Stealing Parker

Chapter 6


sinner extraordinaire
43 days until i turn 18

On Sunday, Dad, Ryan, and I head to church. This morning I had to pound on Ryan’s door for five minutes before he woke up. Sweat drenched his clothes, and he could barely open his eyes as he rubbed his face. He leaned against the wall before making his way to the shower. I made him scrambled eggs and toast to fill his stomach and hopefully clean out whatever he drank/ate/snorted/shot up last night.
When I confronted Dad in the laundry room about Ryan, he said, “Your brother’s an adult.” He moved wet socks from the washer to the dryer. “I can’t tell him how to live his life.” Then Dad put an arm around my shoulder, kissed my head, and told me to call Mom sometime.
Daddy Denial, as always. I find it funny that Dad makes Ryan come to church, which seems to be telling him how to live his life, if you ask me.
The Durango pulls into the parking lot, and I see Tate standing by himself by the swing set. I hop out of the car and skip over to him.
“Doughnuts?” I ask.
Tate laughs. “You’ve been hungry lately.”
“I’m famished,” I reply, looking down at his tie that’s covered by music notes. His hair is all crazy gelled up, but I like it. Together we start walking to the Fellowship Hall. He fumbles with something in his pocket.
“Where’s Aaron?” I say.
“Uh, he went inside already,” Tate replies.
“Why?”
“You, um, never returned his calls…”
“So…?” I look at Tate sideways.
“So he thought you were interested.”
“I never said anything, though,” I blurt.
“But you made out with him. What’s he supposed to think?”
Leave it to Tate to give it to me straight. Because he went to other schools, I never really knew him until after Mom left. That’s when he started hanging around.
“So what, Aaron and I can’t be friends?” I ask, playing with my hair.
Tate lifts a shoulder. “I dunno, you should talk to him.”
Inside the church, Tate and I get in line for Coffee Time, and that’s when I see Aaron and Laura across the Fellowship Hall. Laughing and smiling and touching each other.
“Are you kidding me?” I mutter, nudging Tate and pointing. Laura just fed Aaron a grape! In Sunday school last week, she started crying because she was worried people she knows are going to Hell. She looked at me pointedly. But it’s okay for her to flirt at church?
“Is he actually interested in her? If so, why?”
Tate scratches his neck. “I dunno. She answers when he calls. Why? Do you care?”
“Not really.” Truth. Last night, I could’ve gone to Miller’s Hollow and hung out with somebody, but I stayed in and chatted with Brian over Skype. And that connection felt better than kissing could ever feel.
That’s when I see him. Standing across the room drinking coffee from a Styrofoam cup. Brian raises his eyebrows at me, and I can see him smiling behind the cup. He’s wearing his Best Buy costume: white shirt, black tie. So nerdy hot.
I peer around the room. Ryan’s sitting between a piano and a potted plant with his head up against a wall. Dad is deep in conversation. With a woman! She looks like she might be from India. She’s gorgeous, with long black wavy hair and a nice smile. Jack Taylor of the Jack Taylor Ford dealership looks at them like they have the plague. Dad’s so busy talking to Mystery Woman he doesn’t even notice Jack. Or me.
I touch my stomach. “I need to use the bathroom. Damned stale doughnuts.”
Tate laughs. “TMI.”
I toss my napkin and cup in the trash and head toward the bathroom down the hall. Fifteen seconds later, Brian appears. We smile but don’t say a word. He glances over his shoulder. I lead him past the women’s restroom to the janitor’s closet. Inside, it’s dark. I pull on the chain cord that turns on the light and glance around at the bottles of Windex and Clorox. The stench of bleach nearly knocks me down. I’m panting.
I climb the ladder that leads up to a crawl space above the supplies. I tell Brian I know about this place because Laura and I would hide here sometimes as kids, during church-wide games of Hide and Seek. The cubby has very little space—the last time I was up here I was nine—so he and I are touching elbows and legs when we squeeze in.
“Hi,” he says, grinning.
“Hi…Do you have a second job at Best Buy?”
“What? No.” He looks down at his clothes and realization dawns on his face. “You smart ass. Trouble.” His mouth twitches in amusement. “I bet there are lots of spiders up here.”
