Dare You to Hate Me by B. Celeste (classic fiction .txt) 📕

Someone whistles close by and yells Aiden’s name, breaking the trance I’m in. I shake my head, duck under his arm, and walk into the rain again not willing to see who caught us in the intimate-looking standoff.

“Ivy,” he calls after me.

I stop, letting the rain run down my face to hide the panicked tears that do the same.

He says, “Out of your head, Underwood.”

Letting out a surprised laugh, I look over my shoulder at him in disbelief. He’s waiting like he always did. “Head in the game,” I call back, trying to convince myself of its power even though my voice wavers with doubt.

Out of your head.

Out of your head.

Out of your head.

Nobody wants to be stuck there, least of all me, so I nod once to myself until I think the reminder is engraved in my mind.

“Head in the game,” I whisper as I finish my trek to class.

Chapter Nine

Aiden

When Coach Pearce turns the lights on after watching game day footage, we get the same spiel as always before a big game. Kick ass, take names, come home with something to add to the trophy case. We’re holding a record for Lindon U’s longest winning streak this season and he doesn’t want us to fuck it up. Especially since our original QB is out and a few of us have trouble trusting the new one to level up and be what we need to keep the good luck going.

“Griffith,” Coach barks as everyone starts gathering their things to move on with their day. “Stay behind so we can talk.”

A few of the guys shoot me smirks and a couple dipshits drag out long “ooooh” as they pass by. I roll my eyes at them, smack Caleb’s hand that’s outreached to me, elbow DJ as he shuffles around my seated body, and nudge Justin as he claps my shoulder and teeters on his crutches.

Leaning back in my chair, I cross my arms lazily and stretch my legs out in front of me. “What’s up, Coach?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, boy,” he says, arms mimicking mine with his playbook still firm in his grasp. For someone in his mid-forties, he looks older. Dealing with our asses has definitely contributed to the white sprinkled in his beard and wrinkles evident on his face. “I don’t know if it’s a girl, a guy, or whatever the hell you’re into that’s making you zone out on me. The only way we can beat Delmar this week is if you let go of whatever is holding you back. They’ve got strong players this season.”

“I know they do.”

His eyes turn skeptical. “They won’t be easy to beat when their defensive linemen can take down a goddam tank.”

Again, I say, “I know.”

His graying eyebrows raise. “I’ll have to handle the little punk ass on the field who’s starting for the first time, and I’m not sure what will happen. You’re the glue, son. You need to make this season the best you’ve ever had even if our alternate screws us. I’ve seen how distracted you’ve been, and the only person who can pull you out of it is yourself. It’s a team out there, but you’re one of the few members who can carry it.”

No pressure there.

I press my lips together and nod once.

There’s always been a lot of pressure on my shoulders since I admitted that I wanted to make this into a career. Showing up at Lindon and becoming a starter is my shot to make shit happen for myself. “I understand, sir.”

“Anything you need to tell me?” he prods, something firm in his eyes as he pins me to my seat.

“No, Coach.”

“Nothing you need off your chest?”

My nostrils twitch. “No, Coach.”

He watches me for a moment, waiting to see if I’ll squirm or break. I do neither. I remain stoic, waiting for my dismissal. When he gives me a single nod, I collect my shit and stand. “I’ve always liked you, Griffith. You remind me of some of the greats. But everyone has a weakness, and you have to decide if you’re willing to cave to whatever yours is or to let it go and be selfish.”

Dad used to tell me that the greatest accomplishments were done by being selfish, but I don’t want to act on my decisions for my own convenience if it means forgetting others. Mom didn’t teach me to be selfish, no matter how much Dad encouraged it. I never thought twice about working my ass off to get what I wanted until now because there was only ever me. Now I have someone else to think about again.

Before I can exit, he asks, “What did Sanderson say after your appointment?”

I roll my shoulders. “He gave me some stretches to do and told me to come in after game day so they could help loosen the knots.”

“You stressed?”

When am I not? “No more than usual.”

He grumbles under his breath. “Good thing you’ll be done soon then. You don’t need the extra bullshit that comes with college.”

Instead of giving him a verbal reply, I shoot him a wave and head out. I think about what Ivy said in the laundromat and can’t help but fight off a frown. I’m not angry that you didn’t come along with me. It meant that you were going after your dream.

Ivy’s weakness is selflessness—it always has been. It’s her fatal flaw.

And mine is undoubtedly her.

But the two can’t seem to coincide in Coach’s eyes, and I’m not sure how I can convince him otherwise.

When I walk out of the rain into the café, I brush off my jacket, swipe a hand through my damp hair and glance at the counter. My shoulders drop slightly when I see it absent of the person I’m here for.

Bea Olson, the owner, and avid football fan turns the corner with an empty tray in her hand and gives me a wide smile. “There’s Lindon’s star player. A bunch of your