"Kiss me," Aleena says, opening her mouth wide across the table.

I unwrap a Hershey's kiss and extend my arm, perfectly making the shot into her mouth.

We've spent our hour break before the start of my anatomy class in the STEM building study area. Our laptops and various snacks are sprawled across the table. I start cleaning up since my class starts in a few minutes, when I hear a notification coming from my laptop.

"My professor just posted our exam grades." I suck in a breath. "Should I check it or should I wait after my class ends?"

"Just rip the bandage and check it now," she says. " Whatever your grade is I'm sure it's better than the 69 I got on my accounting test."

I type fast and log into my account.

"How'd you do?" Aleena asks before I can even pull my grade up.

When the page loads I go cold, taking a moment of silence to decipher my thoughts. "I got a 62." It comes out with a shudder. Embarrassment, anger, and disappointment all take ahold of me.

"That's not bad honestly. It's still passing, that's all that matters." Her mouth pouts and she looks at me with sympathy.

I shut my laptop and pack my bag up, pushing my chair back to head to my last class of the day. "Right." Is all I can manage.

Aleena treads behind me. "Come on, don't get too down about it. You have still have two more exams right?"

"Yup."

"You'll do much better on those, I know it. You're super smart, Summer. This isn't a setback it's just more encouragement to push you even further next time."

We stop outside of my classroom. "You're right, I won't let it break me," I say to appease her.

"Good, cause I've gotta get to rehearsals and even though missing it will make the play messier than it already is, I'll do it to comfort you." She squeezes my shoulder.

"that's no necessary, I'm fine." I try my best to sound convincing. "Ryan's understudy still hasn't gotten over his stage fright, huh?"

"No, it got so bad during rehearsals last night that he had a breakdown and quit. We're scrambling to find someone to fill the role. I swear, if you see anyone with even an ounce of talent, please drag them to the performing arts center. I will thank you for the rest of my life."

"I'll keep an eye out," I say.

"Thanks." She embraces me and leaves for rehearsals.

I find my seat in the half empty class, waiting for the professor to arrive. My pen drums against my open notebook to keep myself present, but my mind doses off into a state of emptiness.

"You going to the basketball game tonight." The two girls that sit in front of me get my attention. I might as well eavesdrop while I wait. It'll help me from sinking further into my misery.

"I don't know if I want to make the drive to St. Joseph's. Since when have you been so into basketball anyways?" The wavy brunette mutters.

"I've always liked basketball and I've always liked hot guys. Our basketball team just happens to put two in two, so of course I have to support." The ponytailed brunette replies.

Wavy brunette laughs. "Honestly, I would let Ken Wentworth do sinful things to me."

"Ew, not the drooler" ponytail shrieks, "I'm team Carter all the way. Dude is smokin."

Now they've got my full attention. You can say Carter is subjectively an attractive guy, I mean he's tall, muscular, and has that whole Enrique Iglesias thing going on. It's normal, and I don't care whether some random girls drool over him. I'm tapping my pen harder against my notebook and I realize I need to stop when they turn back to give me a snarl, then turn back around.

"Lol, good luck with that. I heard he's a freak, like he doesn't talk to or hang out with anyone. Just spends all his time sitting in a dark corner when he's not playing basketball." Wavy brunette says.

Ponytail snorts. "Maybe I do have luck afterall, I always attract the weirdos."

I tap my pen more incessantly and my left foot follows the same rhythm. This is my problem with some people, they're judgmental as hell. They don't know him, they don't know why he's the way he is nor do they know why he makes the decisions he makes. I understand him and I understand why he does what he does, so it not only feels like they're insulting him but it feels like they're insulting me in a way as well.

I take a deep breath and block them out for the rest of the class. Unfortunately, that means my mind goes back to focusing on my barely passing pharmacology grade.

***

"Great game, Carter." Marc Jackson shakes my hand in the locker room.

I'm still high off our win and trying to catch my breath, but I'm able to come down enough to recept his compliment.