I smack his bicep. “Shut up, you.”
He shoves me with his elbow.
I smile at his lips. “You came to church.”
He plays with his bangs and looks at me sideways. “Yeah. I figure I need to repent for my sins.”
My eyes go all buggy. I gasp. Is he thinking the same sinful things about me that I’m thinking about him?
“What sins?”
“When I was six, I stole a Three Musketeers bar from Walmart. When I was nine, I scribbled Evan’s name on a desk with permanent marker and denied I did it. He had to scrub it off. In high school, I wrote the Pythagorean Theorem on my palm and cheated on a test.”
“But other than that, you’re perfect?”
“Totally perfect.”
I want to touch his knee and run my hand up his thigh, but I keep my hands folded tight in my lap. He crosses his arms. We’ve talked every night this week. He knows that sometimes I wear a My Little Pony T-shirt to bed. I decide being up front is best.
“Do you consider me a sin?” I whisper, my hands fidgeting.
“Talking to you? No. But…anything else? Yes, that would be bad.”
“Bad?” My voice shakes and squeaks.
He loosens his black tie. “Listen…I think you’re beautiful, and really smart and funny and kind—”
My heart swells, my pulse races, my grin explodes.
“But I teach at your school. You’re a minor.” He gives me a sad smile.
Everything slows to a stop. I’m ready to cry. I mean, why would he come up here with me, if not to do something more? We’ve been talking every night on Skype and chat. What is that supposed to mean?
“We’re friends, right?” he asks, taking my hand.
My face hurts from frowning so hard. Friends don’t hide in janitors’ closets to talk to each other.
He nudges me with his elbow. I lean against his shoulder, and he tells me about how, this morning, he ran fifteen miles in two hours, his best time yet. He’s in perfect shape to run the Nashville half-marathon in April.
“Why are you raising money for the American Heart Association?”
He holds my gaze for several seconds before rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s a good cause. My grandmother died of a heart aneurism.”
I squeeze his hand. “I bet she was a great person.”
“I loved her.”
I can tell he wants to change the subject. “You know what’s also a good cause? Buying me cheese fries at Foothills Diner.” I wink at him.
“I knew I would convert you to the cult of Fries à la Appalachia. You should eat more of them. You need to put on weight.”
“Naw, I like being skinny.” He scans my body slowly, and when he looks up into my eyes, he jerks his neck, flipping hair off his forehead. He pulls his knees to his chest and clutches his shins.
I grab his wrist and pull it closer to check his watch. It’s so dim in here. “We should go. Dad’ll kill me if I miss Big Church.”
“Big Church?” Brian says, chuckling.
“Don’t ask.”
I climb down the ladder, and Brian puts his hands around my waist and helps me to the floor. I turn around to face him and stare up at his chapped lips. Does he bite them? Is he stressed? He avoids my eyes and gestures toward the door. We exit the janitor’s closet and I run straight into Mystery Woman. She sees Brian emerging behind me. She throws us a questioning look, then goes into the bathroom.
“Damn,” I whisper to him.
“Just keep walking,” he whispers.
I hustle down the hallway and up the stairs to the sanctuary, but by the time I get there, Brian’s not behind me anymore. He just…left?
I play zombie all through the service, acting like I’m in the sanctuary, but really I’m in that janitor’s closet. Our arms touching. Sharing the same Clorox-infused air. My mind wanders when we sing my favorite hymn, “I’ll Fly Away,” because the words are beautiful, but when the organ goes silent I’m thinking of his chapped lips again.
After Big Church, everyone shakes hands and chats for a while before leaving. I avoid Aaron and Laura, who are looking at each other like they’re getting married in an hour, but Tate asks where I disappeared to during Sunday school.
“The doughnut was way staler than usual,” I lie.
Outside in the parking lot, I lean up against the Durango and wait for Dad. Will Brian want to talk later today? Is this it for us? Should I stop talking to him altogether? Should I settle for being friends? Can my heart handle only being friends? Could I bring up April fifth again to see if we could hang out after that? Could I bring up hanging out after graduation?
“I want you to meet my daughter.”
