"You two are perfect together," Jessica Tobi gushes during lunch, her eyes bright with vicarious excitement. "Like, seriously perfect. You're going to be homecoming king and queen, aren't you?"
"We haven't really talked about it," I say, leaning into Blake's side. His arm tightens around my shoulders, and I wait for the flutter of excitement that should come with the contact.
Nothing.
"Are you kidding?" Blake grins down at me. "Of course we are. I mean, look at her."
The girls at our table giggle and exchange meaningful glances. I force a smile and take a sip of my Diet Coke, trying to ignore the way my wolf remains completely uninterested in Blake's touch.
"Speaking of homecoming," Macy's voice cuts through the chatter like a blade. She slides into the seat across from us, her smile sharp enough to cut glass. "I heard they're still accepting nominations for homecoming court."
"Thanks, but I think we're good," Blake says, not even bothering to look at her.
"I wasn't talking to you." Macy's eyes lock onto mine. "I was talking to Scarlett. After all, she's only been here a week. Some people might think it's a little... presumptuous to assume she'd automatically get nominated."
The temperature at our table drops about ten degrees. Several conversations at nearby tables pause as students sense drama brewing.
"Presumptuous?" I set down my drink and lean forward. "That's an interesting word choice."
"I just think it's important to earn your place, you know? Instead of trying to skip steps by... well, by taking shortcuts."
Blake's jaw tightens. "Macy, what the hell..."
"It's fine." I place a hand on his arm, never breaking eye contact with Macy. "I'm sure Macy is just concerned about maintaining the school's high standards. After all, we wouldn't want anyone unworthy representing Crescent Ridge High."
"Exactly." Macy's smile widens. "I'm so glad you understand."
"Oh, I understand perfectly." I stand, gathering my things with deliberate calm. "I understand that some people are so threatened by a little competition that they resort to petty games. It's almost... sad."
I walk away before she can respond, my heels clicking against the linoleum like gunshots. Behind me, I hear Blake muttering something to Macy, but I don't stick around to listen.
The battle lines have been drawn. I hope not to get expelled this time.
After school, I head to the gym for Blake's basketball practice.
"Walter!" Blake calls out during a water break. "You getting all this down, or are you too busy daydreaming?"
Danny looks up, his cheeks flushing red. "I've got everything recorded."
"Yeah? What was my shooting percentage in the last drill?"
"Sixty-seven percent from the field, forty percent from three-point range."
"See?" Blake turns to his teammates with a grin. "Professor Calculator never misses a detail. Too bad he can't actually play."
A few of the guys chuckle. Danny's flush deepens, but he doesn't respond, just turns back to his screen.
"Maybe we should get you some contacts," Blake continues, apparently not done with his entertainment. "Those glasses make you look like a cartoon character."
"Blake." My voice comes out sharper than I intended. The whole team turns to look at me. "Don't you have drills to run?"
"Right." Blake flashes me a grin. "Sorry, babe. Sometimes I forget not everyone can take a joke."
As practice resumes, I find myself watching Danny more than Blake.
Friday brings the Lincoln High game, and I'm determined to play the perfect supportive girlfriend. I wear Blake's spare jersey over skinny jeans and sit in the student section, cheering at all the right moments. When Blake scores, I jump up and scream like it's the most amazing thing I've ever seen.
The act is exhausting.
"You're not very good at this," a voice says beside me.
I turn to find a girl with curly red hair and paint-stained fingers sliding into the seat next to me.
"Excuse me?"
"The whole 'supportive girlfriend' thing. You look like you're in physical pain every time you smile."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't." She extends a hand. "I'm Riley, by the way. And before you ask, I'm not part of the Blake Morrison fan club."
I shake her hand, intrigued despite myself. "Scarlett."
"I know who you are. The whole school's been talking about you."
"And what are they saying?"
Riley shrugs. "That you're either the luckiest girl in school or the most calculating. Jury's still out."