"Thanks, I appreciate your help," I say.

I had an impromptu one-on-one session with him last night. He went through drills with me, giving tips and pointers to improve my play. We then spent a considerable time talking about my career path—everything from what I should expect when I declare for the drafts and begin my rookie season in the NBA—to contracts, endorsements, and all the social aspects of being a sports star.

Marc thinks I should declare after this season and even though coach would support it, I don't think it's what I want to do. My mom always wanted me to go to college and get a degree. That was the most important thing to her, so I have to stay another year and finish up.

"I have to go. I just came down to congratulate all of you, but I'll talk to you soon." He fist bumps me before leaving.

It grows quiet in the locker room after Marc's exit. I feel some tension but choose to ignore it.

When we head to the parking garage to board our bus, I'm ready to shut down and unwined more than anything. Playing isn't what tires me, it's the spectators, lights, and camera's afterwards that become exhausting.

"Yo, where the hell is the bus driver? The door is locked." Paul slams his fists against the door.

"We ain't waitin out here forever, I'm gonna find me that bastard and give him a stern talking to." Coach says, marching back to the stadium.

He spent our entire journey to St. Joseph's in a screaming match with the driver because he didn't like the route he took. Something tells me the next confrontation won't be as pretty.

I huff, leaning against the bus.

"Heard you had a private sesh with Mr. Jackson last night." Darren catches me off guard, slapping his hand against my shoulder.

"Tell me, how did that come about? I heard he wanted to meet with the whole team." Ken steps closer, with an arched brow and hard-pressed mouth.

"Yea, I don't know, seems a little sketchy that it ended up only being you two." Chris takes his side, crossing his arms.

I adjust the strap of my duffle bag. "It's not sketchy. He came to the gym and I was the only one there. He said he had limited time and wanted to just focus on me."

"That's such bullshit." Ken shakes his head.

"Well, you can believe what you choose to believe." My blood starts to simmer. I'm getting tired of Ken's attitude, the incessant whining about everything I do and don't do. If he put that energy towards improving his free throws, maybe he'd be too busy on an NBA team to ride my dick this hard.

"You think this is funny?" Ken says, his volume raised up a notch as he steps closer.

"I'm not laughing." I shrug.

"This is my life, this is my career." his voice begins to croak like he's in pain.

"Chill, man." Darren looks between us. "We don't need to start anything, especially when coach is about to come back any minute now."

"If it's your life and career why don't you focus on that?" I ignore Darren's plea, taking a step closer to Ken. If he thinks he's gonna intimidate me he's got another thing coming.

"I can multitask," he tries to sound menacing.

I snort. "Based on your performance tonight, me and a lot of people would disagree."

His hand connects with my jaw before I know it. A heavy, close-fisted punch that knocks my head back against the bus. My vision goes blurry and then a surge of pain ripples across the side of my face.

My sight comes back in red. Darren tries to hold me back, but anger overcomes me to the point where I push him away to head for my target.

I duck from Chris and Miles's arms and raise my fist to land one on his face. His head falls back and when it comes up, blood trickles from his lips.

Ken tries to push me but isn't able to move me far. He sends another hit towards my eye this time and the pain leads me to nearly stumble to the ground. I recompose myself and go straight for his jaw, then move to send two hits to his gut. When my arms break free, he charges towards me and before I can move, tackles me to the ground.

We hit the floor with a thump and I don't know what's going on around me besides the fact that the team is scrambling in a blur. The next thing I know, I'm being pulled back up by Darren and Miles, and Ken is pulled back by Chris and Paul.

"Are you crazy? You two are about to fuck up an entire season of work!" Mile's is so angry that veins pop in his forehead.

"I'm-I" Ken stutters, looking up at me.

I have nothing to say so I stay quiet, letting my sore arms and pounding fists flail at my sides. 

"We have to get Ken out of here, if coach sees him bleeding we're done for," Darren warns.

