<div class="floatright">(http://i.imgur.com/h2p7v.jpg)</div><strong>Name</strong>:  Elizabeth Goetz<br/><strong>Time</strong>:  Two days after Tristyn's Assault<br/><strong>Tagged</strong>:  Tristyn<br/><strong><br/>"He's not my boyfriend!"</strong><br/><br/><strong>"Well he thinks he is.  That's why he beat up that other boy, Lizzy."</strong>Lindsey, another varsity cheerleader, was talking in the cheer room after the rest of the squad had gone outside to practice.<strong>"Scott jumped him in the shower room and beat him up pretty bad.  And I hear he wasn't alone.  You know how the team is."</strong><br/><br/>She did indeed.  They'd stick together through everything, a lot like her sister cheerleaders, and if anyone came asking they'd have a dozen airtight alibis.  It didn't matter what had really happened, it only mattered what could be proven.  Scott, that meathead, wasn't going to be in trouble with anyone.<strong>"Why would he do that?"</strong><br/><br/><strong>"I don't know.  Roid rage?  Because he thinks you're going to be his girlfriend no matter what?  Because he's a dumb jock and everyone kisses his ass, even the teachers?"</strong>Lindsey sighed.<strong>"You need to be careful, Lizzy.  If Scott finds out you even talk to that guy, he'll kill him."</strong><br/><strong><br/>"But I'm not his girlfriend!"</strong>Elizabeth protested.<strong>"And I don't want to be, either.  Why does he think he can, can...control me like that?"</strong><br/><br/><strong>"Well, why don't you want to be his girlfriend, Lizzy?  He's hot, he's popular, he has money and he's going places after high school.  And I hear he's got a big d-"<br/><br/>"Stop!" </strong>Elizabeth cut her friend off.<strong> "No.  Just...no!"</strong>She turned and left the cheer room, but went left in the corridor towards the trainer's room instead of right to the practice field.  The smell of chlorine from the hot tub and menthol from ointments was so strong that it stung her nose.  A couple of trainers passed her carrying wire racks of Gatorade.  There were a couple of volleyball girls getting their knees iced down by Doc, and she saw Tristyn sitting disconsolately in the hot tub.  There was the ugly mottling of a bruise across his rib cage and another, lower, in the muscles of his abdomen.  The noisy jets and bubbles of the hot tub gave them relative privacy.<br/><br/><strong>"Hi,"</strong>she said, fingers twisting each other into Gordian knots that even Mr. Golden's mathematics would have trouble unraveling.  Elizabeth looked at the ground, not at Tristyn.<strong>"I'm Elizabeth.  Elizabeth Goetz," </strong>she added.<strong>"I'm really sorry about Scott.  He's...  I'm not...  We're not..."</strong>Her voice trailed off, lost in the sounds of broken athletes and plumbing.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>