“Excuse me if I don’t want to be around my girlfriend who refuses to trust me.” He starts walking out of the room. “I guess I’ll call you later.”
My heart is beating fast, and I don’t know what to say to fix this. “Trey…”
He turns around.
“I want to trust you,” I tell him.
“But you don’t.”
“I don’t know. With the pills and now this…”
“Now you’re bringing that up, too? I can’t deal with this right now,” he says. “I’ve got too much on my plate already, Monika. Thanks for stressing me out.”
His words make my body tense. “You say it like I just sit at home and do nothing all day. I have college apps too, Trey. I have school. I have cheerleading. I’m stressed.”
“You don’t have a job or have to worry about how you’re going to pay for college.” He gestures to the artwork and surround-sound system in our den. “You have parents who can afford to pay for your college and those manicures you get all the time. I don’t. You wouldn’t even know what it’d be like to have a job and go to school at the same time.”
I feel numb right now, like I’m living in some kind of alternate world where I can’t express any feelings or emotions without being ostracized for them. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you’re acting like a diva, expecting me to be the perfect boyfriend when I can’t possibly live up to your expectations.” He presses his palms to his eyes and breathes in and out slowly. “I have to go. I need time to cool off.”
He walks out, and I feel an invisible wall building in my heart. The feeling that Trey has been distant lately isn’t my imagination. He says “love ya” as if he’s a robot trained to say it and not because it’s coming from his heart. He’s so into slipping big words into his sentences, but can’t even manage to say “I love you” like he used to.
“Where’s Trey?” Mom asks as I walk into the kitchen a few minutes later, wanting nothing more than to cry. “I thought you two were going to watch a movie in the den.”
“We were.” I sigh. “But he left.”
“Is everything okay?”
My parents worry about me enough. I don’t need to add to it.
“Yeah. Everything’s fine,” I tell her.
“He’s such a good boy. You could be stuck with that Salazar boy. Then we’d have a serious problem on our hands.”
“Vic is a good guy, Mom.”
She throws me a sideways glance. “That’s not what I hear. Your uncle Thomas told me about an altercation at the beach the other night. He hinted that Vic was involved. I know Trey is friends with him, but you need to keep your distance. Boys like that are nothing but trouble.”
I would argue, but it’s no use. Mom isn’t going to change her mind about Vic. She’s pegged him a troublemaker, and she’s not likely to change her opinion no matter what I say. Besides, he does get in fights. But nobody realizes that most of the time he’s provoked or is trying to protect someone. He has a fierce way of protecting the ones he cares about. He doesn’t talk about it and never defends himself from scrutiny or comments people make, as if he deserves them.
A small part of me wishes Trey was more like Vic, caring more about the ones he loves than his class rank.
Trey accused me of never knowing what it would be like to work hard while going to school.
“Mom, can I get an after-school job?” I blurt out.
“I’d rather not. Concentrate on your schoolwork instead.” She rubs my arm. “Besides, you need to rest that body of yours. You can’t afford to have a setback and be so disabled you can’t go to school.”
I’ve always been the good girl, the one who follows directions and doesn’t cause waves. All it ended up giving me is “diva” status. And a disabled label from my parents.
I’m so done being the good girl, afraid of letting go because of limitations set on me by my parents, the doctors, and myself.
It’s time I become a rebel, because living life so far inside the safe zone isn’t working for me.
Chapter Seven
VICTOR
Being a senior at Fremont has its advantages. It also means that we’re the ones responsible for pranking rival schools. Lucky for us, we’ve got it covered. Our quarterback, Derek “The Fitz” Fitzpatrick, is as eager as me to start this year with a prank that’ll be talked about for years.
We’re sitting in Derek’s grandmother’s basement eating some gourmet food that she ordered in for us. She has no clue that me, Derek, Trey, and Jet are plotting something epic.
“We could TP their houses,” Trey chimes in as he gets a text, then busily starts typing away on his cell.
Derek fake yawns. “Been there, done that.”
Jet isn’t impressed either. “We need something original, something that’s never been done before.”
I’ve been trying to come up with a prank that doesn’t involve us going to jail.
“What about dyeing their jerseys Fremont High gold or black?” Derek says.
Seeing our rivals wearing our colors would be hella funny. “How are we gonna get hold of their jerseys?” I ask.
Derek, with his cocky attitude and Texas-sized confidence, grins wide. “Trust me. I can break into a maximum-security prison if I have to.”