“Doesn’t the fact that you’re confiscating my phone twice give you pause? Who has two phones?” I ask. Nate grins, so quick I almost miss it. “Seriously, Mr. Avery, somebody was playing a joke on us.”
Mr. Avery’s snowy mustache twitches in annoyance, and he extends his hand with a beckoning motion. “Phone, Miss Rojas. Unless you want a return visit.” I give it over with a sigh as he looks disapprovingly at the others. “The phones I took from the rest of you earlier are in my desk. You’ll get them back after detention.” Addy and Cooper exchange amused glances, probably because their actual phones are safe in their backpacks.
Mr. Avery tosses my phone into a drawer and sits behind the teacher’s desk, opening a book as he prepares to ignore us for the next hour. I pull out a pen, tap it against my yellow notepad, and contemplate the assignment. Does Mr. Avery really believe technology is ruining schools? That’s a pretty sweeping statement to make over a few contraband phones. Maybe it’s a trap and he’s looking for us to contradict him instead of agree.
I glance at Nate, who’s bent over his notepad writing computers suck over and over in block letters.
It’s possible I’m overthinking this.
Cooper
Monday, September 24, 3:05 p.m.
My hand hurts within minutes. It’s pathetic, I guess, but I can’t remember the last time I wrote anything longhand. Plus I’m using my right hand, which never feels natural no matter how many years I’ve done it. My father insisted I learn to write right-handed in second grade after he first saw me pitch. Your left arm’s gold, he told me. Don’t waste it on crap that don’t matter. Which is anything but pitching as far as he’s concerned.
That was when he started calling me Cooperstown, like the baseball hall of fame. Nothing like putting a little pressure on an eight-year-old.
Simon reaches for his backpack and roots around, unzipping every section. He hoists it onto his lap and peers inside. “Where the hell’s my water bottle?”
“No talking, Mr. Kelleher,” Mr. Avery says without looking up.
“I know, but—my water bottle’s missing. And I’m thirsty.”
Mr. Avery points toward the sink at the back of the room, its counter crowded with beakers and petri dishes. “Get yourself a drink. Quietly.”
Simon gets up and grabs a cup from a stack on the counter, filling it with water from the tap. He heads back to his seat and puts the cup on his desk, but seems distracted by Nate’s methodical writing. “Dude,” he says, kicking his sneaker against the leg of Nate’s desk. “Seriously. Did you put those phones in our backpacks to mess with us?”
Now Mr. Avery looks up, frowning. “I said quietly, Mr. Kelleher.”
Nate leans back and crosses his arms. “Why would I do that?”
Simon shrugs. “Why do you do anything? So you’ll have company for whatever your screw-up of the day was?”
“One more word out of either of you and it’s detention tomorrow,” Mr. Avery warns.
Simon opens his mouth anyway, but before he can speak there’s the sound of tires squealing and then the crash of two cars hitting each other. Addy gasps and I brace myself against my desk like somebody just rear-ended me. Nate, who looks glad for the interruption, is the first on his feet toward the window. “Who gets into a fender bender in the school parking lot?” he asks.
Bronwyn looks at Mr. Avery like she’s asking for permission, and when he gets up from his desk she heads for the window as well. Addy follows her, and I finally unfold myself from my seat. Might as well see what’s going on. I lean against the ledge to look outside, and Simon comes up beside me with a disparaging laugh as he surveys the scene below.
Two cars, an old red one and a nondescript gray one, are smashed into each other at a right angle. We all stare at them in silence until Mr. Avery lets out an exasperated sigh. “I’d better make sure no one was hurt.” He runs his eyes over all of us and zeroes in on Bronwyn as the most responsible of the bunch. “Miss Rojas, keep this room contained until I get back.”
“Okay,” Bronwyn says, casting a nervous glance toward Nate. We stay at the window, watching the scene below, but before Mr. Avery or another teacher appears outside, both cars start their engines and drive out of the parking lot.
“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Simon says. He heads back to his desk and picks up his cup, but instead of sitting he wanders to the front of the room and scans the periodic table of elements poster. He leans out into the hallway like he’s about to leave, but then he turns and raises his cup like he’s toasting us. “Anyone else want some water?”
“I do,” Addy says, slipping into her chair.
“Get it yourself, princess.” Simon smirks. Addy rolls her eyes and stays put while Simon leans against Mr. Avery’s desk. “Literally, huh? What’ll you do with yourself now that homecoming’s over? Big gap between now and senior prom.”
Addy looks at me without answering. I don’t blame her. Simon’s train of thought almost never goes anywhere good when it comes to our friends. He acts like he’s above caring whether he’s popular, but he was pretty smug when he wound up on the junior prom court last spring. I’m still not sure how he pulled that off, unless he traded keeping secrets for votes.
Simon was nowhere to be found on homecoming court last week, though. I was voted king, so maybe I’m next on his list to harass, or whatever the hell he’s doing.
“What’s your point, Simon?” I ask, taking a seat next to Addy. Addy and I aren’t close, exactly, but I kind of feel protective of her. She’s been dating my best friend since freshman year, and she’s a sweet girl. Also not the kind of person who knows how to stand up to a guy like Simon who just won’t quit.
“She’s a princess and you’re a jock,” he says. He thrusts his chin toward Bronwyn, then at Nate. “And you’re a brain. And you’re a criminal. You’re all walking teen-movie stereotypes.”
“What about you?” Bronwyn asks. She’s been hovering near the window, but now goes to her desk and perches on top of it. She crosses her legs and pulls her dark ponytail over one shoulder. Something about her is cuter this year. New glasses, maybe? Longer hair? All of a sudden, she’s kind of working this sexy-nerd thing.
“I’m the omniscient narrator,” Simon says.
Bronwyn’s brows rise above her black frames. “There’s no such thing in teen movies.”
“Ah, but Bronwyn.” Simon winks and chugs his water in one long gulp. “There is such a thing in life.”
He says it like a threat, and I wonder if he’s got something on Bronwyn for that stupid app of his. I hate that thing. Almost all my friends have been on it at one point or another, and sometimes it causes real problems. My buddy Luis and his girlfriend broke up because of something Simon wrote. Though it was a true story about Luis hooking up with his girlfriend’s cousin. But still. That stuff doesn’t have to be published. Hallway gossip is bad enough.
And if I’m being honest, I’m pretty freaked at what Simon could write about me if he put his mind to it.
Simon holds his cup up, grimacing. “This tastes like crap.” He drops the cup, and I roll my eyes at his attempt at drama. Even when he falls to the floor, I still think he’s messing around. But then the wheezing starts.
Bronwyn’s on her feet first, then kneeling beside him. “Simon,” she says, shaking his shoulder. “Are you okay? What happened? Can you talk?” Her voice goes from concerned to panicky, and that’s enough to get me moving. But Nate’s faster, shoving past me and crouching next to Bronwyn.