"So which is it?" Riley asks. "Lucky or calculating?"
"Neither," I say. "I'm just trying to figure out where I fit."
"And you think it's attached to Blake Morrison's hip?"
Before I can answer, a commotion on the court draws our attention. Blake is standing over Danny, who's somehow ended up on the floor surrounded by scattered stat sheets. The referee is talking to both of them, but from the crowd's reaction, it looks like Blake "accidentally" knocked Danny over while chasing a loose ball.
"Help me up," Danny mutters, struggling to collect his papers.
Blake extends a hand, then yanks it back at the last second. "Oops. Butterfingers."
The crowd laughs. Danny's face burns red as he gets to his feet on his own.
Something hot and violent flares in my chest. Before I can stop myself, I'm on my feet, shouting, "What the hell, Blake?"
The entire gymnasium goes quiet. Blake looks up at me, his expression confused.
"Babe, it was an accident."
"Was it?" My voice carries across the silent gym. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looked like you deliberately knocked him down."
"Scarlett..."
"Danny's part of your team. He works just as hard as anyone else here, and he deserves better than being treated like your personal entertainment."
The silence stretches on forever. Then someone in the crowd whistles, and the moment breaks. The referee signals for the game to resume, and Blake jogs back to his position, but he keeps glancing up at me with a mixture of confusion and irritation.
I sit back down, my heart hammering. Riley is staring at me with obvious interest.
"Now that," she says, "was interesting."
After the game—which we win by twelve points—Blake finds me in the parking lot. His hair is still damp from the locker room shower, and he's wearing that confident post-victory glow that usually makes girls swoon.
"What the hell was that about?" he asks without preamble.
"What was what about?"
"The whole defending Danny Walter thing. You made me look like an ass in front of the entire school."
"You made yourself look like an ass. I just pointed it out."
Blake stares at me like I've grown a second head. "Since when do you care about Danny Walter?"
"Since when do you think it's okay to bully your own teammates?"
"I wasn't bullying him. I was just... it was a joke."
"A joke that left him on the floor picking up papers while everyone laughed at him."
"Jesus, Scarlett. What's gotten into you?"
I don't have an answer for that. Or rather, I have an answer I don't want to examine too closely.
"I should get home," I say instead. "It's late."
"Wait." Blake catches my arm as I turn away. "Are we... are we okay?"
I look up at him—really look at him. He's still gorgeous, still everything I should want. But when he touches me, there's nothing. No spark, no connection, no sense of rightness.
"We're fine," I lie.
He leans down to kiss me, and I let him. His lips are warm and firm, and he tastes like victory and teenage confidence. It should be perfect.
It feels like kissing a statue.
Monday morning, I'm at my locker when I catch sight of Danny down the hall. Without thinking, I start walking toward him.
He looks up as I approach, and I catch the exact moment recognition hits. His entire body goes rigid, and he takes a step back like I'm dangerous.
"Hi," I say, suddenly uncertain. "I'm Scarlett. We haven't officially met."
"I know who you are." His voice is quiet, but there's something in it that makes my wolf whine. "You're Blake's girlfriend."
"I'm also the girl who stood up for you at the game Friday night."
"I didn't ask you to do that."
"No, but..."
"Look." Danny adjusts his glasses, a nervous habit I'm beginning to recognize. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but I want no part of it."
"Game?"
"The whole... this." He gestures vaguely between us. "Whatever this is supposed to be. Some kind of bet with your friends? A dare? I don't know and I don't care."
"Danny..."
"Stay away from me." He turns back to his locker, his movements sharp and jerky. "I don't know who you are, but I want nothing to do with it."
"You don't understand," I whisper.
"I understand perfectly." Danny slams his locker shut and hitches his backpack higher. "You're Blake Morrison's girlfriend. You're popular and beautiful and completely out of my league. Whatever this is, it's not real."
He walks away without looking back, leaving me standing in the hallway like an idiot.