The Enemy - Kelsey Clayton Page 0,7

way. “Why don’t you make me?”

He looks me up and down, and I’m mentally begging for him to hit me. It wouldn’t be the first time him and I have gotten physical, or the second, for that matter. We’re about the same size, and both know how to fight, which always makes for an interesting scuffle. However, I’m dying for someone to take my anger out on right now. Go ahead. Hit me.

“Not worth it,” he decides. “I’ve got better things to do.”

The girl under his arm preens as he drops his head and presses his lips to hers, making it clear what better things he’s referring to. Bryce pretends to gag, and I laugh at the scowl she gives my friend. If Kellan thinks he’s got some kind of prize under his arm, he’s got another thing coming. I could throw a rock blindfolded and hit a girl hotter than her.

“Come on, Skye. Let’s go.”

I roll my eyes as he walks away, wishing he would’ve done something. I could have used a human punching bag right about now. I’d love nothing more than to beat him bloody.

“I hate that prick.”

“We know,” Bryce and Jayden answer in unison, and a part of me considers leaving them here.

Taylor, a dude we hang out with from time to time, inserts himself between Jayden and me, pushing us forward. “Enough about him. Let’s go camp out on the beach. It’s not supposed to rain tonight.”

That’s the first good idea I’ve heard all day. We leave the party, clingy ex-girlfriends, and jealous assholes behind us and head to the only place where my worries fade away. My life falling apart can be dealt with tomorrow. Tonight, I’m going to get drunk and sleep in the sand.

3

LENNON

The beat of “Exhale” by Kenzie and Sia fills the room. My body responds to the music, hitting each move with the utmost precision. That's one of the best things about dance—there isn't a single emotion that can't be portrayed with your body and a song.

As the chorus starts for the second time, I watch in the mirror as Brady joins me. It only pushes me harder and makes me strive to be better. Being the son of the studio owner, he's here more than he's not, and since he choreographed this dance, it was hard to keep up at first—but I'm nothing if not determined. With dance. With school. With life. My dad has always taught me to never let anything hold me back.

Sweat rolls down my forehead as I exert all my energy into the final few moves. When the song ends, I collapse onto the floor. Brady chuckles as he walks over and grabs our water bottles and tosses mine to me.

“I love when someone pisses you off,” he says.

My brows furrow. “How do you know I'm pissed off?”

“Because you always dance better when you're angry. So, what did Kellan do this time?”

I don't know whether I should be concerned that I'm as easy to read as an open book, or find it amusing that he immediately knows it was Kellan to put me in this mood. Regardless, I don't hold anything back from Brady. He's the older brother I never had.

“He just doesn't get it.” I sigh, fixing my ponytail. “He got an attitude with me because I wouldn't skip dance for some party he's going to. I guess he thinks that because the recital is over, that we have no reason to keep dancing, but he plays football after the season ended. So, why is this any different?”

“Because he's a guy.”

I level him with a look, and he puts his hands up in surrender and snickers.

“I'm just saying, most straight men, who aren't dancers, don't see the importance of it. Hell, some of them don't even consider it a sport, which is funny because I get a better workout in this room than I ever did out on the field.”

“Yeah, well, he can shove that mindset right up his ass.”

Brady smirks as he messes around with his phone to choose a new song. “I know what you need.”

My head lolls to the side. “An IV of straight caffeine?”

He hits play and “B*tch From Da Souf, The Remix” booms through the speakers. All the feelings I've held onto from the argument with Kellan dissipate, and I can't help but laugh. He comes over and puts out his hand to help me up. We dance around the room with no care about how unprofessional we look.

By