Oh. My. Gods.
Page 57

we compete for the Cycladian Cup. The victors get to display the
coveted trophy at their school for the next year.” Coach Z gives us
all a stern scowl. “The losers get nothing but dust in their teeth.”
This is apparently the big pep speech for the meet.
I’ve heard so many of these in my lifetime I just tune out.
Instead, I glance over the crowd of teammates listening avidly to Coach Z’s threats and promises. Adara and her blondes, Zoe included, are right up front, watching Coach Z with rapt attention. There must be some sort of gender war going on because there’s not a single guy sitting with them. My gaze flicks briefly to Griffin, surrounded by Christopher, Costas, and the rest of the Ares jock-heads. He looks up, like he feels my eyes on him, and I immediately look the other way.
Eye contact is too much contact as far as I’m concerned.
He doesn’t take the hint.
No, he stands up, weaves his way through the crowd while Coach Z is still speaking, and sits down next to me on the grass.
“Phoebe, I—”
I get up and move away.
He follows me.
“We haven’t seen the trophy at this school in five years,” Coach Z says, scowling at Griffin’s disregard. “I want that trophy back in our front hall this year.”
Everyone cheers.
I keep evading Griffin, who is shadowing my every step.
“Now break up into your events and get in a good practice,” Coach Z says, dismissing the group to our individual coaches.
I head for Coach Lenny, hoping our workouts will separate us.
“Today we’ll be working out in pairs,” Coach Lenny explains. “I want you to push each other to perform at your highest level. The pairs are as follows—”
He starts reading names from his clipboard. As he works through the roster, I’m starting to get worried—he hasn’t read my name or Griffin’s yet.
No, I tell myself. Coach Lenny wouldn’t do this to me.
Then he does. “Phoebe Castro and Griffin Blake.”
He gives us a brief rundown of our workouts then turns to walk out of the stadium. I jog up and tap him on the shoulder. Griffin, of course, is right behind me.
“Something wrong?” Coach Lenny asks when he sees the sour look on my face.
“No, sir,” Griffin answers.
I glare at him. “Pair me with someone else, Coach.”
“He’s the only one capable of pushing you, Phoebe.” Coach Lenny gives me an apologetic look. “Work with him.”
“No. He’s an a—”
“For the sake of your running,” Coach Lenny says. “It’s just for one day.” Then he gives Griffin a threatening look. “Follow the workout, push her to do her best, or you’ll answer to me on race day.”
“Yes, sir,” Griffin replies, the picture of a perfect gentleman.
Ha. What a put on.
The second Coach Lenny walks away he starts in. “Phoebe, I know you’re mad, and you have every right to be—”
“Thanks for the permission,” I say.
I stalk across the inner lawn, find an empty spot with lots of room, and settle in to do my stretches. Griffin, right on my tail, sits down next to me, mimicking my actions.
“Hey, how is my being part of that bet,” he asks, “any worse than you making that deal with Stella?”
I clamp my jaw and don’t say a word.
“I’m sorry, Phoebe, that wasn’t how I wanted to start.”
I reach for my other foot, leaning away from him.
“I’m not going to let you shut me out,” he says, reaching for his toes. “You have the right to be mad, but I have the right to explain myself.”
I exhale deeply into my stretch. “I don’t have to listen.”
“No, you don’t have to.” He leans out over his left leg, stretching his quads. “But you will.”
He’s right. Purely driven by curiosity I at least want to hear whatever lame excuse he’s come up with. Then I can file it away under too-stupid-to-believe and move on with my life.
My time is too precious to waste on the likes of Griffin Blake.
“It started out as a bet,” he has the nerve to admit. “Not my bet, but a bet nonetheless.”
I give him a look that says I know this much already.
“That’s why I agreed to meet you that Sunday.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Glad to know I’m such a prize you need extra motivation just to go for a run—”
“I’m sorry, all right.” He reaches so abruptly for his right foot I’m surprised he doesn’t tear a tendon. “How many times do I have to say it?”
“About a million more times would be a good start.”
He sits back, giving up all pretense of stretching. “It started out as a bet,” he bites out, “but it didn’t end up that way.”
What a load of hooey.
“If I had been honest with myself—” He starts tugging up little clumps of grass. “I would have realized that the bet was just an excuse. A reason for me to spend time with you. One I didn’t have to explain to anyone.”
I continue with my stretches, working through all my leg muscles and ignoring his little heartfelt speech. Ignoring the fact that my deal with Stella served pretty much the same purpose—a reason to go after Griffin without guilt over how Nicole felt about him.
“Even though I was a total jerk, you still gave me a chance.”