by Tijan
“You’re lying.”
I grinned. “Do you want a friendship handshake too? You can’t have the same one as Alex. He’ll get jealous.”
She rolled her eyes, and re-folded her hands on her lap. “Round two.”
We were playing Twenty Questions?
She narrowed her eyes. “You skipped the second half of your classes yesterday. Why?”
My grin faded, but I shrugged and leaned back in my chair. “I got sick.”
“It was the first day. It’s one of the easiest days of the year. What student skips the first day?” She rolled her eyes at her own question.
“I told you, I was sick.”
“You might as well be honest with me.”
I gritted my teeth. “I was sick.”
Her eyes fixed on me again. “You didn’t answer the other question. Here’s a new one. Are you still dating Drake Ryerson?”
That wasn’t her question. She knew that answer.
“What does my love life have to do with this? Drake’s in college.”
She tugged at her skirt. “So you’re not together?”
I didn’t answer. She didn’t need to know that stuff. She already knew too much.
She frowned, her head tilted to the side, but she let it go. “I’ve heard his cousin transferred here, and I also heard he’s taken an interest in you. Is that right?”
I leaned forward and deadpanned, “I’ve missed talking to you.” Not a flicker of emotion. I didn’t blink. “So much.”
She didn’t either. “I heard he was talking to your crew yesterday morning.” She watched me intently. “He looks a lot like Drake.”
“Drake’s prettier.” I didn’t look away. “The new guy helped me write a poem for you. It’s from all of us, my crew and him.”
“Do you like him?” She broke eye contact now, glancing down to her lap before looking back up.
I cocked my head to the side. “I titled the poem ‘The Badger Named Gus’.”
She paused, smiling faintly, and nodded. “Okay. That was funny. Round three.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me. “I know you live for this, so don’t even pretend you’re tired.”
I made a face. “Who’s pretending? I’m happy I’m not fighting with an empty chair. My life’s complete. I met Gus.”
“No kidding. I met Gus too. I had no clue who he was. I just thought he was a regular fake plant like all the others.”
“Nope.” I shook my head. “Gus is a troubled fake plant. That’s why you bought him. You were drawn to him. Gus pulled you in.”
“Gus is a fucking manipulator then.” She glanced at the door, but no one was out there. “I’m not supposed to curse, but it’s Tuesday and Bren Monroe is here, so I’m taking advantage.”
“I’m going to tell on you.”
“And I’ll tell them you’re a fucking liar.” She smiled. “And yeah, I’ll say the F word because here’s a secret: We’re all adults. We all swear.”
“And yet you don’t want me to curse.”
“Because here’s another secret that most everyone knows except you: You’re not an adult!”
I felt slapped by that one.
“What’s going on here?” I gestured between us. “I thought we were joking—”
“You were being a smartass.”
“I thought we had this camaraderie—”
“You were making fun of my professionalism.”
“I thought we were getting past the surface walls and going to start braiding each other’s hair.”
“When I want a haircut, I’ll ask you.” Her eyes moved to my pocket. “I know where you keep your knife.”
That one shut me up. I wasn’t supposed to have it in my pocket. I always did, though.
She waited, but when I kept quiet, she tried again.
“Have we done the dance where you push me away, and I counter with my sarcastic wit because that’s the only common ground I can get with you? Can we cut through the bullshit now?”
I rubbed at my neck. “I don’t know. I’m still hurting from your comments.”
She cursed softly, but she was grinning. “You and me. This isn’t our first rodeo. You’re a pro at evading adults and pissing them off so they go away. I get it. People leave you.”
I looked away. I didn’t want to hear about my mom, my dad, my brother, even Max. Or hell, Scratch too. None of them. My throat started to feel raw, the insides were peeling away.
“Your brother called me.”
I almost jerked, but I caught myself. I held still in the chair. I showed no reaction.
