Sweet Like Revenge

10 - Guys and Games

"It's a wonder that all that metal doesn't stick to her braces," Poppy sneered through sips of her cherry soda.

"Look at his cheeks," Kirsty pointed to one of the boys on the tuba. "He looks like a frog!"

"If frogs were red. And fat."

I couldn't help but wince at the insults they tossed at the marching band so effortlessly. After all, I used to march amongst them. Now, I was merely another spectator watching them from the bleachers. And not just anywhere in those bleachers, either, but in the most coveted row, and three places down from Irvine royalty.

Sienna sat crossed-legged between Poppy and Kirsty, seemingly oblivious to their schoolyard insults. Nate's letterman jacket had been draped lovingly over her shoulders, a clear signal to the world that he was hers. She tugged at her golden necklace—a gift from her smitten beloved, no doubt—and I worked to suppress the jealousy that gnawed at my heart.

After speaking to Sienna at Matt's party, I left feeling as though I'd finally made some progress. I knew that she at least knew my name, which meant that I had somewhat succeeded at infiltrating her inner circle. I expected to hit the ground running when we were back at school, to finally move forward with my plan of revenge.

But, to my disappointment, Sienna and I had barely even made eye contact since our Saturday night heart-to-heart. Not only were our class schedules completely incompatible, but it was clear that Poppy was guarding her like a feisty little bulldog guarding its favorite bone. The striking redhead made little secret of the fact that she'd prefer it if I quite literally rolled over and died; I had a suspicion that her tripping me at our lacrosse game that morning hadn't been a simple accident.

Basically, there was no getting to Sienna without going through Poppy, which was ramping up to be a feat as impossible as finding a black cat in the dark.

"Matt looks cute," Chontelle said, though her tone was dry, an eyebrow arched. Not stating—inquiring.

I played along, tossing her a coy smile and a pacifying schoolgirl giggle. But, honestly, I hadn't even noticed that Matt had joined his teammates on the field. Nor did his apparent 'cuteness' affect me in any way.

My attention was squarely on Nate.

He scanned the chanting home crowd proudly, and I felt my heart flutter when he looked my way. I contemplated throwing him a wave, or an encouraging thumbs-up. But, in less than a second, his eyes had continued along my row, passing Chontelle, passing Poppy and Kirsty, until they finally landed on Sienna. She rose regally from her seat to blow Nate a kiss, and I clenched my jaw as he pretended to catch it and put it in his pocket. Cheesy? Yes. Enviable? Absolutely.

"You two make me sick," Kirsty joked, and while I shared her sentiment, I certainly didn't share her sarcasm.

As expected, the match was an aggressive one. Nate's rival was taller than him, his body buffed in a way that made me question his sobriety, and I had to remind myself that it wasn't my place to worry about the former's safety. He wasn't my boyfriend.

Sienna, on the other hand, didn't seem at all worried about Nate's match-up, and it didn't take me long to figure out why. While his rival looked as though he'd eaten both of the Hemsworth brothers for breakfast, his muscle made him slow and lethargic. Nate, on the other hand, was the perfect mix of toned and agile. He moved twice as fast as his opposition and took longer, more confident strides. Never before had I watched an athlete with such fervor, and I told myself that my avidity derived solely from my admiration for Nate's skill and passion for the game. That watching him play was like watching a painter paint, or a dancer dance. That Nate was an artist, and that I was merely admiring his art.