Page 62 of Hateful
She nods curtly and looks away. I follow her lead, falling silent. I focus on Jasper, our first runner, up at the beginning of the track. He shifts his weight nervously. His eyes find mine and he frowns with that same unreadable expression that’s dominated his features over the last couple days.
“On your marks!” yells the announcer.
Jasper gets into his starting stance. He has his baton. I feel my legs tense up and I have to fight to relax the muscles in them.
“Get set!”
I should’ve eaten something. No, wait—this is probably better. This way I won’t puke all over everything.
“GO!” It’s accompanied by the sound of a gunshot from a starting gun. The girl next to Jasper takes off like a shot, pulling ahead of him as easily as if he’d started off walking. She gets to the second runner a full two seconds before Jasper gets to Heath.
I tug nervously on the drawstring in my waistband, tightening it anxiously, then crouch just a bit in anticipation. Heath makes up a bit of Jasper’s lost ground. I guess he was right about the girls front-loading their runners. They’re slowing down a bit now, giving us a chance to catch up.
I’m mildly surprised they’re doing so well. With the three towering members of The Brotherhood here, I’m surprisedanyother girls can keep up. I guess I’m not the only one who’s been practicing for just such an occasion.
The girls’ third-leg runner starts to run as her teammate approaches, and I wait just a bit before I do the same. Heath comes barreling toward me and I start running, reaching my right hand back as Heath reaches forward.
The baton slams into my hand.
I take off.
The girls’ team runner is ahead of me, but she’s losing momentum around the curve. I’ve practiced this particular curve a million times, so I shoot past her, catching only a glimpse of her startled face as I rocket my way by. The waistband of my pants feels loose again, but I ignore it, even as they start to slip to my hips.
Fuck.
Girl’s pants? Maybe I don’t have the hips I thought I did.
Beck is ahead of me, grinning as I run up. He starts running before I get to him. I remember the angle I need. The girls’ third-leg runner is way behind. We can win this, I know we can. I can do this.
I just have to focus a little bit harder.
Everything but the track, the baton, and Beck in front of me disappears for one glorious moment. Beck’s left hand pushes out behind him. He glances over his shoulder with a smirk. We’ve perfected this. He knows he’s got this.
But then his hand closes around the baton a split second too soon. He jerks it out of my hand, pulling me with it before I have the chance to let go.
I go tumbling forward, almost smashing my face into the track, but I manage to twist at the last moment. The jacket protects my arms and back as I roll sideways. I hear laughter from the stands, but I don’t care.So I tripped?So what?
I’m used to being tripped. I’m used to this.
I slowly get to my feet, and I realize I’m wrong. This isn’t what I’m used to.
This is different.
I realize it the moment I look down at the source of the sudden cool breeze between my thighs.
My pants are gone. They didn’t justloosen; the waistband completely fell apart and peeled back from my waist and hips, leaving me exposed.
Completely exposed.
Immediately, I grab the material of my pants and tug them up to cover me. Beside me, my girls’ school counterpart stares, open-mouthed. Did she see? Did anyone see? I’m not wearing panties—It’d be a dead giveaway to bring a bunch of those to a boys’ school—but Iamwearing tighty-whities.
Like a complete and utter fucking idiot, I know.
Now if anyone saw …
The laughter continues, and my head begins to reel. I thought I was going to be sick before.
Now … now …
