Page 96 of Better Than Revenge

I heard Theo say something like “Not now.”

Jensen kept advancing, but Theo was looking past him, at me. A mixture of relief and sadness washed over his face, and that’s when Jensen punched him.

The courtyard erupted in screams, Theo and Jensen suddenly surrounded by people. Theo had fallen to the ground with the unexpected punch to the face. I flew to my feet and rushed forward, not thinking, only reacting.

“Get up!” Jensen was saying when I pushed my way through the crowd and stepped in front of him.

“Stop,” I said.

“You’re going to defend him?” Jensen asked.

“I’m not defending either of you. I’m telling you to stop.”

“Get out of the way,” he said.

Behind me, Theo climbed to his feet. “I’m sorry, Finley,” hesaid.

I gave a single glance back, but before I could say anything Mr.Whitley was there. “What is going on?”

Everyone around us started talking at once, but Max’s voice rang out above the others. “Jensen sucker punched Theo!”

Mr.Whitley looked at Jensen, who was seconds away from, most likely, confessing, but was stopped when Theo said, “No, he didn’t.”

I gave Theo narrow eyes, but he wasn’t looking at me.

“He didn’t?” Mr.Whitley asked.

“Nobody punched me. I just fell, bum knee, you know,” Theo said in a disarming fashion.

“You okay?” Mr.Whitley asked.

“All good,” he said.

“Well, lunch is almost over. Let’s disperse,” he said to the crowd that had gathered.

As people, including Mr.Whitley, left, Jensen said, “I don’t need any charity from you.”

“Believe me, it wasn’t for you,” Theo responded.

I turned on my heel and fled. I knew Theo followed me, but I didn’t stop until I was almost to the parking lot. He didn’t try to make me. Finally, when there was nobody around, I turned. “Are you too cool to tattle?” I said. “He would’ve been suspended.”

“Exactly,” he said.

“Exactly? Oh!” The tryouts tomorrow.

“You’regoing to beat him. Not me.”

“Ugh,” I grunted in frustration. The scent from the sweatshirt I wore surrounded me, suffocated me. I wrestled it off my body and shoved it into his chest.

He barely caught it as it slid down him. “Finley,” he said softly.

My eyes shot to his knee covered by his pants. “Did Jensen cause your injury?”

“He’s the one that tackled me after the play, yes.” He furrowed his brow. There was a red mark forming near his left eye. “I thought Jensen told you that. I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t.” I took a deep breath. “So that’s why you’re doing all this? Why you wanted to help me?”

“I’m sorry,” he said.