Chapter 6: Team Scott and Ave

Scott was the last to leave, after everyone explained and discussed a few things. I figured he had a few other things he wanted to share with me without everyone else around, but I wasn’t too keen on spending anytime with him outside of our “agreement”. Don’t let my wording fool you. I hardly had any say in the whole thing.

Since Scott had the upper hand because I revealed our big secret, and I was trying my hardest not to speak to him at all, he, Emory, and Gin were busy haggling over the details. Renee and I were the only ones reviewing the files of people we were considering for the games.

One girl we knew for a fact was getting sick and tired of her controlling boyfriend and the guy we planned to set her up with was a pothead, but one of the nicest, funniest guys I know. And the other participants…those two were a stretch to say the least.

It was funny how things earlier things seemed to be all about me, but when my friends started to get up to leave, no one noticed my disappearance. Or didn’t care enough to worry about it.

I had just changed into a short white cotton shirt dress when the door opened. I used to wear the dress a lot during the summer, but after a huge red wine spill, I wear it to sleep now.

“What do you want, Michael,” I called, looking up from my old dog-eared copy of The Tempest. Had I been on the edge of the bed, I would have fallen off and broken my neck. Had I forgotten my parents were sleeping, I would have screamed at the top of my lungs.

“Can I sit,” Scott asked, stepping in the room and closing the door behind him.

“You can leave,” I tried to answer calmly. I closed my book and sat up, careful to keep my arms folded across my chest since my mom likes to keep the heat on low at night and I just took my bra off. “And turn the light off on your way out. I’ve had a long day and I wanna go to bed—you’re not invited.”

Just that thought about not having a bra on made my gaze skirt over to the entrance of my closet where I threw my hot pink padded bra. And of course, Scott noticed and his small smirk turned into his usual megawatt, panty dropping thing some might call a smile. I call it a deathtrap.

“Do you remember how well we got along in the dark, cramped closet?” His hand snaked up the walk in search of the light switch.

“Don’t you dare, Scott,” I crawled back on my bed and slipped under the covers. “I’m not in the mood for your shit.”

And like the child he was, Scott just couldn’t do what I asked him. I reached for the lamp on my bedside table too quickly and the little wooden table crashed to the floor.

“Ave,” I heard him whisper, much closer to the bed.

The room was pitch black and who knew when he’d get close enough for me to forget about resisting (I have no illusions about my own willpower when it comes to this guy and his very able lips)? I lifted the bedspread off my legs and scooted over to the edge of the bed.

“This isn’t a cramped closet, Scott,” I was breathing more heavily than I wanted to, but I didn’t have the time to catch my breath before he caught me, “What makes you think you’ll be able to find me?”

“I know you’re still on the bed and your bed is in the corner up against the wall. There’s not that many ways for you to get away and even if you do, I’ll hear you and grab you and drag you back to the bed to ravish you,” he murmured, definitely closer this time. If I hadn’t reached out and felt only air beside me, I would have sworn he was that close.

I scuttled back to the center of the bed. “Okay, just tell me what you want to talk about.”

I felt the bed sink in and froze up. What should I do now?

I had to slap a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming when he grabbed my ankle. “What makes you think I just wanted to talk?”

Oh god, I almost whimpered out loud when his hand kept traveling. He cupped the back of my knee, his other hand found the other, and slid me backwards. I felt his hands on my hips soon after and his cool minty breath on my face. He must have been sucking on a mint earlier.

“Avery,” he breathed, so close that I lifted my chin and our lips brushed. A jolt ran through me.

Something in me snapped. I gripped the front of his sweater, crushed his lips onto mine, wrapped my legs around his hips and forgot. I forgot all the reasons we shouldn’t be doing this. I forgot that I don’t even like Scott. I forgot I just broke up with my boyfriend, who I was still in love with. And I forgot that we didn’t start dating until tomorrow, so none of this could be called acting.

We stopped much later—it had to be half an hour later—since the need to breathe had just gotten much more pressing. One thing’s for sure, I definitely wouldn’t get sick of kissing Scott anytime soon.

“We should stop,” Scott said finally, though I was still lying on top of him and his hands were kind of up my dress. Only on my stomach; he hadn’t crossed that line, taking the way I froze up when his hands ventured close as an indication that it was not okay.

I was happy he said it, because I couldn’t get my hands off him. I was the one who took off his shirt after all and had no qualms about cataloging every curve and contour of his well muscled stomach and chest.

