Coach Foster is chipper this afternoon and something tells me we'll be suffering because of it.

Hayden and I stand waiting in his claustrophobic office, the gravelly rush of pouring rain against the ceiling echoing over the howl of football players.

The coach claps his hands together. "So."

"So," Hayden repeats with a hint of irritation in his voice. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the way his fingers twitch by his side. He's tense, like he needs to get out of here, and a little voice in the back of my mind wonders if his anxiousness has anything to do with his extracurricular activities involving vigilante justice. "What are we doing today, Davey?"

Coach Foster folds his arms over his chest and glares at him. "I'm not sure, Cross. I didn't get the chance to think about that today."

He makes a face. "Of course you didn't." His eyes dart from one corner of the room to the other and I feel my own anxiety spiking.

Stop moving so much.

"Do you mind?" I grimace. "You're acting even weirder than usual."

His sharp gray eyes snap to me and narrow. "Why are you such a bitch?"

"Please," I snort. "The only thing missing from this picture is a big red tattoo that says GUILTY right across your forehead."

"And what would I be guilty of, exactly?" he hisses.

"I don't know. Being an ass. Being annoying. Theft. Drugs." I bite my lip, whispering, "Maybe even some other elicit criminal activity..."

Hayden looks surprised and insulted, but not for the reasons I would have expected. The mention of crime-affiliation goes right over his head.

"I'm not some druggie crack head, thank you very much. One, that's disgusting and two," He flexes an arm and points to his biceps. "I don't want to harm this beautiful body."

Cocky shit much?

"Right, because smoking cigarettes doesn't harm your beautiful body," I retort with a look of disbelief. "It warms my heart that you're acknowledging my good looks, Ember." Hayden says in fake modesty. "It really does."

Rolling my eyes, I give him the middle finger. And just as Hayden opens his mouth to reply, Coach Foster noisily gets up from his crouch and peers over at us holding a wrinkled file folder.

"Both of you shut up. What would you like to do for your detention today? Cross?"

Hayden folds his arms over his chest and answers with, "Get the fuck out of here."

For a second, it looks like the coach contemplates whether or not to throw his clipboard at Hayden's head. Instead, Coach Foster's beady black eyes move to me and they roam across the contours of my face as he sizes me up and down for what feels like the millionth time in the last fifteen minutes. The first few times, I didn't care much of it because I myself don't want to look at Hayden. But this time it's different. The air in the tiny cement room has become more humid and suffocating than before.

Get out here. Now.

Speaking in a low, guttural voice, he asks, "What would you like to do for your detention, Ember?" My name slides off of his tongue slowly and an agonizing chill of fear and disgust creeps down my spine. I'm going to throw up. I'm going to rip his eyes out if he keeps looking at me like that.

I only shrug, ignoring the searing heat of Hayden stare.

Oh God. I have to get out of here right now.

Coach Foster clears his throat. "Alright, you two will go out and set up the tackle dummies outside for practice. The football team will be in the weight room for about an hour and I expect them to be set up when I get out." He tosses two folded pieces of yellow plastic onto the table. "You'll need these rain ponchos. Now get out of my sight."

I'm out of Coach Foster's office as fast as I can, stumbling through the gym doors and outside, taking in as many lungfuls of fresh, rainy air as I possibly can. Each deep breath erases the burn of bile climbing up my throat and I can't stop coughing.

I don't ever want to be near Coach Foster for more than five minutes ever again for the rest of my life.

"Umm...are you okay?" Hayden asks from behind me. His words are barely a whisper between the deafening roar of heavy raindrops pounding into the metal of the bleachers above us.

Tears sting my eyes. "Yeah...umm...yeah. It's nothing."

I need a shower. I need to scrub Coach Foster's gaze off of me.

Hayden and I both look out at the football field. A sheen of gray rain covers everything. It's only getting worse.

"Scared of a little rain?" Hayden half-heartedly jokes. I pull the rain poncho over my head. Made for the proportions of an average-sized man, it drags well over my feet.

Under so many bright lights, the football field glows green and white against the gray sky. The lull of the rain mixed with a sweet scent of wet pavement soothes my nerves.

This peace is short-lived, however. In no time, Hayden pulls a new pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket and lights one up.

"So is that why you were so twitchy back there?" I ask. "Your nicotine addiction getting to you?"

Hayden blows a large cloud of smoke in my direction. "Hardly."