I look up to find Dad standing there with Mystery Woman, smiling like someone just handed him a winning lottery ticket. I gasp and cross my arms and look around. I blush. She studies me like I’m a difficult calc problem.
Dad beams. “Parker, meet Veena. Veena, meet Parker.”
???

When I was little, I looked up to Ryan. He was my hero: so good at baseball, so smart at school, so funny and cool with his friends. I felt like a twerp by comparison.
Opryland was Nashville’s theme park, but it went out of business a couple of years ago. It had this crazy 3-D rollercoaster called Chaos. It scared the bejesus out of me. I loved the bumper cars. I ate cup after cup of Dippin’ Dots ice cream. But my favorite attraction was the Tin Lizzie cars. Kids could drive horseless carriages from the early 1900s around a track. I did that over and over again. One time, when I was eight, I took off for the Tin Lizzies, thinking my family was right behind me.
They weren’t.
I ran around in circles, crying. My parents told me never to talk to strangers, so I wouldn’t let anyone who was trying to help me come near. I was lost for ten minutes before Ryan found me. I’ll never forget how he came sprinting up and lifted me into his arms and twirled me in a circle. My running off scared him bad.
Now, I wish I had a Tin Lizzie that I could drive to find the real Ryan. The one I love and miss. Where did he run off to? And God, will you bring him back?
Written on February 21 on a napkin. Wadded up and burned.
???

I have never ever sat by the phone before. Never. Ever.
But that’s how I’m spending Sunday afternoon, instead of my usual: doing homework. Ring, phone, ring! He has my number—I gave it to him over Skype. Hell, he can talk to me on Skype if he wants to. But he hasn’t been online all day. The only thing in my inbox is a draft article Drew wrote that he wants an opinion on.
I compose a short email to Brian:
Hey, where did you disappear to today? Loved talking to you in the janitor’s closet. It’s my new favorite place. Let’s do it again sometime. Next Sunday during Big Church?

Egads, what am I thinking? I delete the email immediately and pray that no hacker saw that and plans to post it all over the Internet announcing it as the lamest thing anybody’s ever seen.
Maybe Brian’s online but invisible. Maybe he’s staring at my name and thinking, Wow, she has no life and she’s sitting there waiting for me to message her. I’m gonna go running with Brandy the dog and then go drink a beer and live my real adult life and do adult things.
I click the Go Invisible button. Now he’ll think I have a life. He’ll think I’m out doing cool things, like hanging at Jiffy Burger with Drew, Corndog, and Sam, pretending to be Elaine and yelling “Get out!”
What if he’s with Coach Vixen? What if they’re doing it right now?
This goes on for two more hours. I download that movie Never Been Kissed starring Drew Barrymore from iTunes. As if anyone would actually believe a twenty-five-year-old woman who looks like her—hideous makeup or not—has never been kissed. Her teacher, who thinks she’s a teenager when she’s really twenty-five, is into her, but he doesn’t go after it until he discovers she’s really an adult.
I consider telling Brian that I’m not really a teenager. Really, I’m a twenty-five-year-old reporter for the Tennessean and I’m researching the athletics department at Hundred Oaks High because the football team gets all the money.
My phone buzzes. I pick it up faster than a jet at Mach 5. Aw, it’s just a text from Corndog that reads Look outside ur window.
I move my laptop and go push the curtains aside to find Corndog sitting out front on his lawnmower. Without bothering to check my hair or makeup, I head to the front door. He gives me a big smile when I let him inside. He’s wearing a polo layered on top of long-sleeved T-shirts with a pair of jeans, sneakers, and a cap.
Ryan’s listening to some god-awful trance music in his room, and Dad is passed out on the couch with the Sunday comics draped across his face, so they don’t even notice a boy coming in. That’s what I should tell Brian. I’m the real adult in my house, you know.
Corndog follows me to my room without a word. As soon as the door’s shut, I yell-whisper, “What are you doing here?”
He shrugs and rubs his palms together. “Bored. I don’t have any homework or practice or chores so I thought I’d see what you’re doing.”
“Me?” We’ve never really hung out alone before, considering (1) he was my nemesis for valedictorian, and (2) he’s never tried to hang out alone with me before. At least not since those science projects we did together in eighth grade.