“I guess,” I grumbled and slipped off of him. I glimpsed his grin in the darkness. My eyes adjusted to the darkness a while ago so I could see him pretty well. He sat up and felt around for his sweater. I sat up and folded my legs underneath me. “Look, I’m not—”

“Avery, I understand you’re not ready for a lot right now. I know you two just broke up, but I just,” he stopped to pull his top over his head, “I just wanted you to that this doesn’t have to be a headache. We can obviously enjoy each other’s company. And maybe after a month, we’ll—”

I interrupted him this time. “We’ll, what, stay together? Please, Scott, you don’t date any girl for over a month. Let’s not pretend I’m any different; we don’t even like each other.”

He got up and stopped at the door. “Do you think your brother heard us?”

“No, but you’re lucky he didn’t come in to talk like we usually do,” I told him. Michael and I are still just as close as we were as kids, though he’ll be at the Art Institute next year and I’ll be at Northwestern.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he stepped one foot out the door and then turned back, “And Ave, you’ve never just been any girl to me.”

He is such a great liar.

I fell back onto my pillows and repeated that like a mantra for the rest of the night, because I really would need to remember it.

-

If last night had not occurred, I’d swear I was in a drug induced coma, floating through trippy dreams that could never happen in real life. Hallucinogens would have to play a part in whatever’s going down right now.

Let me paint a picture for you:

I’m at my locker, right, and Renee’s on my left, with a delicate but bored smile on her face. She’s got a floaty little dress on with thermal leggings and Ugg boots, even though we’re in the midst of a particularly frigid Chicago winter, and her boredom? Craig’s still in his early period class. We used to think perpetual boredom was just a part of her personality—a little quirk, you know?—but once our little game stumbled upon the romance that is Craig-Nee, that opinion changed. Renee is much more animated when Craig’s around.

Ginny’s my right hand for the morning, mostly because I’m still pissed at Emory about this whole thing and she’s got class at the University Wednesday mornings. Her dark hair’s curled up all elaborately today, for the occasion, she says, and her high waisted skirt is way too short to be appropriate for school and don’t get me started on the tank to she’s wearing under her cardigan. Tall, leggy, and lucky is what I call Gin and also why I kind of hate her from time to time.

And I still haven’t told either of them about what happened last night, after they left.

“Oh, here he comes,” Ginny murmurs and by the appreciative tone in her voice, I know she’s talking about Scott, “And he’s got the ever-scrumptious Scott P. in tow…I knew this was a good idea.”

Okay, at least she’s getting a kick out of it, but I really can’t understand why this is so entertaining to everyone but me. I just don’t get it.

I stuffed the rest of my books into my locker, stood up straight, and smoothed my blue short sleeved sweater with a deep v-neck that Ginny picked out. As soon as I caught sight of Scott, not too far down the hall, grinning right at me, I bent to pick at the nonexistent lent on my low slung jeans and blink away the memory of my ripping off his shirt last night.

Scott looks good today—in a dark brown sweater and black Levis that are just snug enough—which, of course, is a problem for me. You’d think I would want my “boyfriend” to look good, but no. I don’t want to be compelled to slip into a deserted hallway with Scott. I just don’t, no matter how jealous it’ll make Jared. The complications that will go along with thinking that way about Scott aren’t worth it, especially since he’s the only thing I think about when I’m not obsessing over my ex.

The thing is, who knows if I’ll be able to turn those feelings off after thirty one days? Well, thirty one days and an extra week where we have an elaborate break up—a stipulation in our agreement that Emory fought for—which is just enough time for me to fall way too hard for this asshole, but not enough time for me to get over him.

Before I knew it, Scott was pulling me into a tight huge and murmuring, “Hey, babe,” loud enough for anyone in the vicinity to hear.

“I prefer my name thanks,” I hissed through my teeth, though who knows if he heard me; I only reach mid-chest on Scott to my dismay. I considered pushing him away, but since people were watching, no matter how deserted my corner of the school usually is—it was filled up today oddly enough—I had to keep up appearances.

I stretched upwards to give him a tiny kiss on the cheek. “In about fifteen seconds, I’m going to kiss you,” Scott whispered in my ear—and you know what? We’re just gonna pretend I didn’t shiver when he followed that statement by licking right below my ear.

