Freaks of Greenfield High

by Anderson, Maree

“Is your name really Emo-Freak-Boy?” Tyler’s totally hot new lab partner asked. “It is a very unusual name.”

  Hot-Chick either had a weird sense of humor or she was smart enough to realize the best way to redeem herself in Shawn and Bettina’s eyes was to treat him like pond-scum.

  A lump of disappointment settled in his gut but he managed to force a laugh. “Ah, nope. Just their pathetic idea of a joke.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “Then you do not listen to emotive hardcore bands, and have lots of kinky sex?”

  He gaped at her. “Huh?”

  “According to my sources, those are accepted slang definitions of the words ‘emo’ and ‘freak’.”

  “Explains a lot,” Tyler heard Bettina say to Shawn.

  He cursed the flush he could feel heating his cheeks. “Not really my scene.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Then why would they call you Emo-Freak-Boy?”

  “They call me a lot of stuff—none of it flattering.” He bit his tongue before he could clue her in on geek-freak, freakazoid, and a bunch of other unimaginative things he’d been called. Why did he feel so compelled to spill his guts rather than fob her off with an evasion? His blush turned into a wave of mortification that spread down his body. Funny how his love of drawing and music—the two things responsible for the “geek” label being added to the list of insults—hadn’t been an issue when he’d been a jock at the top of his game.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Why?” He scratched his temple. “Uh, it’s because I write songs and—”

  “Songs? That’s a stretch. Emo crap no one would be caught dead listening to.” Bettina, typically, had made damn sure her “whisper” carried.

  Appreciative giggles rippled through the room.

  Wait for it—

  “And don’t forget his other little hobby,” Shawn said, not to be outdone by his step-sister. “You know what they say: Those who can, play. Those who can’t, coach girls.”

  “I find it interesting the Raiders haven’t won a single match since I left the team,” Tyler said, to nobody in particular.

  “Since you got booted off the team, you mean,” Shawn shot back.

  “Whatever, dude. It’s your fairy-tale world.”

  Hot-Chick was watching him, head still cocked to one side, a tiny frown pleating her brows. “And?” she said.

  “Sorry?”

  “You said you write songs and. What is the ‘and’?”

  “Oh. And I draw people. Portraits and stuff.”

  “I do not understand how that makes you a freak, or emo,” she said, her tone so deadly earnest that she endeared herself to him even more… if that was at all possible.

  “Forget it.” He plastered a welcoming smile on his face, and hoped she didn’t run shrieking from the room. “I’m Tyler Davidson.”

  “I am pleased to meet you, Tyler. I am Jay Smith.”

  “Pleased to meet you, too, Jay.” He shook her outstretched hand. Her grip was firm. Her skin was on the cool side, and way smooth considering she didn’t seem the type to spend a small fortune on fancy skin gunk like Vanessa.

  He abruptly realized he was still clasping Jay’s hand. He dropped it, and fussed with the sleeves of the old flannel shirt he’d grabbed from his bag and thrown on to ward off the chill that’d goosed his skin when he spotted the dead frogs. He adjusted the right sleeve by giving it an extra roll. “You, um, English or something?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Just the way you speak. It’s kinda formal.”

  “You are—” He glanced up in time to witness her grimace. “You’re very observant, Tyler.”

  “You all should be finished writing up your introduction and starting with the dissections now,” Mr. Gilbert prompted the class.

  Tyler slid his gaze to Shawn and Bettina, who were bickering over who was going to do the honors. Shawn reached for the knife. Tyler’s spine prickled. The next few days were likely to be rough. He’d have to watch his back.

  “What are we supposed to be doing?” Jay asked. And suddenly Shawn didn’t matter anymore because her gaze was so intent, so focused on Tyler, that he might have been one of the insects pinned to Mr. Gilbert’s display board.

  He made a supreme effort to drag some AWOL brain cells out of hiding. “Uh, what’re we doing? Uh….” Mental slap upside the head. “Yeah. We’re dissecting Kermit.”

  “Kermit?”

  “The frog.”

  “I see.” Jay stared at the dead frog while Tyler stared at her. She was even more gorgeous up close. Perfect, clear skin—even without makeup. And not a single zit in sight.

  He fingered the lump on his chin, which felt like it had doubled in size since this morning and was ramping up its quest to be noticed. Great.

  “Why must we dissect the frog?” Jay asked.

  Good question. “Ummm. To learn about it, I guess.”

  “Oh?” Her eyebrows arched. “I can think of a number of better methods. Are you going to proceed?”

  “Me?” He inched back from the dissection tray. “No way. Uh, there’s this rule, see? New kid gets to do the dissections.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yep.” It was worth a shot. Jay seemed unaffected by the gross smell. Maybe she’d be just as unaffected by the even grosser cutting open part.

  “Very well.” She poked the frog’s stomach with her forefinger.

  Tyler’s stomach twisted.

  She picked up the knife and made a few precise incisions down Kermit’s belly and both legs, then carefully peeled back the flaps of skin to expose muscle. “See how developed the muscles are? It is—” she paused, catching her lower lip between her teeth. “It’s quite impressive.” She began removing said muscle.