His mouth slides into a smile. “Yes, you.”
“Don’t you need to do something on the farm?”
“Cows are milked. Eggs are collected. I got the afternoon off.”
“How’s Bo? Did he get booboos on his knees and hands?”
“Yeah. But he’ll be okay.”
Corndog starts looking around my room and beelines straight for my bookshelves. He drags a finger over my shelf o’ vampire novels, then moves on to the travel guides I grab at yard sales and used bookstores. I love collecting random travel books for places like the Galapagos and Australia and Tanzania and South Africa.
Then he moves on to my nonfiction shelf, which has all sorts of randomness…books on zookeeping, books on the horrors of animal smuggling, books about the Serengeti. I’m praying he doesn’t pull any of those books down, because I hide my Harlequin romances behind them.
Corndog starts looking at my bulletin boards, which are covered with pictures of me and Drew and me and my family. I took down the pictures of me, Laura, and Allie and buried them in a box under my bed. There’s only one picture of me and Mom. It was taken when I was five, out in front of Forrest Sanctuary on Easter. Mom looked gorgeous that day in a trim blue dress and matching hat.
“What were you doing before I got here?” he asks, coughing into a fist.
Stalking your baseball coach online. “I was watching a movie.”
“What movie?”
“This chick flick thing.”
“My favorite!” he laughs.
“Corndog, why are you here?”
“I told you. I’m bored and wanted to hang out. Can’t George hang out with Elaine once in a while?”
“I guess so.”
He pulls his sneakers off, then lies down on my side of the bed—the side I sleep on!—and situates the laptop on his thighs. He yanks his cap off and tosses it on top of his sneakers. I hesitate for a sec, then lie down on the other side of the bed while he restarts the movie.
“I’ve never seen this,” he murmurs.
We watch the movie in a nice silence until he exclaims, “This is unbelievable. How can they make Drew Barrymore look that bad? Well, I mean, she’s still hot—I’d do her, but geez!”
I’m cracking up. “I know! And the teacher still wants her even though she’s wearing that hideous sombrero.”
“What a perv that guy is. What kind of teacher goes after his student?”
I clutch my pillow. “He probably has some sixth sense and knew that she wasn’t really seventeen.”
“A sixth sense.”
“Yes.”
“You think that perv guy has a sixth sense?”
“Yes. He has the ability to tell if women are really older than they say they are. He can tell when forty-year-olds are pretending to be thirty-five too.”
He hoists himself up on an elbow and throws me a withering look. “Are you really our valedictorian?”
“Uh, yeah. I beat you by a tenth of a point, remember?” I chuckle. “Besides, we can’t have someone named Corndog giving the valedictory speech. Everyone would spend the whole time salivating instead of listening. Everyone would just get up and leave to go get a corndog!”
He laughs, but then his face goes soft and pensive. “It’s Will. You can call me that, you know.”
“But no one would have any idea who I’m talking about.”
A pause. “I kinda like that.”
“You’re talking over the movie,” I say, gesturing at Drew Barrymore making an ass of herself singing with a band at a bar. She was stupid enough to eat a brownie full of roofies or something.
I snuggle up with Patrick the stuffed koala and Corndog? Will? slides a hand behind his head and we watch the movie together.
I guess at some point I passed out, because I wake up to find a black screen. I also find my mouth pressing against Corndog/Will/Person/Guy’s shoulder. I left a big drool spot on his polo. Holy mortifying! I’m pawing at it, trying to make my spit bleed into the shirt, when he opens his eyes and looks over at me with a lazy smile.
“Sorry, I drooled on you,” I say.
“It’s fine.” He ruffles his hair. A cowlick sticks straight up. One eye opens wider than the other.
Oh. My. God. I fell asleep with a boy in my bed.
The sun is setting outside the window, leaving my room in shadow. It’s nice lying here with him in a warm silence. It’s pretty weird that he just dropped by and hasn’t tried to make out with me or do any other funny business. I don’t think this has happened before, well, at least not with anyone other than Drew. And he doesn’t count.
So what’s this about?