"You do realize you're going to get wrinkles, right?" I tell him. I sound like my anti-aging obsessed mother. "From all of that smoke. I thought you cared about your looks."

"Oh, I do." Hayden reassures me with a sharp, sideways glance. "I can quit whenever I want."

I arch an eyebrow. "You do realize that is the most cliche, textbook addict thing ever, right?"

He turns to face me directly and crosses his arms over my chest, nodding his head for me to continue. Something tells me if I say anything else, I'm going to regret it. But then at the same time, I always regret my time spent with Hayden.

All except one, a voice in the back of my mind chimes.

At that moment, something changes in the air. Maybe it's me or maybe it's the thoughts coursing through my mind at a million miles an hour. Maybe it's the fact that we're alone for the first time since Hayden saved me in the parking lot. I want to ask him about it. I need to ask him about it otherwise I know it will erode my insides into nothing. Hayden must sense it too because he grows more agitated. My eyes settle on the flashy scar on his neck. Taking long puffs of his cigarette, he stares at me.

I dare you to ask me about it, his expression says. I dare you to deal with the consequences.

"I hope you got your ribs checked out?" I inquire in a low voice. "I wouldn't want something to be broken and puncture your lung."

Hayden doesn't flinch. "Why would I need them checked out? I'm completely fine."

"Come on, Hayden," I gape. "Don't even try to play those games."

"What games?" he wonders nonchalantly. "I'm just minding my own business, smoking in detention. That's all."

This time, it's me who moves to stand directly in front of him, angry. He stares down at me with bored eyes, fueling my fury, and I pluck the cigarette from his lips, tossing it behind me.

"Those people held a knife to my throat, Hayden! They could have killed me without even thinking about it. And for what? A memory stick?"

His lips twitch in silent words, but instead of finally revealing the story as to why I was attacked in a deli parking lot, he reaches into his back pocket to pull out another cigarette and lights it up.

"Hayden!"

Before I can even flinch, he snatches my wrists in his hands and clicks his tongue. "Don't," he warns, yanking me closer.

"I'm going to give the memory stick to the police if you don't give me some answers," I tell him. "But first I'm going to look at it and I'm going to make sure whatever crap you've managed to get in this time doesn't hurt people."

Hayden drops my hands and there's a flicker of fire in his eyes that has my body reeling to get away from him. As I slide away from him, Hayden steps toward me. He does it again and again until I am wedged between the side of the wall and him, fear coursing through me as to what he might do knowing this new piece of information. With my poncho dragging at my feet, trying to get away is difficult. I catch an edge under my shoes and trip. He stomps down on one end to keep me in place, and grabs my shoulder, spinning me around and blowing a giant cloud of smoke right in my face.

"Hayden! You ass!" I gasp. The poison burns my insides. My taste buds shrivel up. It's disgusting!

Hayden tosses the glowing bud onto the cement. "You shouldn't be around smoke, Ember. It'll give you wrinkles."

* * *

Across the field, the dummies stand waiting by a giant pile of dirt that will soon become a new tennis court. For it only being August, it's surprisingly chilly outside. The thin, plastic poncho does absolutely nothing to protect us from the cold water. Each drop is a bullet of ice on my skin.

"Am I going to have to do this all by myself?" Hayden shouts over the pouring rain. The mat-covered dummy is a lot heavier than it looks—and bigger too. It's larger than me and way too heavy for someone my size to move it even an inch.

In the matter of forty minutes, Hayden has gotten all of the tackle dummies to their appropriate places. All but one (the one I'm trying to move). I ignore him standing there, tapping his foot impatiently, and roll my eyes, turning my position so that instead of standing in front of it and pulling, I can try to push it again. It only needs to go the thirty-yard line. That isn't so far away.

"Careful, Ember! The turf is really slick!" Hayden warns.

I shove the dummy hard and it wobbles slightly. Taking a deep breath, I ram my shoulder into it again, gasping at the sudden, terrible pull in my shoulder when my shoes slip and I knock into the matted-hulk at a bad angle.

Hayden snorts. "I told you!"

Recovering, I roll my throbbing shoulders. "Why don't you just go back under the bleachers and leave me alone, Cross!"

He shakes his head and stomps toward me. Hayden's hood is partially down to send rivers of water across his face. He yanks the plastic cover over his eyes and motions for me to move aside. "If I keep waiting for you we'll be here all night."

