"Where? When?" the panicked teachers inquired alternately.
I took a deep breath. "I don't know how or where!" I turned to them, my body fuming and my head ready to explode. "But I'll tell you this-- it'll be soon!"
The puzzled teachers stared back. I grabbed the tennis racket with all my might, yanking it so hard the duct tape ripped off a band of green paint from my already grungy locker.
I bolted out of school, thirsting for blood.
Students were scattered on the front lawn, waiting for rides. When I didn't find Trevor, I marched around the back.
I spotted him at the bottom of the hill on the soccer field. Waiting for me. He was surrounded by the entire soccer team.
Trevor had planned this. He had patiently waited for this day as I impatiently worked. He knew I'd come after him. He knew I'd be fuming. He knew I'd want to fight. And now he could prove to his buddies that he was king again, that he had gotten Gothic Girl, if not by the tree, then by the racket. And he wanted all his buddies to witness it.
I moved quickly, charged with a bloodthirsty rage. I stormed down the hill to the soccer field, thirteen jocks and one proud antagonist staring at me. Everyone waiting for me to get the bait, and the bait was Trevor.
I pushed past the soccer snobs and walked up to Trevor, clutching my dad's racket, ready for the kill.
"I had it the whole time," he confessed. "I chased that freaky butler dude down that day after school. He wanted to give the racket back himself, but I told him I was your boyfriend. He seemed disappointed."
"You told him you were my boyfriend? Gross!"
"It's grosser for me, babe. You'd be going out with a soccer player. I'd be going out with a freak show!"
I pulled back the racket to take a swing. "I was going to return it sooner, but you looked so happy going to work."
"You're going to have to wear more than a golf glove when I get through with you this time!"
I swung at him and he jumped back.
"I knew you'd come running after me. Girls always do!" he announced proudly.
His crowd of puppets laughed.
"But you're running after me, too, aren't you, Trevor?"
He stared at me, puzzled.
"It's true," I continued. "Tell your friends! They're all here. But I'm sure they knew it all along. Tell them why you're doing this!"
"What are you talking about, freak?" I could see by his expression he was ready for a battle, but he wasn't expecting to play this kind of game.
"I'm talking about love," I said coyly.
The whole crowd laughed. I had a weapon that was better than any two-hundred-dollar racket: humiliation. To accuse a soccer snob of being attracted to a Gothic girl was one thing, but to use this mushy gushy word in front of a sixteen-year-old macho guy was sure to bring the house down.
"You're really freaking out!" he shouted.
"Don't be so embarrassed. It's rather cute, really," I said smugly and smiled at the goalie. "Trevor Mitchell loves me. Trevor Mitchell loves me!" I sang.
Trevor didn't know what to say.
"You're on drugs, girl," Trevor declared. "Lame comeback, Trevor." I looked at all his smiling soccer snob friends and then glared at him. "It was so obvious the way you felt, I should have known all along." Then I said in my loudest voice, "Trevor Mitchell, you're in love with me."
"Right, you clown! Like I have a poster of you on my bedroom wall. You're nothing but a skank."
The skank bit hurt, but I let the pain fuel me for the next round.
"You didn't go to Oakley Woods with a poster. You didn't dress up like a vampire to impress a poster. And you didn't hide my dad's racket so you could gain the attention of a raging poster!"