Unspoken(18)

She shot me a shocked glance as if I’d engaged the enemy in direct combat. I gave her a tiny shrug. The introductions shook loose Ryan’s mute button. “Ladies.” He smiled and two dimples appeared on either side of his mouth. The dimples, the short hair with the slight Mohawk styling, retro black plastic glasses, and brow piercing all bespoke a guy who was making his own way in life. He didn’t look like a stereotypical laxer. There was no STX lanyard with his keys and ID. No hat, not even an old tournament jersey.

“So you play lacrosse?” I asked when Ellie remained silent.

Ryan nodded, seeming relieved that I included him in a question. “I do. We’re gearing up for our season to start in a couple of months.”

“Where’s your pinnie?” Ellie asked, sneering slightly. I was surprised at her overt hostility. Shouldn’t asshole girl be my role?

Ryan shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I just like to play the game. It’s fun, a good way to keep in shape, and why am I defending myself to you?”

“You came to sit with us,” Ellie pointed out.

“I’m guessing you had a bad experience with a laxer?” Ryan suggested.

“You might say that.” I was grateful that Ellie didn’t turn to look at me when she replied, insinuating that it was her problem and not mine.

Ryan scrubbed a hand through his shorn hair, destroying his mini Mohawk and making the short hair on his head stick out in different directions.

“So I’m guessing my suggestion that we be lab partners is going to be shot down?” Ryan said, giving an adorable half smile. Even though I had a hate boner for all laxers, Ryan’s smile was potent. It looked like it might be affecting Ellie as well.

Ryan took her hesitation as a maybe he could turn to a yes. “I’m just a dumb freshman. Take pity on me.”

That was smooth. He was all dimples and self-deprecation. Ellie resisted, though. “I’ve had a really bad experience with laxers.”

At that, Ryan turned to look to his table. There was no avoiding it. The table of lacrosse players had seen us and identified at least me. I could see the shit-eating grin of one Clay Howard III from a hundred feet away. I shrank back. Never had a grin ever looked so menacing.

I wondered if Clay even knew my real name anymore, or if the nickname he’d given me was my only source of identification. I wasn’t convinced Clay even thought of me as a real person. Maybe I was some imaginary punching doll he’d created and trotted out for jokes to his pals.

Ryan’s eyes moved around from Ellie to me to his table. He stood then, and I noticed Clay had also risen from his seat and was making his way toward us. I looked wide-eyed at Ellie and my anger and trepidation were reflected in her face. And then I felt my backbone stiffen as my fight instinct kicked in.

Why was I allowing one douche bag to dictate my life on campus? I wondered how many other girls who sat in the café right now had turned down Clay, only to be branded a slut in exchange. I watched in wretched fascination as he swaggered over to our table. As he walked toward us, each section he passed seemed to quiet, as if they knew something was about to happen.

Ryan had positioned himself slightly in front of our table, as if to intercept Clay, a move I couldn’t comprehend at that moment. I inhaled, taking breaths as deep as I could make them without being obvious about it. I’m going to own you one day, I mentally told Clay. You’ll be broken at my feet, and I’ll laugh as the world pisses on your head.

“Bro.” Clay’s greeting to Ryan sounded like a shotgun in an empty range. He held out his fist for a bump. Ryan obliged but said nothing. “You looking for some action?” Clay asked.

Ryan shook his head. “No, just catching up with Ellie about a class we have together.”

“These girls, particularly Mary here, probably have a lot they’ll be willing to put out.” Clay smirked at his own really bad pun.

“It’s AnnMarie,” I said quietly but loud enough that I knew Clay could hear.

“What’s that?” Clay asked, obviously hoping to set me up or hoping I’d shut up.

“It’s AnnMarie,” I repeated and stood up next to the table. Ellie got to her feet and picked up her tray. She was ready to go. I wasn’t going to run out like a scaredy cat, but I also wasn’t going to sit there and be the butt of the innumerable lies that Clay would enjoy regaling young Ryan with.

As I bent down to pick up my tray, Clay remarked on the nearly uneaten contents. “Did you eat too much before you came to dinner tonight, Mary?” He emphasized the name so I wouldn’t miss that he’d intentionally called me the wrong name again.