This makes everything even worse and I slip on the slick turf and fall straight on my face. Trying to get up only results in my slipping again and falling even harder on my face.

Right. Into. The. Mud.

Hayden doubles over in hysterical, knee-slapping laughter. Slowly I raise my head off of the ground. Everything from my chin down is completely covered in brown and dirt. I even have to spit some that went into my mouth. With the amount of mud in my hair, it looks like I've gone brunette. Hayden continues to laugh his ass off. That is until I grab a handful of mud and throw it straight at his face. Right between the eyes. It's the funniest thing I've ever seen in my entire life.

The look on his face tells me I have to get out of there if I don't want to be murdered. Scrambling up, I slide across the muddy ground to get away from him as fast as possible. For good measures and to slow him down, I whip a few more handfuls of mud in his direction.

I'm abruptly grabbed by the waist and thrown to the ground. The air rushes out of my lungs as I'm slammed down hard onto my back as Hayden straddles my waist. His nostrils are flared with anger, most of his face darkened with the wet dirt. He pins my hands above my head with both of his hands and I squirm under his grasp.

"Let go of me you gorilla!" I command.

He cocks an eyebrow and looks down at me. "Gorilla?"

"Yeah you know, strong, smelly ape? Kind of have a temper problem?" I snap, shivering from the water seeping into my back.

He looks amused. "You think I'm strong?"

I don't say anything but stop struggling. It's no use. He's just too damn strong. Hayden leans forward so that our faces are a few inches apart and I wrinkle my nose at the strong scent of cigarettes that comes from him. He presses down against me, chest to chest.

"Hmm, this feels familiar," he smirks. "I kinda like it."

I exhale deeply. The pressure is suffocating. "That makes one of us."

A chuckle rumbles deep in his chest. There is no sign that he's going to get off of me any time soon. Hayden sits up and looks at me, shifting himself on my waist and moving my hand so that both are under one of his giant hands. The other hand rests on my stomach. "So, Ember, who's winning this war right now?"

I look at him and glare. "Me."

Hayden rolls his eyes. "Judging from our position right now, I'd have to say it's me."

"No." I answer simply, not caring to give into the obvious attempt of Hayden trying to get under my skin and unsettle me. I'm getting better at letting his immaturity go right over my head.

Hayden's grip on my wrists loosens and his free hand inches up a little bit. "Really? How so?" He humors me.

I stare into his eyes. "Like this!" And without any warning, I bring my knee into his chest and push up, ripping my hand from his grip to grab another handful of mud and smash it right into his face. I don't give him any chance to move and his absolute shock allows me to push him off. I don't hesitate to get up and sprint toward the school. He's going to kill me. Do I regret it? Not even a little.

He jumps to his feet and chases after me. He's just standing there, smirking.

Smack!

For a second, I know exactly what those tackle dummies feel like everyday during practice. But before I can hit the ground, a gloved hand wraps around my arm to me yank forward.

"Ember?"

I find myself staring into Nate Lincoln's pretty eyes and then the realization dawns on me. Here I am in the arms of Nate Lincoln drenched from head to toe and covered in mud.

"Oh my God!" I jump back and out of his arms.

"Having fun playing in the mud?" he asks with an amused grin.

My cheeks are growing hotter by the second. "It's...yeah."

He laughs. "Well, the next time you do, make sure to invite me."

Keeping my cool is the hardest thing in the world. Meeting his eyes, I tilt my head to the side. "Give me reason to invite you and maybe I will."

He stops to think for a moment. "Well, there's going to be this party after the game on Friday. You should come. How is that for a reason?"

Excitement courses through me. I lick my lips. "Keep going."

Nate mimics my smug expression and looks down at me from behind his blonde hair. "I'm going to come looking for you so you better show up, Ember."

Damn.

Dropping the grin from my lips, I stand up straight, and purse my lips in contemplation. "Okay, fine. I'll be there."

The harsh screech of Coach Foster's whistle echoes through the air and the man screams for the team to get to the field despite the heavy rain.

"I have to go." Nate smiles. "I'll see you then, Ember."

I watch him leave, smiling like an idiot, ignoring the weighing presence that slinks beside me.

I can't believe it.

"What was that all about?" Hayden asks from beside me. I look at him from over my shoulder.

"I'll see you at the party Friday night, Hayden."

* * *