I shifted against Scott’s chest to get a better view of the entrances to the hallway and sure enough trouble was headed our way. Jared and that hoe-bag Kara were walking right toward us and Jared looked positively green. While my stomach attempted to catapult itself from my body, I pretended not to notice them and looked up at Scott, my smile grim.

“Good to know you’re taking this so seriously,” I muttered and before I could say a number of other very rude things on my mind, Scott pressed his lips to mine and my mind pretty much went blank, since his contact was the only thing to distract me from the stab of pain I felt when Jared came into view.

There is something to be said about experience. And whatever else Scott has. Because he knows how to use his lips; a little bit of pressure here, one hand in my hair, the other on my hip, a nibble here and there, and he’d tug at my lower lip gently…

One thing is for sure; we definitely wouldn’t have to fake the PDA. This I could deal with, preferably without wishing he’d come by for a nighttime visit everyday, among other things.

I heard someone clear their throat and I made a feeble attempt to pull away. It was about ten seconds later when we finally broke apart, I was flushed and concentrating on a scuff in my boots, but of course Scott grinned like it was Christmas morning all over again.

“Yeah, Ginny?” I guess he was pretending it was Gin who cleared her throat, but I happen to know for a fact it was Jared. His red-tinged cheeks and throat are proof enough, even without the fact that he’s shooting daggers—no, not daggers, machetes—right at us.

“Hey, Jar,” I said, trying to come off as nonchalant, but mostly I just sounded embarrassed. Hopefully he’d think I was embarrassed he had to see that, and not that I was embarrassed to have him see me with someone else. “And Kara…I forgot Scott told me about you two being together last night.”

“That’s likely,” Kara bit back, twirling a piece of limp strawberry blond hair around her index finger. I’d like to say she was smacking on a piece of bright pink bubble gum, because that would go perfectly with her supremely tacky persona, but instead she was sucking down a blended coffee drink from Starbucks.

“Excuse me, Kara. What’d you just say,” Scott jumped in finally, after sharing a quick laugh with Ginny. I’d have to keep an eye on those two. “You know I was just telling Ave how odd it is that we’re just now getting together, since we’ve known each other since kindergarten and, you know, we’ll be together next year too.”

“Was that before or after you jammed your tongue down her throat,” Jared shot back.

“That’s mature,” Ginny commented; she and Scott (P.) appeared on the left, both thoroughly amused.

This whole situation was starting to look a bit too immature for me and I knew it’d be best if Scott and I were the first to walk away. Being one-upped by Kara Caldwell is not the way I plan on starting my day. “Is there something you wanted, Jared? We’ve got to get to class.”

“I just wanted to check with you…make sure Davenport wasn’t lying.” And I wanted to show off my brand-spanking-new girlfriend; she just made varsity cheerleading, you know…and those breast implants she got last summer are probably a cup-size too big for her, but I don’t mind a bit. Let’s just hope she doesn’t tip over before I bang her.

What an asshole, I thought, before remembering he’d already slept with Kara while we were together. Ouch.

“Well, I hope you got your proof, because we’re, ah, gonna head to class,” I deadpanned, before grabbing Scott’s hand and lacing my fingers through his. And I have got to say, if this was, I don’t know, some place between The Secret life of the American Teenager and Gossip Girl, the smile that I painted on my face right then? I totally would have gotten the Golden Globe for Best Actress in a TV Drama, hands down…or at least a Teen Choice Award.

“Later,” Scott called over his shoulder. He waited until we had put a decent amount of space between us before laughing. I mean, really clutching at his sides and arching back, with tears prinking his eyes, laughing. I kind of tensed a bit when he let go of my hand and wrapped an arm around my shoulders pulling me close and pulling his fingers through my hair.

“So what do you think? Was that score one for Team Scott and Ave?” I looked up at him, wary of looking him right in the eyes, opting to study his long pale eyelashes instead, and smiled.

It took him about four minutes to ruin the moment. He had to say something crass. And, in turn, I had to tug at a chunk of his hair so hard he squealed.

That was just before I sat down in English and couldn’t get the thought that Jared was screwing that girl now out of my head. And he just flaunted her in front of me like she was his prize winning pig at the county fair.

Goddamn, today was gonna suck.

-

“Shit! Crap, Crap, Fuck! I totally forgot the Games start today,” I slapped my palm against my forehead. How could I forget something so important? I left English with Emory, since Scott had gotten called out fifteen minutes after we got to class. “Do you think that’s why he got called out, because he’s a Captain?”

