The Captain's Dirty Little Secret

Chapter 100: Chapter 100 - Life Goes On

Life went on.

That was the cruelest part.

Homecoming ended, the Uber took Roxie to the Robinsons’ house, and Mrs. Robinson opened the door in a robe with her hair pinned back. She smiled at first, then stopped when she saw Roxie’s face.

Roxie smiled back before she could ask anything.

”The dress looked beautiful,” Mrs. Robinson said.

Roxie held the sandals in one hand and the clutch in the other. Her bare feet curled against the porch floor. ”Thank you for letting me borrow it.”

Mrs. Robinson looked at her for a moment longer.

Roxie kept the smile in place.

After a few seconds, Mrs. Robinson moved aside. ”Come in.”

Roxie changed in the guest bathroom. She folded the emerald dress carefully, slower than needed, smoothing the fabric over and over until there were no creases left to fix. She placed the earrings back in the small box. Then the sandals.

When she looked in the mirror, the girl in front of her looked plain again.

Tired.

Her hair was still pinned, but the shine of the night had gone. Her eyes looked red around the edges, and her mouth looked like it had been holding too many words.

She washed her hands, dried them, and stood there for another second because leaving the bathroom meant the night was over for real.

The dress had gone back to its owner.

The lie had gone with it.

After that, Roxie went to the restaurant.

The Corner Grill was still open.

Roxie went straight to the back, tied an apron over her clothes, and stood in front of the sink before anyone could ask about homecoming. The dish pit was already full. Plates leaned against bowls. Greasy pans sat near the sprayer. Someone had dumped a stack of forks into cloudy water, and the smell of soap, oil, and old food hit her all at once.

Thankfully, Ethan was not around.

She did not have the energy for his face, his questions, or whatever careful thing he might say if he noticed her eyes.

Roxie worked through the pile.

She scraped food into the trash. She sprayed plates until hot water splashed against her wrists. She stacked clean dishes on the rack and shoved another tray through the machine. The noise helped. The rush of water. The clatter of plates. The sharp hiss of steam every time the washer opened.

Her feet hurt.

Her chest hurt more.

She kept moving because stopping made the night catch up.

By the time she got home, the house was dark except for the television.

Her mother was passed out on the couch.

The volume was low. Blue light moved across her mother’s face. One arm hung over the side of the couch, fingers loose. The blanket had slipped halfway to the floor. An empty bottle sat near the coffee table leg.

Roxie stood in the doorway with her bag on her shoulder.

For a moment, she felt nothing.

Then the tiredness came over her so hard she almost sat on the floor.

She picked up the blanket and covered her mother. She took the bottle to the trash. She turned the television off.

The house went quiet.

Roxie went to her room and shut the door.

She slept in pieces.

When Monday came, she woke up with a headache and a hard feeling in her chest.

The school looked the same. That made it worse.

Briarwick had already turned homecoming into a story everyone wanted to tell again. Pictures moved from phone to phone. Couples stood against lockers, pressed close like one night had given them permission to become permanent. Girls wore varsity jackets that swallowed their hands. Boys walked around with loosened confidence, accepting congratulations for dances they had barely survived.

Roxie walked through all of it with her books held against her chest.

Every laugh scraped.

Every happy couple felt personal.

Angela found her near the entrance. Karen was with her.

Neither of them asked first.

That was how Roxie knew they already knew enough.

Angela’s face softened in a way Roxie could barely stand. ”Hey.”

Roxie adjusted her bag. ”Hey.”

Karen looked over her face, then past her, like she was checking if Zac had followed. ”Did he text you?”

Roxie’s throat tightened.

”No.”

Angela looked at Karen quickly. ”Karen.”

”What?” Karen’s voice stayed low. ”I’m asking.”

”I’m fine,” Roxie said.

Karen held her gaze. ”You’re not.”

Roxie looked away first.

Angela moved closer. ”You don’t have to talk about it here.”

