Page 16 of Tainted Love

“Whatever. Continue,” Darius urges.

“He moved here with his mom this past summer. She married my uncle. So we are like cousins or something.”

“Kissing cousins?” I joke, earning a giggle from Darius and a Dorito to the forehead from Sarah.

“Gross!” she says playfully. “I barely know him. He sulked through the entire wedding wearing his walkman and shoving hors d’oeuvres in his mouth to keep from having to speak to anyone.”

“So he’s also a bad boy? Color me intrigued,” Darius adds dramatically.

“I don’t think so,” Sarah corrects. “I think he just didn’t want to move here.”

“Mmhm. And the blond? Tell me more, tell me more.” Darius starts singing the beginning of the Grease song, causing us to laugh.

“I haven’t met him yet. He’s friends with Corey. His name is Taz, I think,” Sarah says.

“Taz,” I repeat, rolling the word over in my mind a few times. It’s an interesting name that fits a hockey player perfectly. As we continue chatting about the new students at our school, I can’t help but daydream about a brooding artist who plays the guitar and writes deep lyrics. That’s the kind of guy I wish would move here.

The PE bell rings shrilly, signaling the end of lunch and the start of what would undoubtedly be a horribly lame class. I made my way to the gymnasium alone, none of my friends sharing this period with me. Some familiar faces from my past are in this period, but they pay me no mind, and I’m content with that.

Dressing out for Merrimack physical education is an exercise in humiliation. The shorts inch up my butt crack, and the shirt hugs my boobs too tightly. Thank goodness our school colors are black and blue—at least I can work with that.

A rebellious thought crosses my mind to wear combat boots instead of the required sneakers, but I quickly dismissed it and lace up my black Converse sneakers. Who knows what kind of physical activity this maniac teacher has planned for us today?

Impatiently tapping my foot on the immaculate grass, I stand on the field, anxiously waiting for class to start. My eyes scan the familiar surroundings, taking in the group of guys huddled by the bleachers. They toss a football back and forth, their loud laughs echoing across the field. I recognize one as Landry, so I’m sure most of these guys are on the hockey team.

My gaze shifts to a tall, lean figure with tousled brown hair. He exudes an air of cool indifference as he lazily jogs to retrieve a stray throw. He seems laid-back and unaffected by the numerous sets of eyes on him. I respect that. He must be Sarah’s cousin and Dar’s new husband if he has any say.

The other boy stands at a similar height, but his broad shoulders and muscular chest make him seem even larger. His bleached blond hair is styled into spiky tufts, giving off an intriguing air of rebelliousness. I mean, Darius is right. Who isn’t interested in a bad boy?

The coach’s voice booms across the field as he strides toward us with his ever-present clipboard. “Everyone form a line,” he commands. I’m relieved to see it’s Coach Rowe, a burly man with a no-nonsense attitude. I had him last year, and I know from experience that he gets squeamish about all things menstrual-related.

It was my secret weapon last year for getting out of running. I would mention clots, and Coach would turn ashen, swallow a gag, and shoo me away. It worked like a charm every time.

As I approach the forming line, a sudden whooshing sound fills the air as a football narrowly misses my right shoulder. A large, muscular body follows suit, almost knocking me out of my velcro shoes.

“Fumbling and bumbling much?” I yelp at the perpetrator.

“Oh, shit! Sorry about that!” he exclaims in response, flipping over to retrieve the ball and springing up to meet my gaze. “Are you alright?” His tone is filled with genuine concern.

A sudden burst of light blinds me, and I feel like I am being pulled into a dream-like state of consciousness. My mind is hazy, and I struggle to focus as the figure before me comes into view.

The eyes that meet mine are a mesmerizing mix of blue and green, captivating and mysterious. My heart races as adrenaline courses through my veins, making it difficult to swallow past the lump in my throat. I’m not one to swoon over a handsome guy, but this is different. He’s familiar, but that seems unlikely. He just moved here.

There’s a cocky smirk on his face as he looks at me, causing a similar spark of recognition to flare up in those aqua irises. He says something to me, but the fog in my mind makes it hard for me to process his words. I shake my head in an attempt to clear my thoughts.

“Hey, did I hurt you?” His voice is smooth like velvet, with a hint of concern laced within it.

“No, I’m completely fine,” I manage to say, but my eyes remain fixed on the stranger in front of me. His presence is like a magnet, pulling me toward him and making it hard to look away.

Suddenly, Landry appears at my side, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps from his run over to us. “Damn, Taz,” he says between gulps of air. “Good thing you play hockey and not football. You okay?”

I finally tear my gaze away from the stranger and turn to face Landry. “I’m fine, Landry. Thank you.” I quickly adjust my ponytail as Coach barks at us with impatience.

“If you’re not on the line, you will be marked tardy. You have five seconds.” The coach’s power trip is almost comical.

We quickly join the rest of the class on the line just as the roll call begins. Adams, Anderson, Athers, Bell. I say "here" and raise my hand when my name is called, continuing to scan the crowd for any reaction from Rebel Yell. But Landry is standing between us, blocking my view.

I fidget nervously, rubbing my thumb and forefinger against my earlobe—a dreaded habit when I’m anxious. And then I hear it - a name that nearly knocks me off my feet. “Tazman.”