The Unbelievable, Inconceivable, Unforeseeable Truth About Ethan Wilder by Cookie O'Gorman

Author:Cookie O'Gorman [O'Gorman, Cookie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B07BRCZBDS
Goodreads: 38335425
Published: 2018-04-04T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

“Thirty-two to nothing, that’s just embarrassing,” George said with relish.

“It was pretty sad.” Ronnie shook his head. “Seven sacks, ten turnovers, all in the first quarter. They should’ve taken McCreary out sooner.”

“Don’t.” George scowled. “Every time I hear that name I get the urge to do something violent.” She looked over at me. “You sure you don’t want me to—”

“Positive,” I cut in before she could finish.

The first and only person I’d told about the whole debacle was George. We always traded horror stories, no matter how awful. Since then she’d offered to do several unseemly things to McCreary; the least of which had been ripping off each of his fingernails and feeding them back to him...through his nose. George could be very creative. I’d had to decline, of course, but it was the thought that counted.

“I don’t get it,” Ronnie said. “What’d he do?”

George sniffed. “You mean besides being born?”

He turned to me. “Delilah, do you know why George’s face gets all serial killer whenever I say McCreary’s name?”

I shrugged. Lying was never fun, especially lying to a friend, but Ronnie couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. Plus, I was afraid (for Ronnie’s sake) of what he’d do to McCreary if he ever found out.

“You know,” I said, trying to distract him, “I heard it’s the first time Bowie’s lost in the first round of Regionals since the school opened.” Aunt B was probably off somewhere congratulating herself. I felt bad that the McCreary incident caused Mom to break up with Mr. V. But as with most relationships, football was a deal breaker.

“Yeah,” Ronnie said, again with the headshake, “a real shame. That must’ve been the worst game of McCreary’s life. He couldn’t hold onto the ball for anything.”

“Speak of the devil,” George growled.

I followed her gaze. Grabbing my stuff for first and second period, I shut my locker, watching as McCreary and Bruce had it out. What they were saying was drowned out by the noise in the hall, but they were obviously arguing, whispering furiously back and forth. All of a sudden Bruce said something that made McCreary get this pained look on his face. Straightening up, Bruce gave him a nod then crossed his arms.

And then McCreary turned and walked straight for us.

Head down, he stopped in front of me. “Doherty,” he said. “Can we talk?”

Ignoring George’s curse, I followed him a few feet away.

“Listen,” he said gruffly. He couldn’t seem to look me in the eye. “Bruce...he told me there was never anything going on between you two. And even though that’s hard for me to believe—real hard—he said that if I didn’t apologize he’d give me something worse than a black eye next time.”

His hand moved to the purplish-blue skin near the side of his eye. It looked worse now than it had Friday.

“And well”—he cleared his throat—”I guess, I’m here to apologize.”

I waited.

“Never thought you’d be the first to turn me down,” he muttered, looking at a point somewhere near my ear.

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