  He blew out a relieved breath. She really seemed to know what she was doing. He wasn’t going to have to hack Kermit up after all. Woot.

  “It can be difficult to tell whether a frog is male or female until the organs are removed.” Jay probed around in Kermit’s stomach cavity. “The easiest way is to check how many kidneys the specimen has.” She lifted up something squishy and slimy and beckoned him closer. “See there? The males have only one.”

  He screwed up his nose as the stench of dead things hit him. His skin felt clammy beneath his clothes. He heard someone moan. He realized it was him. The room spun and he clutched his stool. Oh God. Please don’t let me faint this time. Please!

  Chapter Three

  Jay lay the scalpel on the table. She grabbed Tyler’s shoulders, steadying him as he wobbled atop his stool. “Are you unwell?” she asked, gorgeous eyes all shiny with concern.

  His stomach chose that exact moment to heave.

  “Tyler? What is wrong?”

  “Gumph!” he said, desperate to warn her that he was going to—

  Shee-it. Amazing how much puke came from eating one little apple. Just kill me now. Please?

  Tyler wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and seriously considered crawling under the desk and dying. Puking in Bio. How lame was that?

  And puking on a girl? A thousand times lamer than fainting. He was never going to live this one down. “God. Jay. I’m so—”

  “Nice one!” Bettina didn’t sound the slightest bit sorry about Jay being the up-chuck victim. She couldn’t have planned it better if she’d actually bribed Tyler to humiliate her potential competition.

  Shawn was nothing if not persistent. He materialized beside Jay like he was a mosquito and she was a plump juicy vein. “Jeez, you poor thing. Look at the mess he’s made of you.” He leaned toward her, like he was going to brush her down, then screwed up his face, clothes-pegging his nose with his fingers. But pinching your nostrils isn’t a good look when you’re trying to suck up to a hot girl. Shawn finally realized that, and removed his hand from his nose to stick it in the pocket of his jeans. Which meant the puke smell got to him again, and caused a repeat of the screwed up face.

  Tyler might have found the whole thing high
ly amusing if he hadn’t been the one who’d done the puking.

  “I’ll take you to the bathroom and help you clean up,” Shawn pulled himself together enough to say. And the way he said it, all wink-wink nudge-nudge, let’s you and me get to know each other better.

  Tyler grit his teeth so hard his jaw ached. Asshole was dating his sister, for crying out loud! It’d be worth the risk of getting expelled. Reeeally worth it. He clenched his fist, pulled back his elbow and—

  He didn’t complete the lunge because Jay clamped her hands around his biceps, pushing him back onto his stool and trapping him. She had some “use your opponent’s strength against them” mojo going on.

  She leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Calm down.”

  Over her shoulder, Tyler caught Shawn’s “you wouldn’t freaking dare!” expression and hot-cold-hot relief washed over him. Last thing his mom needed was a call from the principal’s office. She’d wig out and ground him for the next ten years. Plus he’d be banned from coaching. And his team would hunt him down and kill him… slowly and painfully.

  His trembling muscles relaxed suddenly, leaving his limbs noodle-limp. Jay released him, but before he could thank her for saving his butt, she’d waved a hand in the air and attracted Mr. Gilbert’s gimlet eye.

  “Back to your seat, Shawn,” Mr. Gilbert said.

  “But—”

  “You’re disrupting class. Carry on massacring your frog.” Unlike the other teachers, Mr. Gilbert didn’t give a toss that Shawn’s daddy was Snapperton’s mayor, the self-proclaimed biggest fish in a small pond. Behind the teacher’s back, Shawn flipped him off and slunk back to his stool.

  Mr. Gilbert puffed up his chest, thrilled by this stellar opportunity to lecture the new student. “How can I help you, Jay? I’m not surprised you’re having a bit of trouble considering you came in after my preliminary talk.”

  He peered at the dissection tray and his eyebrows turned into bristled peaks of surprise. Leaning closer, he examined the frog’s splayed remains. “Nice work! In fact, I can’t remember the last time I saw such a neat dissec— Ungh! What is that smell?”

  Shawn snickered.

  Tyler didn’t dare glance his way. That smartass smirk would only make him lose it again, and then Mr. Gilbert would have no choice but to send him to the principal’s office. He fisted his hands at his sides. No way was he gonna let Shawn win. Not this time.

  “I thought the takeout tasted strange,” Jay said.

  He appreciated what she was trying to do but her acting skills were dismal. She didn’t look the slightest bit like a girl who’d just tossed her cookies.

  “Something you ate, eh?” Mr. Gilbert’s sympathetic gaze drifted to Tyler, and doubtless those were recollections of Tyler’s last fainting episode flitting across his face.

  “I think it would be best if we got cleaned up now, Mr. Gilbert,” Jay said, commanding the teacher’s attention again. “Tyler can show me where the bathrooms are.”

  “Er, good idea.” Mr. Gilbert made shooing motions. “Off you go, you two.”

