Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

The him he’s showing this afternoon can go take a leap.
Griffin exhales loud enough for me to hear, like he’s beyond
relieved that I didn’t rat on him.
A few more runners cross the finish line. Griffin congratulates
them as they arrive, and then they pat him on the back for coming
in first. They might dismiss his red cheeks and ears as a result of
running, but I know he’s embarrassed. He knows he won unfairly.
Coach Lenny eyes me suspiciously. I’m a horrible liar and he can
probably tell I am covering for Griffin. But he apparently decides to
let this one slide and walks away.
Now it sinks in that I am going to have to walk all the way back
to Damian’s house—across the whole campus and a very rocky hillside—in
my socks.
I glare at Griffin, bent over the water fountain and showing off
his cute butt—I mean his rotten backside. Well, I am not going into
the woods sock-footed after a pair of shoes when it’s his fault I
threw them in there.
Jumping to my feet, I stomp across the starting area as best as I
can without shoes and tap him on the shoulder.
“Get my shoes back,” I demand.
He jerks up and spins around, like he’s shocked that I have the
nerve to talk to him. “Excuse me?” he asks, like I’m the one being
rude.
Only I can’t really remember what I was asking him because his
lips are all glossy and wet from the drinking fountain.
“I, um . . .” I swallow hard, hoping that will clear my brain. “Shoes.
They’re . . . in the woods.”
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