I close my locker, my gym clothes in hand. “She’s right. I can drive. And I don’t have seizures. Now can I get dressed in private? Or are you all going to stand there and watch?”
I get a few dirty looks, but they all eventually back off and go about their business as usual. Tabitha, however, doesn’t move one perfectly toned muscle.
“He’s just being nice to you because he feels bad,” she says.
My gut clenches. I turn on my heel and head for one of the bathroom stalls to change. She follows, stuck to my side, hissing in my ear.
“He told me you thought he started that rumor. He feels really bad about it. You know Jensen. He hates to have anyone thinking badly of him. That’s why he’s being nice to you. He wants to win you over. Like he wins everybody over. Why else would he want to hang out with you?”
I slip into the bathroom stall and slam the door, shutting her out.
“And now what?” she says through the door. “You think one car ride with Jensen Peters is going to make you popular? You think you can just get contacts and wear your hair down and people will think you’re normal? You think that’ll make them like you?”
I stand in the stall, frozen, waiting for her to leave. If I had been in Shooter’s body, I probably would’ve had her hair in my fists by now.
“Get a clue, Freak,” she says. “No one likes you. Especially Jensen. And if you tell anyone you did more with him than give him a ride home, I’ll make you wish you’d never been born. Got it?”
Her sneakers finally march off, and I yank my sweater over my head so hard it tears at one of the seams. I’m not pissed because Tabitha is a bitch. I’m used to shielding myself from her barbed tongue. I’m pissed because part of what she said is true. Jensen is the kind of person who needs people to like him. He needs an audience, friends, people around to smile and joke with. He’s totally the type to want to “make it up to me” if he thinks I’m mad at him. Not because we’re friends, but because he feels guilty.
I slump against the stall door and slam my head back, once, twice. How could I be so stupid? I’d thought Blue was my friend, too. How could I be so wrong about Blue and Jensen at the same time?
A WHOLE FREAKING PILE OF STRAWS
I drag my gym clothes on and make my way out to join the class. I don’t even bother putting my hair in a ponytail so it doesn’t get sweaty. I just don’t give a damn about anything anymore.
Everyone’s outside at the track, freezing their butts off. Coach Graves, our gym teacher who’s straight out of college, thinks it’s the best use of our time to run a mile every day. Even in November. And if we happen to have time left over after the last person wheezes off the track? Then it’s dodgeball for the rest of the period inside while she sits on the sidelines and flirts with the guys’ gym coach, Mr Caswell.
Even though I’ve been running better times ever since I got back from 1927, without one asthma attack, I decide to take it slow this time. I’ve got nothing to prove, and I’d rather be at the back of the pack, alone, where I used to be, than up front by the good runners like Tabitha. But once I set off, feet meeting the pavement, I change my mind. My Shooter Delaney stubbornness kicks in. I zero in on Tabitha’s golden, bouncing ponytail and make it my mission to take her down.
I spend the first lap keeping pace. By the second lap, I’m right behind her. By the third, I’m squeezing past. And when I turn the corner on the fourth and final lap, I fly past like she stopped to tie her shoe. It’s not the best time in the class – not by a long shot – but it’s worth it just to see her expression. The flared nostrils and the icy glare. It’s the best thing to happen to me all day.
While half the class sits on the bleachers on the sidelines to cool down, the other half walks around the track. A few stragglers are still finishing their mile. Tabitha sits on the bleachers, so I choose to walk the track.
It’s a mistake.
Halfway through my lap, hands on my hips, elbows out, three guys from Coach Caswell’s class catch up to me. Robbie Duncan, Jake Horner, and Philip Rice. All three saw me give Jensen a ride home.
“Hey, Wayfare,” Robbie says, falling in step at my side. He’s the type of guy who’s always getting in the middle of things. If there’s a pot to stir, he’s the first to volunteer. It’s like he carries around his own special spoon. “Lotta crap goin’ around about you and Jensen today.”
I don’t respond. I keep my eyes straight ahead. I watch the traffic going by on Sixth Avenue, out past the school parking lot. A silver Corvette glints by. I daydream about jumping inside and getting as far away from Annapolis as possible.
“What did you guys do Friday night?” Robbie asks. His glossy gym shorts graze the backs of his knees. His legs are covered in fuzz and freckles. He’s a big dude, but he’s still got quite a bit of baby fat. “Must’ve been real important if he blew off our pickup game.”
I risk a tiny smile at the edge of my mouth. So Jensen blew off his teammates to go to the library. To check out Pride and Prejudice. I remember how embarrassed he was when I discovered his secret.
“I just gave him a ride,” I say with a shrug. “That’s all.”
The other two guys burst out laughing. I can tell Robbie wants to laugh too, but he tries to keep a straight face. His dimpled chin quivers. “Well we heard he gave you a ride.”
It takes a second before I get what he means. My jaw drops. I stop walking and spin on my heel to face them. “Excuse me?”
“Must’ve been one hell of a booty call,” Jake says.
“I know, right?” says Robbie. He makes circles with his fingers around his eyes like he’s wearing glasses. “Who knew losing your virginity could fix your eyesight?”
They burst out laughing and stumble away, clutching their stomachs, leaving me standing rigid and humiliated in the middle of the track.
Robbie turns around and walks backwards, making the hand motion for me to “call him.” “Seriously, Wayfare, I’m way better than Jensen,” he calls out. “One night with me and that epilepsy thing is history.”
Jake punches him in the shoulder and says, “Or maybe it’s better when she has a seizure. It’s like your own personal vibrator.”
Philip moans Oh, Robbie, oh Robbie! while he pretends to convulse.
My hands curl into fists. I clench my teeth so hard it sends a piercing pain shooting through my temples. Anger and humiliation wring and writhe inside me, and the need for revenge climbs to the surface of my skin like steam.
I force myself to make a beeline for the locker room before the Shooter in me does something drastic. Like relieve all three of them of their manhood.
CHAPTER 27
PUDDING CUPS, REVELATIONS, AND THE LAST STRAW
I change into my other clothes, ripped sweater and all, and skip the rest of gym. I’d be shocked if Coach Graves even notices I’m gone. Instead of going to lunch, I head to the AV department to start my shift early. It’s this small room off the main computer lab, stacked full of equipment for teachers to check out for their classrooms. There’s a tall counter to sit behind, which makes it one of my favorite places to hide. Sometimes Mrs Latimer lets me have my lunch there. Mostly because she usually needs my help fixing one of the pieces of equipment.
Seriously. I’ve probably saved the school a fortune on equipment costs.
Today, there’s a sticky note attached to one of the projectors telling me it won’t power on. I turn off all the harsh overhead lights in the room and flip on a few desk lamps. The light from the computer lab filters in, giving me enough to work by, but it’s dark enough to calm my nerves. I take the projector apart at the back of the room, losing myself in wires and connectors, troubleshooting whether or not it needs a new fuse or a new power switch. Soon my mind is wrapped in a protective haze. The last few hours no longer exist.