“Of course, Avery! All summer everyone was betting on Scott and Jared being the Captains for the SG’s,” Emma said, before glancing at me again, like my guts had just fallen out of my rear. “I guess you do have had a lot of things going on.”

Translation: You’re an idiot.

I should explain.

Here at Regalton Academy there are a series of activities and events at the start of second semester only seniors participate in—The Senior Leaders Games. It’s basically a giant competition to see which seniors will rule the school for rest of the year. It’s quite honestly the root of the rivalry between Scott and Jared.

You see, there’s always a rivalry between two very popular people in each class. Whether it’s like this because of the games or if these two people just naturally hate each other, who knows? That’s just the way it always is.

And at the end of junior year, the whole class votes on who will be the Captains and they aren’t announced until the Games start. There are two teams, gold and black (our school colors, of course). Each captain picks twenty four kids to be on their team. And then there are the Wild Cards. Twenty more kids, the teachers and faculty hand pick out of everyone who is not chosen for a team; they pick their own team. So seventy kids participate in the games, with thirty five on each team.

It’s what popularity is all about here—the chance to be a part of the games and the chance to win. With ten different contests in the Senior Games, whoever wins the majority is pretty much King or Queen. And their team gets all types of privileges. The Senior Wing, Deck, and Courtyard are exclusive to them for the remainder of the year. The losers and everyone else pretty much lose their seniority and have to huff it with the underclassmen for the rest of the year.

Plus the team that wins also plans all the senior events, especially Prom and the graduation trip.

The school tries to pretend like it’s not a giant popularity contest, and they can since along with the most popular kids, the smartest are a shoe-in too. The Games vary that way, from smarts to athletics to philanthropy.

I haven’t worried about it since school started because, well, I was pretty much a shoe-in. The would-be Captain was my boyfriend.

“I just hope Scott picks me before Jared does,” Emma said, snapping me out of my thoughts. She chewed on the tip of her long light brown hair, debating internally about something.

“I hope so too,” I answered. Emory, the soon-to-be valedictorian, would definitely get picked. I was just hoping she’d be on my team.

I wasn’t really worried about my spot, since it’d be the ultimate snub for Scott not to pick his girlfriend, and he’s really not that much of an asshole.

“I was planning on writing a bunch of pieces on it for my blog and I’ve finally got the layout nailed down for the T-Mog site,” she mumbled, more to herself than me. T-Mog is what we call the Make-Out Games in public.

Since we started, Emory has wanted to have a website and blog—all anonymous of course—about the games, where we could post stories (with names changed) and statistics. We had started work on it together, but she’s gotten the rest of it done herself recently.

“Look, we can talk about T-Mog and the website tomorrow. Let’s stay with the matter on hand…,” I paused to stretch upwards, searching through the crowded hallways, “Now should we find Gin, Craig, Renee, and Michael, or just meet them there?”

“We’ll meet them on the Deck. I had this junior kid I’m tutoring in Physics pick us up smoothies, since he’s got first period off,” she answered, like I asked about the weather and it was clear skies all weekend. “You always do look a bit peaky until fourth period rolls around.”

What a life. To be on your way to starting at Harvard with Honors and have junior lackeys who have such major crushes on you that they’re willing to pick up a smoothie during their off period when they could have just stayed home.

Who can stay mad at someone so blunt, pragmatic, and totally looking out for your best interests—no matter how skewed their methods may be?

“At least we get out of school for this,” I mumbled and Em cast a shrewd sidelong glance at me, as if to ask, “what’s so bad about school” and “what’s so bad about the Games”. I shrugged and chose not to answer.

By the time we got to the Deck, which is basically a giant patio in the middle of the Senior Courtyard, it was packed. I couldn’t really see anything until we climbed up the stairs. The whole senior class was definitely there; there were bodies from end to end.

It took four people calling our names before we found them. Michael, with his arm Ginny, the high-heeled boots she wore earlier in her hands now. I don’t know where she got the Ugg slippers. Em and I speculate as to whether or not she’s got another locker around here that she uses as a closet. Believe me, I wouldn’t be surprised. Or, well, not as surprised as I am now.

I’ve never seen those two so comfy; Gin was even trailing her fingers through his hair. I chuckled into my palm, disguising it as a cough. Craig and Rae were huddled up too, on a creaky lawn chair, long forgotten, with someone’s ratty blanket on top.

