook or a Twitter account. Nor did he belong to any other social networking site that Emma had searched. She’d been practically
forced
into consulting the god-like entity known as Google.

And even
that
hadn’t offered her any answers.

Emma had absolutely no more information about Heath than when she’d started her sleuthing. Which, frankly, wasn’t much. She’d made a list, pathetically short as it was.

Heath was handsome.

Heath was incredibly rude and presumptuous.

Heath could think of ‘Q’ words at the drop of a hat.

Heath refused to dress for Phy. Ed. for whatever reason.

Heath was apt in the practice of making origami flowers.

And the last, most important tidbit of information: Heath had become a permanent fixture in Emma’s thoughts.

It was incredibly rare for someone to catch her attention the way that he had – in a matter of days no less. Her head told her to stay away from the unruly boy, but the mystery behind his actions ensnarled her. He was a conundrum – smart and handsome, but callous and mean at the same time. Not exactly an unheard of combination. But then there was the rose…

Emma couldn't deny her body’s attraction to him either. Though she adamantly refused to believe that
that
had anything to do with the non-stalking she’d been doing.

Emma struggled with the decision of whether or not to approach Heath for the next three days, yo-yoing back and forth in that special sort of purgatory that horribly indecisive people often suffered. On Friday night the choice was made for her by Heath himself.

* * *

School had passed by quickly that afternoon, ending in a spectacularly embarrassing pep rally. Emma, as a homecoming candidate, had to offer a few inspirational words to Maple Valley High’s football team.

Of course, she hadn’t realized she’d have to make such a speech going into the rally and had had her nose stuck in an intriguing historical romance she’d downloaded onto her tablet the night before when she’d heard herself being called to the podium of the auditorium. In front of the entire student body.

She hadn’t even been aware of the rival team’s name at the time – the Sacred Heart Knights, she now knew – and her speech, if it could be called that, had been a repetition of painfully generic phrases like “Good luck, boys!” and “I know you can do it!” And, of course, no one could forget the plethora of “Go team!”

Thankfully, only her friends seemed to have realized how godawful her “speech” had truly been. They had no qualms about telling her so either, sniggering about it for the rest of the afternoon before dragging her to the football game later that evening.

Maple Valley High won the match handily, with Gunther throwing five touchdowns for an easy 35-10 victory over the Knights.

Spirits were high amongst players and fans alike, and Emma couldn't help her matching jovial mood as she and her friends walked to the dance that was to take place in the school gymnasium immediately after the game. Even the stupid crowning ceremony looming in the back of her mind couldn't touch her good mood.

Cheeks flushed a pretty pink and hair windswept from the strong October breeze, Emma was unaware of the many appraising glances she received as she, Collette, and Luca made the small trek from the football field to the high school.

“Call me crazy, but I think that last 'go team!' was real tonight,” Collette teased as Luca opened the door for the two girls.

“You learn to appreciate good football when it’s all your father ever watches, and hey, at least I knew what was going on. I think you were paying more attention to the Knights’
tight ends
,” she grinned at the pun, “than the game itself,” Emma shot back, eyes glittering with mirth.

Ignoring Luca’s disgusted snort, Collette threw her hands up in surrender. “You caught me.”

“You girls never compliment me on my tight end,” Luca pouted as the trio of friends made their way down the hallway in the direction of loud, booming music. When they reached their destination, they came to a halt, taking in the streamer and balloon decorated gym before them.

“That’s because you have no butt. You’re basically a walking bean pole,” Collette countered, nearly shouting to be heard over the pounding bass that resounded throughout the room.

“Ah-ha! So you have noticed the goods!”

“Yeah, the lack thereof!” Collette immediately attempted to backtrack.

Emma laughed outright at the splotches of red that exploded across the apples of Collette’s cheeks, but before she or Luca could properly tease her about it, Lulu Jennings flounced over to them, latching onto one of Luca’s arms with her hands – or talons, as Collette would probably refer to them.

“Come dance with me, Luca,” she demanded, fluttering her eyes at him.

Luca glanced at Collette, but she was refusing to look at him, and so he half-heartedly agreed. “Sure, Lulu.”

Emma almost thought steam would come spouting out of her friend’s ears as she watched them walk away.

“I’m not surprised she’s attracted to poles,” Collette muttered spitefully. “The girl is so brain dead that stripper may very well be her only viable career choice.”

“You’re just mad you didn’t ask him first,” Emma pointed out, fighting not to laugh out loud when her friend nearly choked on her own spit.

Before Collette could deny it, however, the two girls were approached by Maple Valley High’s star quarterback himself, Gunther Kingston.

“Hello, ladies,” he greeted them, throwing a beefy arm around each of their shoulders in what Emma suspected he thought was a smooth move.

“Gunther,” Collette addressed him curtly for the both of them, jabbing an elbow into his ribs and forcing him to release her. Emma glared at her friend, her actions having caused the football star to squeeze her more tightly to his other side where she was attempting to subtly move out of his snug embrace herself.

“That’s no way to treat the man of the hour.”

“Only in your own mind would you occupy someone’s thoughts for an entire hour,” Collette retorted, rolling her eyes.

“You wound me,” Gunther deadpanned, turning the entirety of his attention onto Emma. “Surely you appreciated my prowess tonight, Emma?”

“You played well,” she admittedly reluctantly, still attempting to somehow move out from under the weight of his heavy, musclebound arm.