“I’m only a few years older than your brother, so when I got a call from Channing Monroe, you can imagine how floored I was. My heart started pumping. My palms got sweaty. I mean, Channing Monroe.” She raised her hands in the air, pantomiming a large crowd. “Even I’m not immune to him, but what struck me wasn’t that he was calling. Parents, guardians, I get those calls all day long. They talk at me. They don’t want to hear what I have to say, not the truth.” She paused again. “But Channing Monroe, who created the Roussou crew system, called to really talk about his sister. He wasn’t calling to talk at me, but to me. There’s a difference, and I knew things must be bad if he was reaching out.”
I thought I was looking outside. I couldn’t tell. The window grew blurry.
“He told me you’re not staying at home. You’re not even going home most days. And he said he didn’t know what to do, but he was worried. He didn’t say anything about fighting, about skipping school, about swearing. I know. I know. You’re crew royalty. It’s almost expected of you, but I’m not here to bust your ass about those things. This is the beginning of year three for you and me. I want to help you, Bren. You can’t keep me away any longer. I’m not going to allow it, and I don’t want to waste your time. I have one year left to help you, so I’m breaking all the rules. Counselors aren’t supposed to lead the tone. We’re not supposed to argue with our clients, curse at them, curse with them, be sarcastic back—or fuck, be sarcastic first. I’m not supposed to corner you or make you feel attacked, but this is how you operate. Your crew is aptly named. You’re a wolf. You snarl. You bite. You fight back. That’s how you operate in life and with others. So fine. I’ll meet you where you are, but here’s one thing that’s not going to happen: You will not make me give up on you. Got it? I am not going anywhere.”
I checked the clock. That was blurry too, but I could make out that I’d been in here for thirty minutes already.
Why was everything so goddamn blurry?
“Now.” Her voice quieted. “Tell me about Race Ryerson.”
“Why?” It hurt to talk.
“Because I want to know something about you. I really want to talk about your brother. I really, really want to talk to you about Cross Shaw.”
My gaze snapped to hers.
She held up a hand. “But I know both those topics will have you walking out of this office in two seconds flat, so give me something. Anything. The new guy looks like your ex, and he’s related to your ex. You must have some feeling about that.”
My nostrils flared. “Are you serious?”
“Yes and no.” She held her hands toward me a moment before letting them fall back on her lap. “Tell me about him. And if not him, tell me something. I need to know something, anything, about your life.”
Wha—my head was spinning. I heard her imploring tone. It sounded genuine, but this was a waste of time. I would either graduate or not. If I didn’t, I’d figure it out. My brother had.
When the bell rang, I stood up. “First period’s done.”
“GODDAMN!”
The last class had let out for the day, and I could see Zellman and Jordan at their lockers through the crowd of students in the hall. I hadn’t really talked to any of my crew during the day, not more than a few words in class or between classes. At lunch I sat with Taz outside at a table. I didn’t know where Cross had been. He slipped in late to two of the classes I had with him, and he slept t
hrough the third.
Zellman grabbed his bag and stuffed it back into the locker. He slammed the door, then kicked it.
“Stay closed, motherfucker!”
Jordan laughed.
“You told that inanimate object,” I said as I approached. “It knows who’s boss now.”
“Second day of school, and already I got too much shit in my locker.” Zellman nodded at me, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
“Hey.” Jordan lifted his chin in greeting, leaning against his neighbor’s locker. “Heard you got sent to the counselor’s office this morning. How was that?”
I shrugged. “How it always is. A waste of time. I feel like I’m finally back to school now.”
Zellman grinned at me. Then his locker popped open again.
“OH MY FUCKING GOD!” He slammed it shut and began beating on it. “STAY.” Kick. “SHUT.” Punch. “YOU.” A second punch. “MOTHER.” His elbow, a heel kick added. “FUCKER!” He braced himself on both sides of his locker and bent over.
I moved forward. Jordan straightened, and we both began to reach for him.
I thought he’d go for the head butt, but after a moment he seemed to think better of it. He used his fists like he was doing a boxing speed drill.
