Brenda noticed him, too. She pushed away from the pole. “What’s your deal?” she demanded.
Jeff stopped a good three feet away from her, wary. All thoughts of apologizing went up in a puff of steam. “Don’t know what you mean.”
“Horse crap.” She pointed at him, her unremarkable eyes narrowing. “Rejecting me is one thing, but you leave my brother out of this.”
His mind snapped through the facts. Dissimilar build. Similar eyes. Same hair. Same flat earlobes, a recessive trait. She has freckles. Braeden doesn’t. Backpack says, “Property of Brenda B.” Aloud, he said, “You’re Braeden’s sister.”
Surprise flickered across her face, quickly replaced by anger. “You seriously didn’t know?”
Jeff shrugged. Despite having gym class together, he’d never had the opportunity to learn her last name. The teacher called girls by their first names and boys by their last. Plus, he’d never noticed her hanging around Braeden. Why would he have made the connection?
“I didn’t bring him into this,” said Jeff. “Whatever this is. You did.”
“I did you a favor by getting your English essay back,” she said. “And I figured you—you wouldn’t want to see me.” Some of her fire faltered.
Jeff shifted the strap on his shoulder. “You were right about that, at least.”
Scowling, Brenda snatched her backpack and shoved her arms through the straps. She stalked up to him. “Every time I talk to you, you prove that you’re an even bigger asshole than I thought.”
“Okay.”
“Seriously!”
He shrugged, again, and said again, “Okay.”
Brenda shook her head. Her curls fluttered—Braeden has those same curls. She started past him, paused to look at him, as though contemplating … and then swung. It was so unexpected, and Jeff was so close, that he didn’t have time to dodge. His glasses were knocked askew by the blow. She was small and thin, with little muscle, but soft tissue didn’t stand a chance against sharp knuckles.
“Stay away from my family,” she said. Then she ran away, leaving Jeff holding his face, bewildered and more than a little pissed off. He adjusted his glasses, then checked his fingers for blood, found none, and groaned.
A nearby rumble snagged his attention. The busses were leaving. Even if he ran, he wouldn’t catch his in time.
“What a stupid day,” he muttered to himself.
Oh, well. No choice but to walk.
One small mercy was that the air was still cool. It felt good kissing his throbbing cheek. Jeff kept to sidewalks and grass for the first few blocks, walking slow so as not to jostle his tender flesh. By the time he reached the industrial part of town, his eye had started to swell shut, narrowing his field of vision on the right. It was probably bruised and puffy. He began looking forward to one of the ice packs in the kitchen freezer at home.
He was so wrapped up in sullen musings over Brenda’s sucker-punch that he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him. In fact, he didn’t notice that he had company until a large hand clapped him on the back.
“Yo.”
Jeff staggered and barely stopped from falling. He glanced back and up, startled to find Braeden had caught up with him.
Braeden looked equally surprised. “What happened to your face?”
Self-conscious, Jeff touched beneath his eye and winced. “Your sister.”
“Ah.”
“You don’t sound shocked.”
A rueful smile pulled Braeden’s—full, inviting, sensual—lips. “She’s always had a bit of a temper. She usually hides it better in public.”
Jeff agreed. He’d misjudged her character. That, or he really was as awful as she said. Why doesn’t that bother me? “I don’t think anyone’s called me an asshole so many times in one day.”
“Sorry.”
Jeff shrugged and started walking again, thankful his hair was long enough to cover his burning ears. “She hits like a girl.”
A chuckle sounded beside him. “I hope you didn’t tell her that.”
“I’d probably have two black eyes if I had.” Jeff glanced down. Braeden’s long legs gave him twice Jeff’s stride. Envy mingled with a different, warmer feeling that Jeff wasn’t certain he wanted to acknowledge. “What are you doing?”
Braeden quirked an eyebrow. “Walking home.”
“Your sister took the bus.”
“Yeah.”
“So why didn’t you?”
Braeden grinned. “Didn’t feel like it.”
