Opposite Force

Chapter Two

Mikaela Martin | Present

"Everybody take a seat!" Coach Howland yells.

Nobody has a chance to so much as bend their knees before he lets loose into the puke-green whistle that's forever dangling around his neck. His voice is so loud that he could get by on shouting alone, but he uses that stupid whistle so often you'd think he's on a mission to make Ramsey High School's student body deaf.

"I hate that whistle," a deep voice says.

I whip my head around to see Peyton Warner standing beside me. My heart sinks. Gym class is bad enough without being tormented by the popular kids. Why can't he just let me suffer in peace?

"Same," I mumble as I settle onto the germy floor in crisscross-applesauce position, trying to fill the smallest amount of space possible.

Peyton sprawls out beside me. He leans back on his arms and sticks out his long legs, clearly not caring how much room he takes up. "It's just as loud on the field," he adds.

I have to give Peyton Warner credit. I didn't think he was strategic enough for the long-con, but clearly he has some agenda thought up. Maybe he'll try to befriend me so he can leave me on the side of the road like Nolan did to Olivia.

"That sucks," I reply in a near-whisper.

Peyton opens his mouth again, but Coach Howland barks out today's plan before he can get a word out. As Liam warned me, we're playing tennis. And partnering up. I scan the room, doing a quick count in my head. A block of ice forms in my core. There's an odd number. I'm going to be the kid without a partner. No one will ask the unathletic girl to join them as a group of three, so I'll have to play with Coach Howland, or he'll force me on some unlucky duo.

"Alright, go ahead!" Coach Howland finally shouts.

I rise to my feet as slowly as possible. When I finally straighten up, Peyton's looking at me. "Wanna play?" he asks. There's a small smile on his lips. They're less chapped than they were in history. I guess he hydrated during lunch.

I know he's just doing this to make fun of how unathletic I am, but I'd rather be the subject of his jokes than the lone tennis ranger. "Yes," nearly leaps from my mouth, but realization halts the word in its tracks. I definitely misheard him. Peyton Warner does not want to play tennis with me. "Wait, what?" I blurt out.

Peyton's grin grows. "Want to be my partner?" he asks.

"Uh, sure."

"I'll get us rackets. Be right back."

I watch him jog across the gym and pull two rackets out from a pile on the ground. He inspects them for a few seconds and, seemingly dissatisfied, swaps one for another. I move my eyes to my feet before he turns around. I don't want him to think I'm ogling him or anything. That's the last thing his ego needs.

"Mikaela, why don't you join Tori and Sierra over there?" Coach Howland suggests loudly.

Tori's shoulders slump. I can't say I'm overly offended. I'm a hazard when it comes to playing sports. As for Coach Howland's assumption that I don't have a partner, I'm not offended by that, either. Whenever we have an odd number of students in class, I'm always the, well, odd one out.

"I, um, have a partner. I'm just waiting," I mumble.

He raises his eyebrows. "Is that so?"

"Uh, yes. Peyton."

Coach Howland's roaring laugh turns half the class's heads towards us. My cheeks are going to catch on fire. "It's always the quiet ones who are the funniest," he booms. "Come on. Let's find you a group."