Read Online Rival by Lacy Yager - Free Book Online

me back, but I turn the fall
into a backward roll and come to my feet, only to find him there. I
fend off a high kick with an elbow-block and jump over his sweeping
reverse kick.
    Enough of this defensive crap. I launch
into a jump with both feet, aiming for a jaw-shoulder combo-jab,
but he's quick and slides to the side, sending me to my hands and
knees with a push to my back as my momentum takes me past
him.
    The ref calls a pause and I stand up.
The ref asks me if I'm okay, and I am. Just mad at myself for
letting it happen.
    Brett's eyes glint. A hint of humor? Is
he enjoying himself?
    The ref waves us back into the second
round, and this time, I take the offensive. I roll and sweep out
with a floor-kick.
    He hops over it, but I crouch into a
second one and send him to his rear on the mats.
    He scrambles up with a half-wicked,
half-determined smile.
    And winks, ever so slightly.
    And the realization hits me.
    I'm in love with Brett. Unplanned,
unexpected, totally shocking.
    He settles into a crouch, ready to go,
but I'm frozen, standing tall in my corner of the mat.
    The referee again asks me if I'm okay,
and I shake myself out of my daze.
    I have a match to win.
    Except... With the realization still
tingling through my system, everything is electric around
me.
    I'm in love with Brett
Carson.
    And following the realization comes the
thought that my dad fought for everything he believed in, until his
very last breath.
    He never gave up.
    And I can't give up on
Brett.
    The ref waves us into the last round,
and Brett comes at me, flying forward in a roundhouse
kick.

 
     
    16 - Emily
    I stand with my back to the full-length
mirror in my luxurious bathroom, almost too afraid to turn around
and see what my mom has done to me.
    The magenta dress fits like I remember,
snug across my chest and hips and flaring out around my
thighs.
    It wouldn't be so bad if not for the
torturous three-inch heels my mom insisted on. Flats would've been
just as good, in my estimation, but nooo...
    She sent a make-up and hair artist in
to attack me an hour ago, and I've been waxed, clipped,
straightened, curled, jabbed. I’m afraid to see what image will
stare back at me from that mirror. I’m sure it won’t be
mine.
    But all I have to do is get
through this night, and she'll have to let me Chase. I'm eighteen now.
    There's a knock.
    "Are you about ready, dear?" My mom's
voice is muffled through the door.
    It's now or never.
    I turn to face the mirror and cringe.
Is this how she wants me to be?
    My hair is piled on top of my head in
an elaborate style, with ringlets cascading down the back and my
bangs curled to one side.
    The dress fits perfectly, the strapless
design showing off my biceps and delts and making me look like I
have at least a little cleavage. I half-spin, craning my neck to
see my backside, and I have to admit, Brett was right that day at
the mall. The heels do show off my legs.
    But the face paint makes me look like a
clown. Black liner around my eyes, dark shadow, dark
blush.
    I hate it. Makeup isn't my style, nor
are the glittery painted nails.
    Is this really how my mom wants me to
be? What she wishes her daughter were?
    It's painful in its reality.
    She knocks again, and I go to the door,
determined to confront her and demand she see me for who I am. And
this isn't it.
    But when I open the door, her mouth
drops and her eyes tear up. She takes my hands in hers, looking me
over, and the words I want to say stick in my throat.
    "You're so beautiful," she whispers. "I
wish your papa could see you now."
    I don't think he’d like it any more
than I do.
    "You're all grown up," she
says.
    And that's the only upside
to this. After tonight, I can make my own decisions. But I don’t
mention that, and I don’t argue about the dress or the makeup or
the stupid heels. There will be plenty of time for confrontations
later. And I'm sure there will be some, because she does not want me to
Chase.
    "Let's get this over with," I