“Better than well,” Gunther scoffed. “Luckily for you, I’m as magnificent a dancer as I am an athlete.”

When he attempted to pull her out onto the dance floor, she managed to free herself from him in a slickly executed move – namely quickly ducking out from under his arm. “No thanks. I don’t think, you know,
your girlfriend
would appreciate that.”

He had the nerve to laugh at her before darting forward and snatching the wrist of her left hand in a restricting grip. He tried again to tug her forward. “Come on, babe.”

Collette, thank God, quickly grabbed her right hand and jerked her away. “This
babe
said no, you cretin. Now get lost.”

Gunther’s green eyes flashed with something more frightening than mere anger before he managed to replace his glowering expression with a smug, cool smile. “Whatever. I’m sure I’ll get my dance later.”

Emma frowned. “Why-?”

“Don’t count on it,” Collette snapped before Emma could finish her question.

Why would he think for even a second that she would dance with him?

“She won’t have much of a choice, I’m afraid,” he informed Collette smugly, offering Emma a wink and unknowingly answering her unvoiced question. “After all, a homecoming king dancing with his queen is a tradition that simply must be upheld.”

Before either girl could soak in the implications of that, let alone reply, Gunther stalked off, no doubt to bask in the admiration of his more accommodating fans.

Emma glanced worriedly at her friend whose glare remained fixed on the jock. “You don’t really think he voted me in as queen over his own girlfriend, do you?”

Collette snorted derisively. “Oh, I’m sure he did. No doubt he got his jock buddies to vote for you too. And all in a misguided attempt to feel you up. What a desperate creep.” Her eyes flickered over to Maribeth. “It’s no wonder why she hates you really.”

“Collette!” Emma protested.

“
What?
I’m just saying. Her boyfriend is basically obsessed with you.”

The two girls watched as the blonde in question grinded her impressive booty into the seat of some nameless guy’s crotch as a particularly racy song began blaring through the speakers situated throughout the gymnasium. “Not that I feel particularly bad for her,” Collette quickly amended.

“Yeah, well, I’m going to feel awfully bad for me if what Gunther said is true. I don’t want to dance with him.”

Especially not with their history, if what had happened between them could even be called that.

Collette pursed her lips and met Emma’s worried gaze. “Don’t worry. I have an idea.”

Emma watched as her friend’s eyes searched the dance floor before they finally landed on the swaying forms of Luca and Lulu. “She’s on the homecoming committee,” Collette said, gesturing at the girl, “and Luca said that she was in charge of the voting for king and queen. Counting the ballots in other words. We’ll just get her to announce Maribeth as queen instead of you regardless of who actually won.”

Emma scrunched her nose in confusion. “Okay, but why would Lulu do that for us?”

“Not for
us
,” Collette clarified. “For Luca.”

Emma frowned, knowing that Collette couldn't possibly want Luca owing the girl who was so obviously infatuated with him a favor. “But Collette-”

“It's fine,” she said, cutting Emma off.

Emma didn’t think it was, but knew better than to argue with her friend when she got
that
particular look on her face; the stubborn set of her jaw told her not to waste her breath.

When there was a break between songs, Collette hurriedly called Luca over. He hustled to them, looking disgustedly hopeful, but his lips pulled into a frown when Collette explained the situation to him. He was quick to agree to ask Lulu for assistance. “Anything for my two girls,” he assured them brightly.

Lulu wasn’t quite as easy to convince. Ultimately, she only agreed to manipulate the ballot results if in return Luca went to the homecoming after party with her at Percival Davenport’s house.

Collette urged Luca to agree. He did, but with an uncharacteristic frown tugging at his mouth.

Lulu was ecstatic.

Emma was just relieved.

Or, she had been, at least, until Collette opened her mouth again. “I hope you know that we have to go to that party now too. And I do mean
we
.”

Emma couldn't find it in herself to argue. Her friends were jumping through the hoops they were for her after all.

And it wouldn’t be so bad, anyway.

Percy was one of their classmates. He was short and pimply, but a nice enough guy. At least he was if one could forgive the fact that he worshipped the ground Gunther walked on and was probably considered to be his best friend by the majority of the school. If one considered using someone for their deep pockets friendship anyway.

Percy – or his parents, at least – were loaded.

A half hour later, Emma finally allowed her stiff shoulders to relax when Maribeth Campbell was named homecoming queen and shared a dance with a frowning – downright pouting, really – Gunther Kingston.

An hour after that she was at Percy’s party. Unknown to her at the time, so was Heath Thompson.

* * *

“I just don’t get it. How much stupid could God have possibly fit into one person?”

Emma sighed. Collette was on her second glass of punch – a mix of what smelled like orange juice, pineapple juice, and some sort of alcohol – and on her fifth or sixth tangent of the night about Lulu.

“She’s not that bad.”

Collette raised an eyebrow at Emma’s defense of the girl, lackluster as it was. “She thought Mount Rushmore was formed by some miraculous act of nature, Emma. She’s as dumb as it gets.”

While it was true that Lulu wasn’t exactly the brightest crayon in the box – maybe a dull brown or jaded yellow if Emma were to hazard a guess – she wasn’t a mean-spirited person. Collette was being unjustly harsh on the girl. “You’re just jealous.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Collette barked, gulping down what remained of her drink. “Why would I be jealous of that bimbo?”