Will folds the laptop lid down and sets it on the floor, then shuts his eyes, pulls Patrick the koala to his chest, and curls up. I stare at the ceiling. How weird is this? The captain of the baseball team is cuddling with my stuffed animal? I shrug and shut my eyes and wonder if Brian’s spending a quiet afternoon reading. I let myself doze back off.
Next thing I know, Dad has barged into my room. “I’ve been knocking for over a minute. What’s going on in here?” he exclaims.
I sit up straight and smooth my tangles. Will quickly pulls himself to a sitting position, grabs his sneakers, and fumbles with the laces.
“Just watching a movie, Dad.” I yawn.
“Who is this boy in your bed? And why’s there a lawnmower by our front door?”
“This is Corndog,” I say. “He’s a friend from school.”
Dad raises an eyebrow. “A friend?”
Why is Dad choosing this precise moment to stop being Daddy Denial? Gar. It’s not like I really care—I mean, this is just Corndog—what if Brian were in my bed?
“I better go,” Corndog says, giving me a nervous smile.
“I’ll walk you to the front door.” I hop out of bed and lead him down the hall. When we get to the living room, I stop dead. Mystery Woman Veena is here. Staring at me. She looks from me to Corndog and back to me again.
Who is this lady? Some angel of darkness God sent to confront me for my sins? Thanks but no thanks, God. I’ve already got Laura.
Dad walks up behind me, whistling. He drops a hand on my shoulder. “I invited Veena over for dinner.”
“I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” I mumble to Corndog. My face feels hotter than a supernova.
He glances at Dad and Veena, then gives me a quick smile. “Thanks for the chick flick.”
Once he’s gone, Dad claps his hands together and looks at me. “So what’s for dinner?”
“Oh, um…” I say. I hadn’t really thought about dinner yet. I glance at my watch. It’s 6:00 p.m., and normally I’ve started cooking by now. Veena narrows her eyes at Dad. I guess he invited her over for dinner and failed to mention that his daughter makes most of the meals.
“I love cooking,” I explain, not wanting to embarrass my father. “I accidentally fell asleep. I’ll start making dinner now.” I nervously play with my hair as I head into the kitchen. Pasta is a good, fast option. I don’t have time to make a roast or anything. I could toss a salad to go with it. I grab a pot from the wall and begin filling it with water.
Brian hasn’t called all day. Didn’t that time in the closet mean anything to him? Obviously not.
I’m shutting off the water when Dad enters the kitchen. “Forget cooking. Let’s go out for a change, okay?”
???

Ryan said he has a paper due tomorrow (can you say “excuse”?), so it’s just me, Dad, and Mystery Woman Veena at Davy Crockett’s Roadhouse. I like this place because they serve peanuts by the bucket, and I can eat a bucket load of peanuts because my diet depends on lots of protein.
I crack open a few and line eight peanuts up across my bread plate. I’ll savor them one by one.
“Veena’s a nurse,” Dad says, touching her hand.
She blushes. Is she embarrassed of her job? Or because Dad is coming on way strong? Since when does Dad come on to anybody? He hasn’t dated since…since…ever? Since Mom.
“I work at the Murfreesboro Regional Medical Center,” she says, avoiding my eyes.
Dad rattles peanuts in his fist like a pair of dice. “And Parker is a senior at Hundred Oaks. She’s going to Vanderbilt next year.”
“Vanderbilt? Really?”
“She’s valedictorian too,” Dad adds, smiling and popping a peanut in his mouth.
I’m pleased that Dad is proud of me, but Veena looks way surprised. How humiliating. But then I remember: she doesn’t know me. She has no right to judge me. Is that why she agreed to come out with us—to judge me? But on the other hand, all the evidence I’ve given as to my personality involves me hanging out with two different guys on the same day. One in a janitor’s closet, one in my room. I rub my eyes. This isn’t what I wanted for myself. Maybe I was meant to be a sinner. Maybe that’s all I’ll ever be. Maybe Laura’s right.
A good person wouldn’t lust after a teacher. Lonely or not.
Veena takes a greasy roll from the bread basket and butters it up. Saliva forms in my mouth as I stare at the bread. I could have one bite, right? No, I shouldn’t.
“Are you coming to Forrest Sanctuary now?” I ask Veena.
