First and Goal (Moving the Chains #1) (3 page)

“Or, maybe he actually likes you and doesn’t want to share.”

I stare at her with a deadpan expression. She cannot seriously believe the words that just came out of her mouth. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? You said it yourself, he’s freaking hot. I’m freaking me. We’ve gone to school together since freshman year, and he’s only spoken to me when he has to. He barely interacted with me until
after
all the rumors started. He doesn’t like me; he just thinks I’m an easy target. You don’t have to have any actual interest in someone to be sexually attracted to them. Hell, jocks are so perverted they’ll take whatever they can get. Look what happened with Nevaeh Winters last year.”

“That was a totally different ballgame, and you know it.”

“It was a prime example of how those man-beasts operate, is what it was.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. So how was it?” She bounces up and down eagerly as we make our way toward class.

“How was what?”

She rolls her eyes, easily ignoring my bitchy tone. “Touching him? Are his pecs rock hard? I bet he smells like sex.”

“Don’t make me throw up in this hallway, Jessica. I’ll do it. You know I will.”

“You might be a bit more chill if you’d just fuck the guy instead of hating him, Evie. You said it yourself,” she mocks, “you don’t have to be interested in someone to be sexually attracted to them. He’s fuckable and interested, so it’s time to move on already!”

Move on. Yeah, right. Since seven o’clock this morning, I’ve had six unsolicited offers for a date. And by date, I mean sex. So much for the hope that summer break would’ve dampened the rumors that have been going around about me. Last winter, my life imploded thanks to Eddie Hinton running his mouth. Dating him has to be in the top five of the worst mistakes I’ve ever made.

“I’m telling you, if you’re gonna get treated like a slut at least get something out of it,” Jess whispers to me as we enter the classroom. “It’s bullshit that everyone thinks you’re loose when you’re still a virgin. And I say if the sexy-as-fuck quarterback, captain of the team, and president of Student Government wants to defend you, you not only let him, but you jump on that hot shit. I would climb him like a tree and ride that fine man ‘til the cows come home.”

I roll my eyes and move towards a lab bench in the back of the room, well out of the spotlight. It’s obvious she’s just given me his curriculum vitae with the hope of swaying me toward her disturbing point of view.

Jess sits beside me, but it won’t be for long. “You’ve put Alyssa and I off long enough. It’s time to find you a hot stud and turn you into a real woman already.”

I can practically see the hamster running on the wheel in her head when she spies the quarterback and his friend sitting together at another lab bench. It fucking figures he’d be in this block with me.

“You already missed prime man-hunting season over the summer, so let’s focus on the back to school excitement!” She rubs her hands together as she eyes the primary candidate for my deflowering.

This is just another example of my protests about dating again falling on deaf ears. Ever since the rumors took over my life last year, I feel like I can’t count on anyone. If it’s possible, I trust people even less than I used to. It doesn’t help matters that my two best friends don’t understand my need to not fight back against all the gossip that Eddie spread last year. It’s even worse that they don’t respect my desire to never have anything to do with the male half of the population ever again.

The last students trickle in and take their seats. When the bell rings, everyone turns their attention to the front of the classroom.

Our instructor stands, her hands clasped together in front of her portly midsection like the picture of pure innocence. As usual, she looks wired and overly smiley. Her green eyes dance behind her cat-eye glasses as she prepares to systematically destroy then rebuild us in the name of science.

Rumor has it she worked for the CIA before she became a teacher. Unassuming, friendly appearance masking a sadistic personality? Check. Knowledge of covert torture techniques that supposedly don’t defy the Geneva Convention? Check. We’re just a bunch of sitting ducks at her mercy.

“Good afternoon, and welcome to senior AP biology! As most of you know, I’m Mrs. Anderson. It is my job to prepare you for college-level life sciences as well as the real world which will be here before you know it! For our first order of business, I am passing out the rules and expectations of the class which you will be expected to read tonight. Sign the appropriate page and return it to me tomorrow. I know you are all expecting me to hand out the infamous question packets, but since I’ve had problems in the past with students dropping the class after the questionnaires were completed, I run things a bit differently now. You all know that you have one week to drop my course if you feel that AP bio is not for you. So this year, we will dive right into the material. Next Monday, we will do the ‘get to know you’ portion of the class
after
the drop period has expired. We will, however, pick our partners today so that you begin to feel comfortable working with each other.” She claps her hands, clearly excited for this next part.

“All students sitting on the right side of each lab table, please come up to the desk and choose a name. Ladies will pick from this basket of names. Gentlemen will pick from this basket.” She holds each up as she speaks.

