Opposite Force

Chapter Three

Mikaela Martin | Present

"How was tennis?" Liam asks the second I sit down for lunch.

I groan, even though it's kind of funny how excited he is by simply talking about his favorite sport. "Long story," I mutter.

People are still milling around the lunchroom. Once everyone finds their seats, I'll share the tragic tale of Peyton Warner wasting an entire gym class for a couple laughs, but for now, my lips are zipped. I can't risk someone overhearing me talking about him. No doubt that would get back to Peyton by the end of lunch.

"I can give you lessons sometime," Liam offers.

Before I can assure him that forty-five minutes of tennis five times a week in gym class is more than enough for me, something tall casts a shadow on my peanut butter and jelly. "Hey, Mikaela, do you have a second?"

At least he's asking at the beginning of lunch so I'll have time to dry my soon-to-be tearful eyes in the bathroom before gym. "Sure."

I leave my sandwich with Liam and follow Peyton outside. He sits atop one of the picnic tables that line the cafeteria perimeter. I plop awkwardly on one of the benches. I'm not really the sit-on-tabletops type.

"Hey, so I just wanted to apologize for yesterday," Peyton says. His voice is still deep, but it's abnormally quiet.

"No worries." My voice is also quiet, but there's nothing abnormal about that.

"No, I wasn't making any sense, and  you thought I was laughing at you. I swear, I wasn't. It was just the ball and the face and..." He frowns. "I'm doing the same thing again. Shit. I'm an idiot."

I have no idea what I'm supposed to say. Or think. Or do. I cross and uncross my legs.

"Want to partner up again and we can skip? Coach Howland won't notice, but even if he does, doesn't matter. He loves me. He's obsessed with the team."

Does he seriously feel that guilty for going too far yesterday?

"Shit, that sounded really bad. I keep messing up with you." Peyton runs his fingers through his hair. "I completely understand if you don't want to partner with me, or if you never want to talk to me again, but...yeah."

If I didn't know better, I'd say Peyton Warner is tongue-tied. However, I do know better. Guys like him don't get tongue-tied, unless making out with Gigi Flynn counts as a tongue-tying experience. His conscience must be getting to him. Maybe I should let him sweat, but this is kind of painful. I just want to return to my sandwich.

"It's fine," I say. My voice comes out a little too harsh, so I add, "Really, Peyton. No big deal. Not the first time someone's laughed at me in gym class. I'm fine."

His eyes narrow. "Who laughed at you in gym?"

Everyone, Coach Howland included. "It's fine. Really."

"No, that's not fine. Was it anyone I know?"

All of your friends, yourself included. "No," I lie. "It's really fine."

"I'm... I'm sorry. I thought it was... I thought we were having a moment," he practically stammers.

I always thought jaw-dropping only happens in books and movies. Turns out it's very much a real-life phenomenon that occurs when people say absolutely shocking things, the way Peyton just did. "What?" I exclaim.

"Here I go again." He lets out an exasperated sigh. "I want to get to know you."

"Why?" I blurt out.