Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance) - By Dan Rix Page 0,46

said Clive, and he popped open his beer, spraying the seats in front of them with foam. He leaned around Aaron again.

“Amber, you still haven’t done what I told you to do, and since you’re going to be my half tomorrow . . . ”

She was looking down now.

“Amber—”

Suddenly, she grabbed her bag, stood up, and squeezed past them. “I have to go,” she muttered.

For a second, Aaron watched her hurrying down the stairs. Then he slapped Clive’s beer. The can flew from his hand, spiraling foam, and landed several rows down. He rose and stumbled after her.

Aaron caught her at the gate and grabbed her hand. “Forget him,” he said. “Come back to my house.”

“Didn’t you hear him?” she said.

“He’s lying.”

“I lied.”

“I don’t care,” he said.

“I lied,” she repeated, “because I wanted you instead. I wanted them to be wrong.” Silver wisps of her hair sparkled against the stadium lights. “But it’s just like Clive says.”

It was the opposite of what she’d told him last night. Something had changed. Aaron felt the damp, chilly night clawing into him.

“He’s not your half—” But the half time bell rang behind them, interrupting him and flooding him with shivers. Their time was up.

Amber kissed him, letting her fingers linger on his neck before letting go of him. “Clive and I have known since childhood,” she said, her eyes cinders, extinguished of hope. “We weren’t proper juvengamy babies because he was too sick when he was born. The operation would have killed him—it would have killed us . . . But I’m still his half.”

The words pierced Aaron’s heart.

“I’m sorry,” Amber whispered. Then she walked away.

***

He was still standing in the same spot when Clive squeezed his shoulder.

“I do hope that meant something to you,” he said, his pale eyes gleaming with triumph. “Because that’s the last time you see her.”

Aaron said nothing.

“You know, Harper, she’s the one who’s going to get hurt tomorrow, after what you’ve done to her.”

Aaron swiveled away from him and leaned against the bleachers, just as Dominic Brees jogged over, dripping sweat and grinning from behind his plastic nose guard.

“Twenty-five to three!” he said. “Please tell me you guys saw that spin move.” A loud clang made him look back, and his grin vanished.

“Enjoying yourself out there, Breezie?” came a voice from under the stands. Aaron followed Dominic’s gaze to a large figure emerging from the shadows. Buff Normandy.

From his vantage point, Aaron saw Clive reach into his pocket and hand something to Dominic, which he concealed in his hand.

“It was better when you weren’t too pussy to play,” said Dominic.

“Bet you won’t say that after the second half,” said Buff. “Coach wants a fair game. He’s putting me in.”

“He can’t do that,” said Dominic. You’re below the minimum GPA.”

“Ever heard of extra credit?” Buff grinned and turned back to the field.

Aaron heard the click.

“Buff, behind you!” he shouted, but it was too late.

Before Buff could turn, Dominic lunged, the switchblade glinting in his fist.

No time to think. Aaron spun, off balance, and tackled Dominic, sank his shoulder into the rugby player’s chest. They collided into the bleachers, into the sharp edges of the steel struts. Rusted metal bit into Aaron’s ear and rattled his brain, but it was nothing like the clean slash of the switchblade down his forearm.

At first, he hardly felt it, just an eerie itch deep in his blood veins, but then came the hideous sensation of his flesh peeling open to the cold air. He grabbed his arm and staggered backwards. His hand came back warm and wet. In the dark, he saw nothing. Then every thunderous beat of his heart was like a douse of gasoline on the inferno in his arm.

Buff descended on Dominic and plowed his face into the cement. They rolled, grunting and kicking up dust. Dominic grasped for a crossbeam, caught one, and hauled himself to freedom. Corona’s superstar was fast, but Buff was faster. In three steps, he overtook him and downed him again. Buff’s fists were a blur.

“Buff! You’re going to kill him!” said Aaron, now doing everything he could to restrain his best friend’s arm. A few other rugby players sprinted over from the field.

“Normandy—” His teammates dragged him off. “Security’s just outside.”

“Right—” Buff stood and straightened his jersey. “No more bullshit, Breezie.” He glanced at Aaron, his face cloaked in shadow.

Aaron tried to decipher his friend’s expression, but his teammates were already ushering him back to the field, telling him they needed to bolt