“Bring your materials with you. After you choose a name, you will then sit with your new partner for the next nine weeks. I’m relying on you to be honest. You will not experience the full benefits of this course if you choose someone you are already close friends with. The purpose of this exercise is to expand your social circle and prepare you for making new friends as you all leave high school behind at the end of this year!”

Jess gives me an encouraging look before taking her books and heading up the aisle to pick her lab partner. As she walks away, my gaze travels along the various cages in front of the massive line of windows to my left.

Most biology teachers stock their rooms with little jars of horror, specimens of former life forever suspended in formaldehyde. They’re the instructional version of shock and awe. The freshman biology teacher actually has a human fetus. The sadist loves to make the more sensitive girls cry by thrusting it in their faces.

Mrs. Anderson’s collection is far more subversively deceptive. A white rat, a few hamsters, one turtle, several frogs, even a canary. They’re all very much alive. Most people probably see a collection of pets. I see a simple reminder of the trappings of teenage life. We’re exactly like these caged animals: under the thumb of parents, teachers, employers…all with their own set of expectations and agendas. The great illusion is being cared for. In return for following their guidelines, we’re provided with shelter, sustenance, perhaps a friendly word or pat on the head here and there. Would these animals even know what to do with freedom should it be granted to them? More likely they’ve been handicapped to some extent in captivity just like us.

I watch the canary on its perch as I send up a little prayer to God that I won’t get stuck with the one person in this room that could make this next quarter a living hell for me.

My precious few moments of solitude shatter when the object of my petition pulls out the stool beside me, dropping onto it with a deep sigh. He lays his materials on the lab table in front of him without so much as a word or glance in my direction.

Dumb fuckin’ luck.

When I say my prayers tonight, I’m gonna ask to
not
be fabulously wealthy and beautiful and see what happens.

My newly assigned partner is the freakin’ quarterback of the football team.

That’s okay. I’m okay. I can do this. I just have to stick to the game plan.

Keeping my gaze firmly directed at the black lab table in front of me, I notice several carvings in the old surface. Undoubtedly they’re the names of couples who have The Bio Effect to thank for their senior year romances.

Just great.

The next quarter is going to be an unimaginable test of my resolve.

M
r. Smith slams the calculus quiz down on my desk, leans over, and whispers menacingly in my face. “You have now failed the first quiz of the year, and it was mostly review. I thought you were smarter than this, Miss Papageorgiou.”

Getting upset in front of the entire class is what he expects of me. He always goes the extra mile to get a reaction out of us. It’s only been a week, and I’ve already got this guy’s number. Maybe if he was a halfway decent teacher and not a fat bastard, I would actually understand what the hell is going on in this course. The only other F on my school record is from third grade math. Times tables were a bitch.

I refuse to give him the satisfaction of responding in any way.

Mr. Smith straightens himself up and scans the room quietly.

“Falls!” He bellows, causing several of my classmates to jump.

“Yes, sir!” The overly eager, mocking tone of my bio partner gags me, but several girls in the room bat their eyelashes and giggle at his antics.

“You’re in need of some community service to pad your resume for the recruiters. Tutor this young lady, here, and I’ll write you a nice letter of recommendation.” He waddles toward his desk to begin the morning’s lesson, his judgment handed down.

“Why him?”
Please, God, anyone but him.

Mr. Smith turns around with a cool sneer on his face. “Because he’s the only student in this worthless class of idiots with a hundred percent.” He points at my classmate. “Set it up and make it happen. When she pulls an A, then you’re off the hook.”

Alyssa pounds on my back. “Oh my God, Evie!” she hisses. “Holy shit!”

Clearly, she thinks this is a great idea, especially in light of bio. Her and Jess have been freaking out over that little disaster since last week.

My blood pressure rises to an unhealthy level, and I throw a quick glare back at the guy who sits diagonal from my desk. He’s one row to my left and one seat back. He always seems to be close behind me which creeps me out. The only reprieve I get is in classrooms with seats assigned alphabetically by last name. We’ve shared nearly every class since the ninth grade when he transferred to our public high school from one of the local Catholic schools.

Rob Falls
.

He’s the kind of senior who’s friends with everyone because they all want to be him or be
with
him which explains why he’s the Student Government president. He’s been elected every year since tenth grade solely on a platform of good looks. That’s what happens when elections in school are popularity contests in disguise.

He could seriously be an underwear model for one of those preppy, overly expensive mall stores, and he’s got the personality you’d expect to go with it: smug bastard. He’s disgustingly well built. According to his football stats, Rob is a whopping six foot five, two hundred and fifteen pounds of solid muscle. His athleticism far surpasses anyone else in our school’s conference. It’s well known that he has plans to go pro after a full ride to one of the best football colleges in the country, and his chances look pretty good since he’s currently ranked by scouts as the tenth best five-star, pro-style quarterback in the entire country.