The Boy I Hate

Nine.

"When did you break up with Richard?"

The question came from Bobby. I sat snug in the passengers seat of his mother's Chevrolet when his voice broke me out of the trance created by the small hula girl's hips swiveling on the dashboard. I had rehearsed the answers in my head, as well as practiced them on my school friends all week - I was prepared. Yet, it felt dirty to lie to him.

"After you kidnapped me."

"Mhmm," he pursed his lips, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Mhmm what?" I sat up higher now, raising my eyebrows in alarm. I couldn't place whether he was mhmming out of disbelief or guilt.

"It's just interesting," he hummed.

"What's interesting?"

He pulled over, so suddenly that my seatbelt tightened around my swaying body. I gripped the handle that hung above me. Bobby turned to me, leaning forward slightly, but purposefully. It was an interrogation in the making. "It seems to me that you have miraculously lost your drunk slur within the last half hour, and if you don't mind me pointing it out - your mic has been peaking out of your hair since we got in the car."

I frantically tucked the mic back into my brunette curls, "I can explai-"

He interrupted, "and given those two facts it seems increasingly peculiar that you would be lying to me now." He backed up, turned forward again, and continued driving. "I was meant to keep watch on the dance class while the other guys set up the smoke bombs. I couldn't help but notice you snacking on your boyfriend's ear. Would you agree that it's unusual to nibble the ear of an ex boyfriend?"

I was cornered. Talking myself out of this would be impossible, and I knew that. My heart beat was pulsing with adrenaline; I had been caught red handed. "So when are you gonna tell?"

"I'm not."

"What?"

My eyes were wide, and my jaw dropped. He quickly glanced at my expression and chuckled, "I really don't take this whole thing as seriously as the rest of you do. You want to play double agent? Be my guest."

"You're serious?" I always recognized Bobby as a laid back guy. He obviously couldn't care less about the deep rooted resentment between Charlie and Richard. However, this was an entirely new level of carelessness. He was willing to let me lie to his best friends, and betray their secrets to the other side?

We had arrived in my parking lot, and he turned to me. I searched his eyes for any sign of deceit. He seemed as casual as ever though, "yeah. Besides, it might be fun to see how it all plays out." He winked. "Now get out of my car so I can get it back before my mom sees it's gone."

•••

"Noah!" I marched onto the baseball field with fury I didn't know I was capable of.

I hadn't yet managed to talk to any of the boys about the happenings of Friday. That being because my mother realized I, in fact, hadn't been studying with Margie when I arrived home with paintball stains on my clothes and sand in my heels. As a result I was banned from all communication with other humans until school on Monday.

Margie and I drove to school earlier than usual so I could address the baseball team about shooting me. Unfortunately, that meant showing up in the middle of early morning practice.

I stomped all the way to the dugout where I knew my first attacker would be waiting. I was able to do so freely because morning practices were team ran, with no coaches. "Noah, I sincerely hope you have a good explanation for shooting me!"

The rest of the team started crowding around. Richard ran all the way from the pitcher's mound to attempt dragging me away from the poor boy. They were all being quite dramatic - I wouldn't actually maul him or anything.

"Bad aim?" He winced.

I looked up, flattened my lips, and squinted my eyes. "Anything else you'd like to say?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Apology accepted," I patted his head. "Now," I turned towards the heard of boys who had huddled around us, "one of you better fess up to nicking my fucking neck!"

I dramatically pointed to the bruised scab on my neck, trying to lock eyes with as many of them as I could. Nobody was saying anything. In fact, most of them looked around at each other like they were trying to figure it out too. When my scanning eyes reached the end of the crowd and locked with Rich's, I knew why.

I maintained eye contact with his guilty orbs, and motioned with my hand for the rest of the boys to go away. A couple of muffled ooo's could be heard, as well as one particularly loud, "good luck, my dude."

When the rest of the man meat had dispersed, I accusingly placed my index finger on my boyfriend's chest and pushed him against the gate of the dugout. "You shot me?"

"Uh," he stuttered, "yeah?"

"Are you kidding me?"

He tried to make physical contact in multiple ways; placing a hand on my shoulder, cupping my face, and holding my hands. I brushed him off every time. "Babe, I was making direct eye contact with Charlie! If I didn't shoot he wouldn't buy it."

"It wouldn't have been that detrimental to our plan, Rich! You shooting me didn't prove anything to him! I broke up with you, remember?"

"We're not really broken up, remember?" He seemed to be taken down a peg by my word choice. The hurt in his expression was evident.

At that I finally allowed him to touch me, only on the waist. "You know that's not what I meant."

"I know," he brushed some hair from my face. "We just need to make sure not to let this whole thing ruin us."

I was lost in his eyes again. Rich had a way of making me forget when I was mad at him with the simple pout of his lip. I found myself losing my sense of anger when he whispered sweet nothings and coxed me into simmering. He pressed his forehead to mine, "I'm sorry, Babe. I shouldn't have done it."

"No kidding," I pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I've got to get to class."