  Jay grabbed her backpack and Tyler’s, too. He snatched it from her grasp. He wasn’t so far gone that he needed a girl to carry his stuff. All eyes followed them as Jay hauled him from his seat, pulled his arm about her waist and pretended to let him help her from the room.

  He would normally have refused hers—or anyone’s—assistance. Her efforts to shield him wouldn’t make any difference once Shawn and Bettina shot their mouths off. But it was hard to give a crap about what a dork he’d made of himself with Jay’s body pressed so tight against his. She felt good there. Like she belonged.

  And then apple-puke smell wafted from her t-shirt and his stomach rebelled, making him want to heave again.

  Jeez. Worst day ever.

  Well, maybe not ever. The debacle of last year’s Homecoming was right up there for sure.

  The instant the classroom door clanged shut behind them, Jay stuck her cool hand on the back of his neck.

  His nausea abruptly receded. He pulled away from her, sucked in a deep breath and hoped he could keep it light. Because this girl was really doing his head in. The way she made him feel…. It would be real easy to fall hard for her. Too easy. And he didn’t trust the power she had over him.

  “Hey, sorry about your t-shirt,” he said, keeping his voice light and friendly. “And thanks for bailing me out when I lost it back there. You must work out, huh? When you had a hold of my arms I could barely move.”

  “It is merely a t-shirt,” Jay said. “I did not— I didn’t think it in your best interests to allow you to take your frustrations out on Shawn, regardless of how irritating he might be. And I’m stronger than I look. How are you feeling now?”

  “Duh. Like crap. How else would I be feeling when I just puked over the hot new chick?” Embarrassment prickled down his spine. God! Had he really said that aloud?

  His brain helpfully replayed his last words. Yep. He really had.

  Jay gazed at him with those killer blue eyes. A ghost of a smile played on her lips. “I will take that as a compliment.”

  “You shouldn’t have lied to Mr. Gilbert. Not for me.”

  The assessing look she hit him with made him squirm. “I didn’t lie. The last thing I ate was a leftover takeout meal. And it did not taste as it should.”

  She was making it really easy to believe she liked him. Too easy. A girl like Jay shouldn’t want to hang with him—especially not now, after what he’d done to her.

  What the hell was her deal? In Tyler’s experience, girls who looked like Jay always had agendas. And even if she was on the level, when she had to deal with the crap the other kids were gonna give her for hanging with him, she’d soon give him the cold shoulder. Best get out before he got screwed over.

  “Thanks for everything you tried to do,” he said. And walked off without a backward glance, heading for the temporary sanctuary of the guys’ bathroom.

  ~~~

  Tyler gripped the edge of the sink and slumped, head hanging, staring at the scuffed linoleum floor, trying to ignore the stomach-churning odor of industrial disinfectant and the rank smell emanating from the urinals.

  When he finally dared to look at his reflection in the age-spotted mirror, he winced.

  Bad. Real bad. Face white as chalk, big dark smudges under his eyes. Could be worse, he supposed. Caro had caught a stomach bug last year and thrown up so much she burst a blood vessel in her eye. At least he didn’t look like some wannabe demon….

  Aw, crap. Who was he trying to fool. He didn’t look demonic, but he sure did look like death warmed up—and not in a Twilight vamp who makes the girls swoon kinda way, either. The zit on his chin throbbed and ached. Excellent. It was shaping up to be an abso-freaking-lutely huge one.

  He rinsed out his mouth and was reaching for a paper towel when someone appeared behind him. His pulse thrummed. It was Jay. And talk about stepping quietly—he hadn’t even heard the door open.

  She dropped her pack at her feet. “I am— I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Tyler directed his gaze at her reflection, where it was safer. He gnawed on his thumbnail, trying to find the right way to break it to her. “Look. Don’t take this the wrong way, ’kay? But you should make tracks. Last thing you need is to hang with me.”

  Jay yanked off her t-shirt and reached past him to drop it in the sink. “I need to get cleaned up before the next class.”

  He blinked. Oh. My. God. His head felt light, skin all warm and tingly. So did his insides. He swallowed and clutched the edge of the sink, trying not to stare at her. Or notice the plain white bra she wore. “Uh, you’re um, not supposed to be in here, you know? This is the guys’ bathroom.”

  She nudged him aside with her hip so she could turn on the cold water and wash out her top. “Oh, so that’s what the picture on the door is supposed to represent. I thought it meant this was the bathroom for people who happened to be wearing trousers.”

  Huh? Oh.
Right. That dry sense of humor again. “And you’re, um, not,” he managed to say.

  “Not what?” She scrubbed at the puke stain.

  “Not a guy.” He licked suddenly dry lips. Sooo not a guy.

  “That is a relief.” She wrung excess water from her t-shirt. “I would not like to think I’d been laboring under a misapprehension all these years.”

  He frowned, not following. “Say again?”

  “I’m female. I have all the correct parts—to my knowledge, anyway.”

  “Do you ever,” he muttered, and then lost his train of thought completely. It was all that smooth, pale, very feminine bare skin frying his brain. Not that he was truly looking or anything. Just perving at her in the mirror. Which didn’t count.