Gunner drops his arm from around me. “Maybe some other time.”
“Rope climbing? What, are we in boot camp?” I mutter.
The girl standing next to me, and the only other one in this class, leans in and whispers, “Kinda. Coach was in the Army, and he gets off on torturing us with drills like this.”
“Hmm… that sucks.”
“A lot,” she agrees.
On the opposite side of the gym is a group of girls, the cheerleaders. That must be where all of the other girls in the locker room went. Because it certainly wasn’t to strength training.
Kade nudges Edge’s arm and juts out his chin to me. I look down at my shirt and wonder what other ammo I’ve given them to fire back at me.
“What is that?” Edge asks, his voice low and menacing.
Nothing is on my shirt, so I have no idea what they’re talking about. “What’s what?”
Edge slightly shakes his head, giving his friends some kind of silent command. Gunner’s eyes pop, and Levi’s mouth creases. All of them are studying the tattoo on my forearm. Edge says nothing, nor does he make a sound as his jaw ticks in annoyance.
Not sure how to react to their bizarre behavior, I say, “It’s just a tattoo. Get over it.” I turn away from them and follow the others to the dangling rope on the far side of the gym.
The heaviness of their scrutiny falling against my back is enough to weigh a girl down. Standing with the rest of the group, I switch gears and do my best to ignore them. I play with the clasp on my bracelet. Realizing it’s a nervous gesture, I consciously stop and fold my arms over my chest.
“All right, class, we’re going to start with the end of the alphabet.” There’s a mix of more groans with added cheers.
“Zepher, you’re up first.”
A guy with tousled light brown hair who looks like he should be the head of the chess club walks up to the rope. I’ve learned enough during my martial arts training never to judge someoneby their appearance. You never know what they’re capable of. I did that only once at a tournament. As soon as the ref lowered his arm for the fight to begin, I was on my ass. But in this case, by the sweat already beading on Zepher’s brow, I’d bet I’m correct with my assumption of him.
Zepher turns out not to be a surprise. He twists his fingers with nervous energy, as though the coach asked him to gather the arrows during the middle of an archery competition and not climb a harmless rope. He wipes his palms on his gym shorts before grabbing the rope. The coach blows the whistle. Zepher barely pulls himself up. His arms strain as he tries to lift off the ground. His sneakers slip as he tries to brace himself for another upward pull. It’s a no-go. The poor guy can only get a few feet off the ground before sliding back down.I hate to be the one to break it to him, but if the zombie apocalypse ever happens, this guy is for sure a goner. His major must require fitness, or else I bet he would save himself from this torture.
The coach marks something on his clipboard before calling my name. “Next up, West.”
My head snaps from Zepher to the coach. Here we go. I tie the laces of my boots before striding to the center of the group. Everyone stares at me as I take my place at the foot of the rope.
I wipe my hands on my shorts before I grip it just above the knot. For some unknown reason, I glance over my shoulder. Edge’s granite-hard glare is aimed right at me. My heart pounds more for all the unwanted attention than for the task.
The whistle sounds loud and shrill. I pull up with my arms as my legs wrap around the rope and push my body upward as I continue to pull with my arms. My arms begin to burn a little just over the halfway mark. But there’s no way I’m going to fail at this. I focus on moving up as fast as I can and try to ignore the tug low in my side from where the knife’s blade sliced through my flesh, concentrating only on the golden bell above me. Cheersfrom below me fade as I tune them out. I use my legs with as much leverage as I can to heave myself up.
A few seconds later, I ring the bell at the top as the whistle sounds. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly as I slide down the rope. When my boots touch the floor, I’m able to relax a bit, even though my heart is still racing. I place my hand over my side and cradle the still-tender wound.
“Holy shit,” someone says.
“She’s like Spider-Woman.”
“That’s got to beat Edge’s time.”
“Don’t count on it,” a deep voice says behind me.
Edge’s thick arms are crossed over his impressive chest as his slate eyes narrow and zero in on me. I should probably get used to that look—the one with the tsunami constantly stirring in them whenever he has them focused on me. Having had enough of Venom for now, I maneuver to the opposite side of the class.
“Hey, you’re new, right?” The guy is a couple of inches taller than me, with light brown hair and soft hazel eyes.
“Yep, how’d ya guess?”
He’s the type of guy most moms would be happy for their daughter to bring home—hence, the complete opposite of the Venom guys hovering on the other side of the group.
He chuckles. “Sorry, that was lame.”
