Lex notices and skitters toward the door.
“Hey, Win,” he says as he leaves, “maybe it’s your head that’s broken, not your body. Ever think about that?”
chapter
ten
antimatter
Keith and I arrived late in the day, only to get whisked from the train station to a stately colonial in the heart of Concord just as the sun began to set. Such a cold home. It smelled like onions. We sat down for dinner right away, but I couldn’t eat.
My grandmother glared at my untouched plate. Her long face and silver hair reminded me of an Irish wolfhound. Stern. Chiseled. Focused.
“Is something wrong, Andrew?”
“No, ma’am.” I squirmed in my seat and wondered where my grandfather was. He’d vanished after bringing our bags inside. Poof. Like a magic trick.
“How’s your mother?”
“She’s all right. She gets, you know, real tired a lot.”
“I just bet she does,” my grandmother said smoothly. “Your father says you’re playing very well these days.”
“Yes.”
“He’s arranged for you to practice at our club this summer. Every weekday at eight A.M. sharp.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What’s your rating?”
I tossed my head. “Four point five.”
Her nostrils flared. “And you’ve atoned for that … embarrassing incident last year, I hope.”
I knew what she meant. “I guess.”
“It made me sick to hear about that. Absolutely sick. Imagine how your father felt to see his son behaving like that.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Like an animal.”
I stared straight ahead at the orange-and-brown wallpaper lining the dining room and kicked my heels against the chair spindles, over and over. I wished I were an animal. Like a jungle cat. I’d hiss and spit. And maul.
Then up the stairs we went for an early bedtime. Keith and I shared a small room at the back of the house that overlooked a duck pond and a pair of willow trees. I hated it. It didn’t even have a television. We changed into our pajamas and brushed our teeth, and then my insides hurt and I wouldn’t leave the bathroom because I needed to go but couldn’t. Keith heard me whimpering and came in.
“What’s wrong, Drew?”
“My tummy hurts.”
“Oh, for God’s sakes,” he groaned.
“What?”
“Look, just don’t say ‘tummy,’ okay? That’s a baby word.” He led me back down the hall and tucked me into the single bed closest to the window. “You know, this is where Dad and Uncle Kirby grew up.”
“It still hurts,” I whispered.
“You’ll be fine,” he said, and I fell asleep.
It didn’t last. My eyes cracked open hours later in the black humid heat of the night. Keith snored, and the lack of central air meant my clothes stuck to every part of my body. My empty stomach growled, and I snuck down the back stairs into the kitchen. The stove clock blinked 2:13. I was pretty sure my grandparents were holed up in their bedroom at the front of the house, but I didn’t want to risk getting caught. I crept to the refrigerator, pulled out a handful of white bread and sliced turkey, and jammed it all down my throat while standing in the middle of the room. Then I slunk back upstairs, overfull and queasy. I still couldn’t sleep. I opened the bedroom window and stuck my head outside. Fireflies glowed around the branches of the willow trees, and a tiny sliver of moon hung high in the sky, surrounded by stars. The moon. My heart skipped a beat and tears slid from my eyes, hot, stinging. I didn’t want to be here.
Stop it. You’re being a baby. Just stop crying already!
Although I had my own bed, I took my shirt off and lay beside Keith. I pressed against him. My heart slowed and my stomach settled. There was something calming in the scent of him, the feel of him. He was familiar.
chapter
eleven
matter
Coach Daniels stands in the parking lot, waving his arms like a monster and yelling for wayward runners to hurry the hell up and get on the team bus. Apparently, we need to get this show on the road right quick and fast if we want to make it to the cross-country meet on time. I sit back and close my eyes. Yeah, sure, I’m captain, but I don’t care if anyone gets left behind. I just don’t. All I care about right now is winning. The weekend’s taking forever to get here, and I need the distraction. Badly. I need physical torment and the fleeting validation of victory.
“Can I sit with you?” A soft voice breaks into my reverie.
I blink. I look up. It’s her. The dark-haired girl, the boyish one.
“There are no empty seats,” she explains, and she looks about as exasperated as I feel.
I oblige, of course, because I can’t exactly say no, and as I slide toward the window, the doors close and the bus’s engine roars to life.
“Thanks.” The girl settles beside me. She places her gym bag between us like a wall.