“We just saw Scott make his way through the crowd. I swear he’s like a politician, thanking everyone for their votes,” Ginny beamed at us, “I had to tell him we voted for Jared. He said it was a ‘good thing we switched sides in time.’”

“Who cares,” I muttered and started to bend to sit on the edge of Craig and Renee’s seat. Everyone stared at me, incredulous. “What is it? What’d I do?”

“You’ve got to go find your boyfriend,” Emory whispered-yelled. I don’t know why she bothered; nobody would hear her over this din.

Rather than argue, like expected—we did have to make this believable—I shrugged and asked where he was.

“He said he’d be on the left side,” Gin offered.

I buttoned up my short deep green pea coat and started away from them. Shoving through the 150 plus kids to get to the left side was a feat. And about ninety percent of the people I brushed by stared at me long after I said excuse me. I knew it would be this way, since no girl has really bounced from Jared Richards to Scott Davenport before and I know I don’t look like much, but it was still weird.

Both Jared and Scott were on the left side, as well as all their friends. I didn’t think about that fact before I left, but I should have.

I stood awkwardly away from them for a moment, before Scott spotted me. Relief rolled off of me in waves when he started walking toward me; I wasn’t ready to step into the lion’s den just yet. At least not while I was alone.

I even attempted a feeble smile, before he reached me. He stood so close; we looked even more intimate than earlier when we were pawing each other.

“Hey,” I was forced to whisper, since he wasn’t talking.

My hands were clenched at my sides. He was staring directly into my eyes and I wish I was the type of girl who’d be okay with blushing and looking away, but the look on his face, no matter how hooded and smoldering his eyes were, held a challenge. I wasn’t backing down.

It was one of those moments where everything around you is suspended in time; Scott and I were in our own little bubble and despite the fact that there was still snow on the ground, things were heating up.

“We’ve got to head out in a second,” he commented, like I imagined that whole exchange.

“Don’t you two have to leave earlier than everyone else, to get debriefed,” I asked, folding my arms around my chest. Once he left, I’ve be left alone and forced to make conversation with these people. The pretty, petty, popular, and most of all, oh-so-effing annoying.

“Oh, yeah, but you’ll be going to,” he pursed his lips while my eyebrows knotted up into something I’d have to take time out to unravel later, “I picked you as my second.”

I wouldn’t be surprised if my jaw came off its hinges and crashed to the ground. “Wha-what? You picked a co-captain? Nobody picks a co-captain.”

He smiled and brushed his long goldenrod hair away from his face. “You know, that’s almost the exact expression Richards wore, except you need to add a dollop of pure unadulterated fury.”

He reached out to touch my nose, just like most would do to a four year old. I batted his hand away immediately. The jerk had the gall to smile and bend forward to kiss my forehead. “Ah, there’s that fury.”

A/N: FINALLY! I finally finished. It took me forever and a day to finish this chapter, even after school ended. I hope it’s adequate. And I’ll be referring to the Senior Games as The Games and the Make Out Games as T-Mog from now on, or thing’s will get confusing fast. They may already be confusing. Let me know if anything needs clarification.

**I’ve decided on the way I’m going to tie the actual games into the story more. I’ve been debating about this since I started this story, but once in a while there’s gonna be a chapter that’s not about Avery and in 3rd person POV. It’ll start with a file on a pairing in The Make Out Games and then be their meeting in the closet and their first meeting afterwards. And the rest you’ll hear about that couple will be tied into the actual story. I’m not sure how often I’ll do these chapters yet, but I’m thinking every four chapters from now on. So after the next chapter, there will be one of the T-Mog files.**

Thanks for the reviews! It’s really late (like five in the morning and I’ve got work at eight late) so I can’t list you all right now, but it means sooo very much to me! Thanks for sticking with me through this rough patch of super-slow updating!

Anonymous Replies:

Hannah: Thanks! I’m glad you liked it so far. I hope you enjoy reading this chapter!

Blushedaway: Thanks so much for the review! And fashion is my secondary obsession, right under writing and reading, so I’m glad I can describe a decent outfit!

****I’m looking for a beta, if anyone’s available and wants to beta for this story let me know! As you can probably tell, I'm horrible at editing!****

-Amanda (This was the longest author’s note EVEEEEER! Sorry)

PS – For any TWiLiGHT fans, I just started a fanfic. It’s linked up on my profile! Please read it; I need all the advice I can get!