Jeff fell silent. The squirming in his belly grew more uncomfortable by the minute. Part of him wanted Braeden to go away. The other part liked the radiating heat that came from his body. Track star. A runner. High stamina. Hot-blooded.
Then the pet peeves rolled in. Can’t type properly. Arrogant. Makes fun of my height.
Braeden leaned so close that Jeff could smell him. Soap. Sweat. Spring detergent. His stomach flipped as Braeden spoke. “Whatcha thinking about, Napoleon?”
Jeff’s jaw tensed. He quickened his pace, despite the hard steps hurting his face.
“Whoa, hey!” To his frustration, it only took two steps for Braeden to catch up. Thump. Thump. “What’d I say?”
“Napoleon wasn’t that short, you know.”
Braeden blinked. “Come again?”
A heavy sigh forced its way past Jeff’s teeth. “Napoleon wasn’t short by his era’s standards. He was average height. Calling a short person Napoleon is an outdated, irrelevant, historically inaccurate joke.”
When Braeden didn’t respond right away, Jeff’s heart thumped oddly. Did I actually offend him? The worry was eclipsed by annoyance. Well, good. Who cares what he—
“You’re the one who assumed it was a short joke.”
Jeff stopped. Against his better judgment, he met Braeden’s level gaze. Burning green, like a wizard’s fire. Like neon lightning. It had the strange effect of making him feel small—even more than usual.
When it was clear Jeff wouldn’t speak, Braeden said, “I don’t make jokes about things people can’t help. It’s kind of a dick move, you know? I was more referring to your ingenuity and weird tactics. You stunned the hell out of that bird. The nurse said I could have lost skin if it’d gotten hold of me again.”
This time it wasn’t fever warming Jeff—and it wasn’t a good feeling. It made his nerves dance back like they were avoiding flames at the edge of his dermis. “Everyone makes judgments about other people. Don’t pretend you’re better than anyone else.”
Disappointment etched Braeden’s features. It only worsened Jeff’s discomfort. Embarrassment. Why am I embarrassed?
Quietly, Braeden said, “Maybe I’m not. But some things people just can’t help being born with.”
Jeff’s heart skipped a beat. Does he know? But how could he? Jeff had never opened up about his sexuality, not even with Maya. It was just a fact of his life. A cold, impersonal, potentially dangerous fact if the wrong people found out.
“Maybe it’s a natural gift,” continued Braeden. “Maybe it’s height. Maybe it’s nervous sweating.” Jeff’s blush intensified. “Or maybe severe Down Syndrome, and that person’s life will never be normal like most of us.”
Jeff looked at him sharply.
Braeden kept with that steady, level gaze.
At last, Jeff said, “Not Brenda.” Symmetrical face. Can’t be her.
Braeden used his pinky to scratch under his nose. His bandaged fingers wiggled. “Our baby brother.”
This dark feeling… Guilt.
Jeff turned his head and began a slow walk.
To his surprise, Braeden fell into step with him.
At last, Jeff said, “What’s his name?”
“Bryce.” Braeden said it with fondness. “He’s six.”
An accident baby? As soon as he thought it, another bleak feeling flooded in: shame. It weighed down his steps, made his stomach plummet as though it had transformed into lead.
“I’d like to meet him.”
<
br /> Braeden cocked his head. Jeff shoved his hands into his pockets, unable to meet his questioning stare. Why did I say that? What do I think’s going to happen—that I’ll grow an empathy gland just by seeing this kid?
“Maybe someday,” said Braeden.
Jeff could have kicked himself. Right. It’s a kid, his brother, not a circus sideshow. He really was an asshole. Brenda had pegged his personality far better than he’d pegged hers.
“Nothing personal,” added Braeden. “Mom’s just weird about introducing Bry to new people. He’s real shy.”
The subject was too uncomfortable. Jeff rubbed his hand over his mouth. “I always wondered why no one shortened your name. Too close to your brother’s.” Braeden. Gaelic. The “ae” makes a long “i” sound. Probably throws off new teachers during roll call.
