Oh. My. Gods.
Page 23

“Oh no,” I say with a wide, innocent grin, batting my eyelashes for effect, “Griffin would never do something so underhanded, would he?”
I’m not fully sure why I don’t squeal. Maybe I like the idea of being one up on him. Or maybe I think the whole thing isn’t worth the trouble. Or maybe—and this is a terrifying possibility after what he’s done to me—I still want him to like me.
Or at least the him that I met that morning on the beach.
The him he’s showing this afternoon can go take a leap.
Griffin exhales loud enough for me to hear, like he’s beyond relieved that I didn’t rat on him.
A few more runners cross the finish line. Griffin congratulates them as they arrive, and then they pat him on the back for coming in first. They might dismiss his red cheeks and ears as a result of running, but I know he’s embarrassed. He knows he won unfairly.
Coach Lenny eyes me suspiciously. I’m a horrible liar and he can probably tell I am covering for Griffin. But he apparently decides to let this one slide and walks away.
Now it sinks in that I am going to have to walk all the way back to Damian’s house—across the whole campus and a very rocky hillside—in my socks.
I glare at Griffin, bent over the water fountain and showing off his cute butt—I mean his rotten backside. Well, I am not going into the woods sock-footed after a pair of shoes when it’s his fault I threw them in there.
Jumping to my feet, I stomp across the starting area as best as I can without shoes and tap him on the shoulder.
“Get my shoes back,” I demand.
He jerks up and spins around, like he’s shocked that I have the nerve to talk to him. “Excuse me?” he asks, like I’m the one being rude.
Only I can’t really remember what I was asking him because his lips are all glossy and wet from the drinking fountain.
“I, um . . .” I swallow hard, hoping that will clear my brain. “Shoes. They’re . . . in the woods.”
I wave my hand back over my shoulder in the general direction that my shoes had gone. Then, while my eyes are locked on his lips, his tongue darts out to catch an extra drop of water at the corner of his mouth. I sort of shudder all over and I think it’s with only the biggest display of willpower that I don’t whimper.
His mouth kicks up at one side in that cocky grin.
Like he knows just what kind of thoughts I’m having.
That shakes me out of it.
I drag my eyes away from his lips and focus on his eyes—his bright blue, hypnotic . . .
“My shoes,” I say as forcefully as possible. “I tossed them in the woods. Get them back.”
“Why would you throw your—”
“Because I couldn’t get them unknotted, thank you very much.”
“Oh,” he mouths, scowling. As if he hadn’t realized I couldn’t untie his supernatural knot.
Then, before I can blink, he holds out his hand to the woods and then my shoes are there—laces unknotted and tied into neat little bows. He holds them out to me and, as soon as I take them, turns and walks away.
I stare after him, confused.
I feel like I’ve missed something again, like I should thank him for undoing the rotten thing he did in the first place. Like he’s pushing me away and pulling me in at the same time.
And I thought girls were supposed to be the complicated ones.
Forcing myself to forget Griffin and his contradictions, I slip back into my shoes and start for Damian’s house. No point hanging around to hear I didn’t make the team. Great! There goes USC. There goes the one thing I could count on to keep me going on this stupid island. There goes my life for the next year—and beyond.
“Wait a minute, Castro,” Coach Lenny calls out. “We have a meeting in the locker room to announce the team roster.”
Yeah, right. Does he think I enjoy humiliation? I didn’t even finish the race—not that it was my fault or anything, but quitting is quitting. Oh well. Since I have to stop by school anyway to pick up my homework, I might as well sit in on the announcement. With Griffin coming in first, I’m sure there’s no way he’s not on the team, but maybe I’ll get the satisfaction of seeing Adara get cut.
The locker room is deafening loud with everyone talking at once. The coaches are locked away in Coach Z’s office, making their decisions and everything.
Even surrounded by sixty kids I feel completely alone.
No one is talking to me, but plenty are talking about me. And staring at me. And pointing at me. And laughing at me.
Rather than sit there and take it, I go get a drink from the water fountain. A nice, long drink. I don’t think I’ve ever drunk so much at once—except for the time I ran the Death Valley Marathon. Being waterlogged is definitely more appealing than sitting around being stared at like a talking dog.
When I can’t drink any more, I glance around the hallway while wiping at my mouth. A little ways down I see a display case and wonder what this one holds. More Olympic medals? More artifacts from the first marathon?
No, just a big collage of pictures of last year’s track team.
A bunch of guys in blue running shorts dumping a cooler full of ice on Coach Lenny’s head. A group of girls posing around Coach
Z. Adara and Griffin kissing on the starting line. Gag me. I’ve had enough. I’m not going to stand around and wait to hear
how I suck and I should never run again and—
“She didn’t even finish the race,” a deep male voice says.