"I've been talking to this girl that goes here. I can hit her up and ask for a ride back," Chris says.

We turn towards the stadium and hear coach arguing with the bus driver from a distance.

"Go, now," Darren says to them. "Carter, pull your hoodie over your face and act cool."

"I'm cool." I drop my shoulder and pull my hoodie up.

"Carter, man, I'm really sorry." Chris paces with hurry. "It should've never gotten to this, he's-he's going through some things right now. It's no excuse, but he's just going through something."He drags a quiet and bleeding Ken to the other side of the parking garage before coach gets close enough to see the remainder of our comotion.

The team's excuse for Chris and Ken's absence is that they developed violent diarrhea and will catch a ride back after they're able to pull themselves from the toilets. It concerned coach enough to ask to check on them, but not so much that he'd visit the bathroom they're suppose to be occupying, so after a phone call, he was pleased enough to leave without them.

When we board the bus, my headphones stay blaring and my face remains pressed against the window. I feel vulnerable, not in a physical sense, but in a mental way. Like I'm emotionally wounded more than anything.

I wanna talk to Sam, and a part of me wants to be with Summer. Be in her presence, is what I mean.

She has a cooling effect, like nothing else matters when we're together. With Sam I get reality, with Summer, she makes reality not so bleak.

I want to reach out, but she didn't respond to the call I made to her earlier in the week, so I don't bother.

***

I'm trying to study. Trying is the relative term.

Even though I stare at my notes and textbook, it's like nothing computes. I have at least two more hours of studying in me, I know it, but my brain seems to want an early dismissal.

After five more minutes in this state, I sigh in defeat, and close my books up.

Why bother getting extra studying in when I'll end up barely pulling a 60. I mean, I really went out my way with that exam, I even called out of work for extra crunch time and still, I passed only by an inch.

Maybe I did need more than time, maybe I need a tutor?

I won't be able to book a tutoring session tonight, so I might as well just get some extra sleep in since it's a little past ten.

I fluff my pillow and the second my head hits it, I know I'm not going to be falling asleep either.

A text flashes on my phone.

Aleena: Late night preparations. Just gonna crash at Jade's tonight.

I text her back to be safe and scroll down my text threads, landing on Carter's.

I should check up on him. We haven't talked since he drove me home after he got sick. I remember he called earlier this week. I was working at the time and planned to call him back when I got off, then things got busy and it ended up slipping my mind.

I send him a text: How are you doing?

Right after it sends my phone flashes with a call from him.

"Hey." His breathing is labored when I pick up. "I'm fine," he says.

"You don't sound like it." I laugh.

"Well, you've caught me in the middle of a workout."

"At this hour, do your night workouts usually extend to this time of the night?" I'm slightly concerned about how much he must push himself.

"It's been a long day, and I needed a release."

"I might need a release too, honestly." I admit. I've felt tightened up since this afternoon and it's proving harder than I thought to take my L and move forward. I wasn't even a full L, I did pass, but the low grade means I have even less wiggle room to make mistakes going forward and that pressure has been consuming me in full.

"Come down to the gym." He sounds in a hurry, like he hasn't given it much thought before saying it and it's very un-Carter-like of him.

"Really? I don't think I'll be able to keep up." I try to deter him and myself, because it's the truth. I don't workout and I fear my lack of athleticism may turn embarrassing.

"I don't expect you to. It's empty, it'll just be the two of us. We'll take it easy."

The guy knows how to sound convincing, something about the buttery-like tone of his voice.

"Sure," I agree, afterall exercising is great for your mental health and mines is perpetually hanging by a thread.

"Come to the weight room at the stadium, let me know when you get here and I'll let you in," he says.

I jump off my bed and change into my leggings and hoodie. I'm smiling and I feel giddy about the prospect of meeting up with Carter tonight. It manages to block everything else out and I'm relieved and slightly alarmed. I never felt this with Liam and I've never felt it with Cory, this is entirely a foreign feeling.