Braeden snorted. “Something like that. My mom had a weird thing with our names.”
“I noticed.”
“It confuses other people sometimes.”
“I bet.”
They lapsed into tepid quiet. Cars whizzed past them on the roads until they reached comparatively calm neighborhoods. The longer the silence went on, the more Jeff’s eye throbbed. Just a few more blocks.
“My sister was into you, you know.”
Jeff cringed. This was not a subject he wanted to broach.
Braeden let out a small chuckle. “I’m guessing not as much anymore, since she punched you.”
“Guess not,” muttered Jeff.
“You okay with that?”
Wary, Jeff said, “Why? You going to punch my other eye?”
“She’s a big girl,” said Braeden lightly. “She can figure that stuff out on her own.”
Jeff shook his head. As an only child, he had no clue how siblings worked. He’d always been under the impression older brothers were supposed to be overprotective. It was strange to see his classmate act so cavalier about his sister’s dating proclivities.
Braeden sighed and slowed down. “I figure, you know, she gives me enough crap about the girls I’ve cycled through. Maybe one of us should be chill, and I guess it’s me.”
Girls. No guys. The revelation didn’t surprise him, yet the heaviness in his gut did. Jeff chewed on his lower lip. He started to speak, thought better of it, and suddenly found adjusting the straps of his backpack to be the most vital venture he could think of.
“Anyway, I split here. See you around?”
Jeff glanced up. They were kitty-corner to one of the nicest neighborhoods: large houses, big yards, manicured lawns, pristine fences, smooth sidewalks. The Britelys were made of money, it seemed.
“We have a class together, so I guess,” he said.
Braeden smiled. “Yeah. Later, then.”
Jeff watched him walk away, marveling how Braeden wasn’t cold despite the basketball shorts. He rubbed his nose, adjusted his glasses, and continued his trek home, feeling feverish and alone, and strangely not liking it so much.
Chapter Three
No1QuackVictim: your sulking again
Jeff would have rolled his eyes if the right one wasn’t still aching. He considered ignoring the message … but then, who was he kidding? His heart thumped oddly when the message notification blinked. The normally steady organ beat front-to-back recognizing Braeden’s username and side-to-side picturing his face.
He took a slow breath, closed his eyes, and typed a reply.
JeffY: Gee, I wonder why. Maybe because I have a black eye?
It was best not to detail how. Braeden knew. Besides, Jeff suspected the teachers had a way of monitoring their activity in real time. And if not that, then they had a way of accessing the instant messages, even if students tried to delete them. It would explain why some things were found out fast—like when two male students, left to their own devices, had been busted watching pornography on site during an after-school program—and others were ignored. Others like those who logged on to social media to leave scathing comments to the “Fire Wall,” a semi-private, student-made website in which the sole purpose was to mock their peers.
The point was, as far as Jeff was concerned, less was best. He was safer being as vague as possible.
No1QuackVictim: he wonders why
No1QuackVictim: a black eye
No1QuackVictim: cuz one girls fist said
No1QuackVictim: time to die
Jeff snickered.
JeffY: Didn’t know you were a rhyming enthusiast.
No1QuackVictim: you mean poet?
JeffY: Same thing.
No1QuackVictim: haha i guess just something i thought up cuz i’m bored
No1QuackVictim: it sucks man
No1QuackVictim: so does this article i have to write
No1QuackVictim: never saw the point in debating prom kings and queens
JeffY: Same.
No1QuackVictim: its not just that its lame
Another rhyme. Jeff scratched his cheek to hide a grin.
No1QuackVictim: high schools already a social construct of fickle hierarchies
No1QuackVictim: this just makes it worse
No1QuackVictim: its just a popularity contest like voting for class prez
Jeff scribbled the last three lines on a piece of paper. One nice thing about the instant message program was that he could collect quotes with Braeden being none the wiser. None had much to do with his article, but he had the feeling they might still come in handy.
No1QuackVictim: whats your article about anyway?
