Born Wicked

XIII

I love being outside. Even in the cool October breeze, in shorts and a tee, the practice uniform for the volleyball team. I'm lined up in formation with the girls, all of us identical in outfit and posture. We are the State champions, two years running so far. Varsity volleyball is intense and busy and where I am the most welcome, as far as the students are concerned.

The team respects my hustle, the strength in my spike and my eye. I have a pretty decent serve, not as powerful as Blythe's, but smoother, and way more accurate. I'm pretty tall, at 5'8, which for a girl of sixteen, is above average. My legs are long, I cover a lot of ground, and my arms are slender and arch out from my torso for a wicked reach.

We stretch, the earth under the soccer field turf, rich and warm. I can feel it pulling me as I reach for my ankles. The breeze, slightly salted from the sea, is brisk yet the swell of energy warms me as it fills me with power. What can I say? I love being outside. I feel my taut hamstrings begin to loosen as I—

We're heading to the field for practice and I'm in borrowed practice gear and it is cold as hell out here. A shiver moves through me and I start to jog around the track. Julian paces beside me followed by Mike and Tristan. Nice guys, well, except for their friend Shane. He's a bit of a dick.

Speak of the devil, he blows past us. "Hurry up, pussies."

Mike chuckles and Julian just shakes his head. Feeling the muscles in my calves and thighs start to warm and loosen, I pick up the pace. The guys seem to follow suit. A few minutes into the run, we're racing. I'm digging deep, the muscles I worked to warm up are now screaming at me, tight and overworked.

My chest heaves and when Julian and Mike run past, Tristan not far behind, I know I'm done. I start to slow to a jog, a slight stitch in my side. I work on taking deep, controlled breaths.

After walking for a few minutes, I veer off track and saunter up to the fence where Mike and Tristan are standing, breathing as hard as I am. Sweat slides down the bridge of my nose and there's a nice v of it drenching the front and back of the practice jersey. I can feel my hair is damp and flat.

"Want to see something cool?" Mike asks.

I grin, stilling panting, "Sure."

Tristan laughs. "It makes the run totally worth it, bro."

They both peer over the fence and there, on the soccer field is the girls' volleyball team, in short black shorts and tight red tees, bent over at the waist in a stretch.

I chuckle at the stupidity. I mean don't get me wrong. Girls, short shorts, tight tees and stretching, it's a really nice sight but—

My mouth is suddenly, completely dry. My pulse, which was slowing after the run is now hammering, my heart in my chest pumping like it's trying to punch through my breast plate. Long legs, calf and thigh muscles curving up to a narrow waist, firm behind wrapped in small shorts. Slender rib cage –I struggle to inhale as my eyes continue to wander –firm, round breasts, long, slim arms and a mane of dark, almost-black hair pulled up into a high ponytail and sweeping the field as she bends. She bends. She bends. Oh, fuck.

Tristan wolf whistles loudly and the girls look over, some still down in their stretch, others, Jayme-Lynn included, standing. Coach Stahl, the girls' fierce, middle-aged coach and gym teacher, blows her whistle, the shrill sound echoing through the large space of green, and Mike and Tristan back pedal from the fence quickly.

"C'mon, Ethan," Tristan calls. "Coach Stahl is a mean fucking bitch. Move it!"

I hesitate only a fraction of a second. She's standing there watching me. Her hair is blowing in the breeze. I wave my hand at her, which is so goddamned stupid, but I want her to know that I'm watching her, too. My heart almost flat lines when I see her small hand wave back. I grin. I mean, it's one of those stupid, huge, eat-shit grins. I hustle over to the football field, leaving the fence behind, before Coach Stahl has a chance to catch me.