“Fucking locker!” He gave it one last kick.
It sprang open again, clipping his foot in the process.
“AHHH!”
“Mr. Greenley!”
The students in the hallway parted, and Principal Neeon strode forward. How we’d missed him coming, I had no idea. He stopped right in front of us, folding his arms over his chest. The movement lifted his suit jacket. I was impressed he was still wearing his tie.
“You are damaging school property. You need to stop.” He spoke clearly, as if we were children. He turned to me. “And Miss Monroe. Why do I have a feeling we’re off to a very bad start for the year?”
“You didn’t have to take me to The Badger.”
“It was either her office or mine. Did I get it wrong?”
Zellman cut in, pointing to his locker. “It won’t close, Mr. N.”
“It’s Neeon, not N. And it’s because you have too much stuff inside.”
“It’s my locker. I have my necessities in there.”
“Well, some of your necessities need to be moved elsewhere.”
Zellman glowered, grumbling, “That doesn’t help.” His head popped up. “Can I have another locker? There’s gotta be an empty spare somewhere.”
“No.”
“Come on, Mr. N—eeon. Mr. Neeon.”
“What’s going on?”
I looked over my shoulder. Cross had appeared, his hair a little messed.
I gestured to Zellman’s locker. “It won’t close. Z’s trying to commit murder on it, and Mr. N’s not having it.”
“I am not Mr. N.” He straightened to his full six-feet and three inches and looked down his nose at us, literally. Except Jordan. “It is Neeon. You will call me either Mr. Neeon, or Principal Neeon, or just principal. You got that, Miss Monroe?” He included Zellman in his withering look.
I shrugged. “How about Mr. P? P for principal?” I read the big NO coming and amended it. “Prince? That’s not a bad name. You like the color purple, Mr. N?”
“I went over your name choices—”
Race spoke up as he joined the group. “I’d take Prince, because if you don’t jump on it, they’ll shorten it to Prick.”
Principal Neeon opened his mouth, but just let out a large gust of air. “Fine. I’ll go with Mr. N.” He pointed to Zellman. “Stop beating on your locker.” He turned to me. “And you, stop skipping classes. You have one year left. I’d like you to graduate.”
Zellman smiled, lighting up his face. “You don’t have to worry about Bren. Don’t you know by now, Mr. N? She’s brilliant. She got Bs last year and skipped almost all of her classes.”
“Zellman!”
Jordan let out a frustrated sigh, smacking the back of Zellman’s head with his palm. Mr. Neeon looked at me, but he looked back at Zellman when he heard him yelp. By then he only saw Zellman rubbing the back of his head and Jordan yawning, scratching the back of his neck.
“Man, my neck is itching. There’s not a case of fleas in the school, is there?”
Our principal pinched his nose, closing his eyes a moment. “I am pretending I didn’t hear that, because if I did, and it was a true complaint, I would have to allocate money from the budget to test for fleas in this school. So…” He held his hands up, palms facing us. “I am backing away.” He did.
“Hey!”
He bumped into Monica and Sunday.
“Sorry, ladies.”
He was gone after that.
Zellman waited until Principal Neeon was almost to the end of the hallway before kicking his locker shut again.
It stayed this time.
Race shook his head. “No one can say you guys aren’t interesting. That’s for sure.”
Monica and Sunday took a step forward, easy grins on their faces.
Jordan narrowed his eyes, the amusement over Zellman’s locker fiasco gone. “You looking to join, Race? Is that why you’re hanging around us every chance you get?”
Monica and Sunday retreated backwards.
Race’s eyes narrowed. “I helped you guys last night.”
“We didn’t ask for it.”
“Didn’t need it either,” Zellman added.
Race didn’t seem to care. “You think Alex apologized out of the goodness of his heart? Or I’m sorry—would you rather have waged a full-blown crew war?”
“Alex knew he was wrong,” Jordan said.