He needed to lie. Even if the result was a poisoned stab to his withered morality.
JeffY: I’m test writing a couple different ideas. Figured I’d submit the one I like best by next week’s deadline. I’d prefer it make the next issue.
No1QuackVictim: good luck
No1QuackVictim: theyre being super anal about this month
JeffY: Why? Seniors have another issue before final exams.
No1QuackVictim: lol you think this is bad itll be worse next issue
Jeff wrote the deadline date on his paper and drew lazy circles around it. Next issue wouldn’t do. He needed to publish this month, while the subject was still fresh. High schoolers were too capricious to appreciate months-old news.
JeffY: You’ll be the big story next time. Track starts then, right?
No1QuackVictim: we started a few weeks ago
No1QuackVictim: but our first competition is next month
No1QuackVictim: which reminds me do you
The messages stopped. Jeff frowned. He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder. Voices had started up again in the back, including Braeden’s. He must have hit the enter key on accident before finishing his thought. Likely distracted by the girl next to him, who Jeff had come to realize had been flirting with Braeden hardcore for three months. Carrie Lightton. Eighteen years old. Pretty but dumb as a bag of broken bricks.
Jeff told himself that he wasn’t jealous. Braeden was straight. Ergo, there was nothing to be jealous of. Besides, all Braeden had done this morning was distract him. He needed to work on the article.
When he wasn’t actively typing, Jeff kept the document window well hidden. Due to the nature of cliques, his classmates were mostly crowded in the back. That left the two computers behind and the three to his left empty. Combined with lax supervision and a casual classroom atmosphere, he had plenty of privacy to work. Which was why he found himself staring at the first paragraph, analyzing, critiquing—frustrated as all hell.
Burning Britely: One Student’s Fight for Fowl Dominance
Lowry High is known for many things among their graduating class: a spectacularly failing football team, an embarrassingly high rate of senior pregnancy, and the third-worst number of dropouts since 1983. But if there’s one thing they can be proud of, it’s our three-year winning track champion, Braeden Britely. At least, they could, until he lost his impromptu battle with an angry goose.
Yesterday, the words had made him smile. He could still see some humor in the jabs, but
Braeden’s quiet rebuke echoed through his brain with each word he reread. “I don’t make jokes about things people can’t help.”
He had almost two pages of work already, but the tone had begun to bother him. This time when he printed the draft, it wasn’t with the intention of editing.
At lunch, he caught Maya just before she sat down with her tray. “Got a sec?”
She blinked at him.
Jeff frowned. Her eyes moved down five degrees. That’s two degrees more than last year. She’s getting taller than me.
“Sure,” she said, hesitant. “Can I eat my lunch, first?”
“If you can be discrete, you can eat while helping me.” Jeff sat next to her, foodless, and handed over the report. Maya shoveled a piece of dry hamburger meat into her mouth while her eyes scanned the page. Jeff glanced at her tray. Frozen hamburger meat. Protein. Wrinkled tomato slices, quarter-slice pickle, chopped celery. Two wet apple slices. An attempt at vitamins. Orange juice—full of sugar.
Maya flipped the page and kept reading without a word. She jabbed at her food with the plastic fork and missed. A tiny frown tugged the corners of her mouth.
“Well?” Jeff asked.
She sighed and placed it face-down. “It’s mean.”
“It’s honest.”
“Yeah. And mean.”
Jeff rested his elbow on the long table and made sure no one was paying attention to them. Students chattered away, oblivious. “Journalism should be straight-forward and factual.”
“Don’t give me that.” She speared an apple slice and tore the skin off with her teeth. “You can be factual without being mean, and you know it. This doesn’t make the writer look good. It makes him look bitter.”
“So what do you suggest?”
She lifted a bony shoulder. “Find nicer facts.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Not if you’re in love.”
Jeff’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“Come on, Jeff.” Thankfully, she kept her voice low. “I’m your best friend. I know you probably better than your own family. How long have we been best buds?”
Burning Britely Page 3