”There’s nothing to talk about.”

Karen’s mouth tightened. ”That means there is.”

Angela touched Karen’s arm. ”Stop pushing.”

Karen looked like she wanted to argue, then saw Roxie’s face and swallowed it.

They walked inside together.

Roxie heard people talking about the dance near the trophy case. Someone mentioned Zac and Kendall’s king and queen dance. Someone else said they looked like a magazine couple.

Roxie kept walking.

Her fingers tightened around her books until the edges pressed into her skin.

First period was chemistry.

She hated that she had to see him before her coffee even settled.

Zac was already in the room when she walked in.

He sat near the back with Mason and two football players. He wore a dark hoodie, shoulders broad under the fabric, head slightly lowered. His hair looked damp. His jaw was tight.

He looked up.

Their eyes met.

For half a second, Roxie felt the parking lot again. Cold air. The crushed crown. His voice saying fine. Her own voice saying worse.

Then Zac looked away.

Roxie’s stomach pulled tight.

Fuck him.

She went to her seat and set her notebook down harder than she meant to.

Angela sat beside her. She stayed quiet this time.

That was worse.

Mr. Callahan started class.

Usually, the back of the room had noise. Mason always whispered. The football players laughed under their breath. Zac leaned back like the room belonged to him even when he paid attention.

Today, the back table was silent.

That silence spread.

Nobody said anything about it, but everyone felt it. Students kept glancing back, then toward Roxie, then away again. A fight had a smell in school. People sensed it even when nobody gave them details.

Mr. Callahan wrote on the board.

Roxie copied the notes.

Her handwriting came out too dark. The pen dug into the paper.

Combination reaction.

Decomposition reaction.

Single replacement.

Double replacement.

Across the room, a chair moved.

Roxie looked up.

Zac was looking at her.

He looked away again.

Her pulse hit hard.

He still looked angry.

As if she had done something unforgivable by laughing. As if she was supposed to baby him after he used bullshit excuses to explain why she was a secret.

Her Roxie Jones?

He can choke is his saliva for all she cared.

Roxie stared at her notebook until the lines blurred.

Mr. Callahan asked a question. Zac answered. His voice was flat, controlled, correct.

The silence felt heavier after that.

Mason turned his pencil between his fingers. One of the football players kept his eyes down. Nobody around Zac seemed willing to test him.

Roxie hated that too.

He had a whole table adjusting around his mood.

She had Angela watching her carefully, like Roxie might crack if someone said his name too hard.

Partner work came next.

Angela slid her paper toward Roxie. ”We’re together.”

Roxie nodded.

They worked through the questions slowly. Angela explained one equation twice. Roxie heard the words and barely understood any of them.

She could feel Zac behind her.

That made her angrier.

She wanted his presence to mean less by now. It should have meant less after the parking lot. After the things he said. After the way he looked at her like she was the problem.

But her body still knew where he was.

That made her hate him more.

The rest of the morning passed through noise.

Homecoming photos.

Homecoming jokes.

Homecoming couples.

Homecoming rumors.

A girl in the hallway said Kendall looked perfect beside Zac. Roxie kept walking, but her nails dug into her palm.

At lunch, Angela sat on one side of her and Karen on the other.

For a while, none of them said much.

Karen opened her food, then closed it again. ”The audacity to look mad.”

Roxie looked down at her tray. ”He can feel whatever he wants.” She told them the gist of it on their Sunday call. She had to or otherwise she’d have to go through Angela’s teasing.

”He has no right.”

Angela gave Karen a warning look. ”Careful.”

”I am being careful.” Karen’s voice dropped. ”If I say everything I think, you’ll both tell me I’m making it worse.”

Roxie’s mouth almost moved.

Angela leaned closer. ”Did he hurt you?”

The question was soft.

Roxie hated soft questions. They made answers rise in her throat.

”Physically, no.” She pushed a fry through ketchup and said, ”I just hate men, every men.”