“You think he came to that conclusion on his own?” Race stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You think he’s that smart?”
He had a point.
Cross, Jordan, and Zellman knew it too.
“Look.” Jordan moved to face Race directly. “What do you want? You’re around the crew a lot. Either you want in—and if you do, that shit doesn’t happen overnight—or there’s another reason.” He glanced to me. “I figure we got something else you want.”
Uh, what?
I froze a moment, looking from Jordan to Race. There were no elaborations or denials, and a full boost of heat warmed my body. I felt everyone’s gaze on me—Cross especially—but no one said anything.
So I did. I shook my head. “No. I already dated one Ryerson.”
Race spoke as if I hadn’t said a word. “Maybe. I can’t deny that could be part of it.”
I closed my eyes, sucking in some air.
What was this guy doing? Was he for real?
I felt Cross’ gaze on me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I didn’t want to see whatever was there—disappointment, or something worse. An image of how he’d looked at me last night, before he took his shirt off, flashed in my memory. That tickling/tingling was coming back.
I held my hands up. “I’m out.” I jerked my head in Race’s direction. “He’s fucking with you all.”
I pushed past Cross, then past Monica and Sunday, who seemed entranced where they stood behind us.
I could feel myself breaking out in hives. I didn’t want a Drake 2.0 situation.
Taz must’ve seen me leaving, and I was shoving through the doors to the parking lot when I heard her voice behind me.
“Hey! Bren! Hey.”
I was going to ignore her, then remembered Cross had driven us to school that morning.
“You move fast. Wow.” Taz was a little out of breath when she caught up to me. Bracing a hand on my arm, she waited until her breathing evened out, then gave me a rueful look. “I was head cheerleader last year, and now I can’t catch up to you walking down the hallway.” She placed her hand on her hip. “My, how the mighty have fallen.”
“You were the head cheerleader?”
“No.” She waved in the air, twirling her wrist. “I added it for dramatic effect. Thought it sounded funnier.” She waited, watching me.
“Huh. I must’ve been wrong.”
I pointed to Cross’ truck. “I need a ride home.”
“Oh.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “I’m sure Cross will be coming in a bit.”
Not the point. I went through the names I could call to give me a ride. Channing. Heather.
So, yeah.
The real question: wait for Cross? Or walk on my own? Normally, a walk was fine, but I wasn’t feeling it with the heat today. The sun was blaring too much, so I had no choice.
I plopped down on the curb, and Taz sat with me. The last of lingering students headed past us, but there’d be another wave coming out in twenty minutes as the athletes went to the football field, tennis courts, track, and volleyball courts.
“Um…” Taz hugged her bag on her lap. “I have to prepare you for something.”
“What?” I looked over. “Don’t you have practice too? Didn’t you join the squad again?”
“What?” She frowned at me. “Oh. No. I was just helping them out with some things yesterday. You know, because I was one of the managers last year, but no. Nope. I’m not on the squad anymore.” She crossed her arms, or tried. The bag got in her way.
I eyed her bag. “You have a slight hoarding problem.”
She looked down. “Huh?”
The bag was bulging. She’d brought more stuff to her locker the first day than Zellman could stuff into his locker.
“I’m just saying. It’s starting early,” I told her.
“What’s starting early?”
“You need a hoarder’s prevention treatment plan.” I winced, hearing myself. I’d started it as a joke, but now I’d channeled The Badger. Lame.
“Oh.” Taz laughed, waving me off. “I get that from our mom. Cross gets the other gene from our dad. He hates having anything extra. If he could do without his bed and desk in his room, he would.” She raised her hands, trying to reach around her bag again. She failed. Again. Finally she leaned back, her hands propping her up from behind her. “But back to the cheerleading squad. They’d like me to join. Sunday wants to be the bully, but not do any of the actual work. I’m not going to take her crap this year. Some of the girls want me to join to help contain her, but they’re on their own. They gotta stand on their own two feet. They can do it. They’ll have a good base.”