”Amen,” Karen cheers their fries.

”Can’t you talk about it some more?”

”What is there to talk about?” She bit and swallowed. ”He made it clear that I’m not his priority.”

Karen’s expression changed. ”Figures. Boys like him are too immature.”

Angela whispered, ”Karen stop. Are you fine?”

”I’m fine.”

Karen sat back, eyes hard. ”I hope he chokes on his crown.”

Angela closed her eyes. ”Karen.”

Roxie picked up her drink and took a sip, though her throat barely worked.

After classes, cheer practice started with Coach Miller already in a mood.

He stood in the gym with his clipboard under one arm and his whistle resting against his chest. The expression on his face killed the last traces of homecoming before anyone stretched.

”We got weeks before the regional,” he said. ”Homecoming is over. I want clean counts, sharp arms, controlled landings, and no wandering eyes. If your mind is still at the dance, leave it there and bring your body back to practice.”

Several girls shifted.

Coach Miller’s gaze passed over the line and stopped on Roxie for half a second.

She stood straighter.

”Warm-up,” he said.

Practice hurt.

Roxie welcomed that.

Pain she could name was easier than the rest. Her calves burned from jumps. Her arms ached from holding motions until Coach Miller was satisfied. Her back tightened through transitions. Sweat gathered at her neck and under her hair.

Coach Miller corrected her twice.

”Too much force,” he said the first time.

She nodded.

”Control your landing,” he said the second time. ”Power without control looks sloppy.”

”Yes, Coach.”

She reset.

The words stayed with her, unwanted.

Power without control.

She pushed harder anyway.

By the time Coach Miller moved them outside to the stadium, the afternoon had gone dull and cold around the edges. The sky looked pale above the field. Stadium lights were already on, bright against the gray.

The football team was there too.

Roxie saw Zac before she had a chance to prepare herself.

He stood near the far side of the field in practice gear, helmet under one arm. Coach Hayes was shouting instructions near the sideline. Mason was by the cones. Dylan stood a few yards behind him, quiet as usual, watching the drill.

Zac took the ball.

His body changed the second he moved. The anger in his face went into his shoulders, his stance, the sharp pull of his arm. He threw downfield, clean and hard.

The receiver caught it.

Coach Hayes shouted something approving.

Zac barely reacted.

Roxie hated how good he looked out there.

She hated how the field seemed to accept every ugly thing in him and turn it into talent.

”Eyes front,” Coach Miller called.

Roxie snapped back to formation.

Angela glanced at her but said nothing.

The music started from the speaker near the bench. Thin in the open air. Coach Miller counted them in.

Five, six, seven, eight.

Roxie hit the first motion hard.

Step. Turn. Hit. Jump.

Her body followed the routine, but every sound from the football side cut through the music. A whistle. A shout. The slap of the ball into gloves. Coach Hayes barking Zac’s name.

She kept her eyes forward.

She lasted almost three counts before she looked.

Zac was already looking across the field.

Their eyes met.

He looked angry.

Still.

She couldn’t help herself and flipped him off.

Then Coach Miller’s whistle cut through the air.

”Roxie.”

She faced forward.

Coach Miller’s eyes were sharp. ”Since the football practice is apparently fascinating, you can run the count again from the top.”

Heat moved up Roxie’s neck.

”Yes, Coach.”

The girls reset around her.

Roxie lifted her arms into position.

Across the field, Zac moved into the next drill.

She could feel him there.

She hated him.

She hated that her body still reacted to him.

She hated that homecoming had ended, the dress had been returned, Monday had arrived, school had continued, practice had started, and Zac Prescott still stood across the field looking angry at her like he had been the one left standing in the cold with nothing.

The music started again.

Roxie hit the first count harder than before.

Her jaw tightened.

Her eyes stayed forward this time.

Zac Prescott was an asshole.

And she was going to make herself remember that.