She sips her water, then nods. “Yes. I just moved here from New York and don’t really know anyone except for people at the hospital. But I’ve always gone to church, so here I am.” She shrugs and blushes again. It gives her dark skin a rosy touch.
“I’m glad you came,” Dad replies. He touches her hand again. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.” He stands and heads toward the restrooms.
I eat the first of my eight peanuts, savoring the salt.
Veena takes a bite of roll, and after swallowing, she whispers, “Don’t worry. I won’t say anything to your father about this morning.”
I find her eyes. They are kind but questioning.
She continues, “The man you were with…he seemed older.”
I don’t respond. I concentrate on peanut #2. I want to eat it in peace.
“It’s none of my business, I know. And I’m one to talk…your father must be over ten years older than me…I’m 29…I just wanted to let you know I won’t say anything, okay?” she says.
“Okay, thank you,” I whisper. “Nothing happened, just so you know.”
She pauses. “So, Vanderbilt?”
“Yes, I got in early admission.” I say it with a strong, proud voice.
She smiles. “Good school. I didn’t get into their medical program. I’m jealous.”
“I studied hard.”
“I guess I didn’t study hard enough.” She laughs, sipping her water, and I join in laughing.
I eat peanut number two and smile at Veena as I chew. She’s very pretty and slim. I love her black curls, and it looks like she knows how to use an eyelash curler. Her full lips are painted a bronze-ish color.
Dad hustles up and slides into the booth next to her. “What did I miss?” he asks, putting his napkin back on his lap.
“None of your business,” Veena replies. “Girl talk.”
I pop peanut number three in my mouth and think: don’t mess this up, Dad! She’s pretty nice.
But she knows about Brian. I hope she keeps her mouth shut like she said she would.
???

Before bed, I wash my face with cleanser, moisturize, and carefully tweeze my eyebrows. I slip on pajamas and climb into bed with my laptop.
My phone beeps. A text from Corndog reads: Had fun today.
I text back: Me too. Can’t wait to tell everybody u love chick flicks!
Don’t! You’ll destroy my street cred!
I log in to Skype, and ten seconds later an IM from Brian pops up.
Brian Hoffman: Hey. Sorry I flaked.
I smile, and a warm feeling rushes through my body.
Parker Shelton: No prob.
Brian Hoffman: Want to talk?
Parker Shelton: Yes!!
Skype rings, I answer, and Brian’s voice tumbles out of the speakers. “Hey, you.”
“Hi.”
“Tell me about your day.”
My phone buzzes again. I ignore it.
???

Drew and I don’t have many classes together.
I’m taking AP courses, while he’s in classes like music theory and art. It’s senior year and he wanted to relax. But we do take AP English together, because he cares a lot about making his writing the best it can be. He sits in the front row, next to Corndog, and I sit right behind them. And because everyone now knows Drew broke up with Amy, the girls are out in full force to win his heart. Or win a chance to fool around with him. I don’t know which.
While we’re waiting on the final bell to ring before class starts, Marie Baird is leaning against his desk, chatting, laughing, and playfully slapping his shoulder, and Kristen Markum is standing between his legs, smiling down at him. He grins up at them, shaking his leg and tapping his foot. They’re discussing what one item they’d bring if they were to go on the TV show Survivor.
“I’d bring my iPad so I could download books to read,” Marie says.
“But how would you charge the battery on a deserted island?” I hear Corndog murmur to himself. I laugh silently.
“I’d bring a big pad of paper and pen so I could work on my autobiography,” Drew tells them.
“I want to read it!” Kristen says.
“So do I,” Marie adds.
“I’d bring a cell phone, so I could call you,” Kristen says to Drew.
“But how would you charge the battery?” Corndog mutters to himself again, and I start laughing.
Corndog lobs a note onto my desk. I unfold the paper. How does Drew always get this mad play?
I write back: Because he’s Double-wide Drew. I toss the note to Corndog; he catches it one-handed and reads. Then bursts out laughing. He writes me back.
Is that all girls care about? Penis size?
You better believe it. (Just kidding. We care about how much $$ you have too.)
Marie? Is that who he’s interested in? Corndog writes.
No idea. She’s pretty and nice, though.
Yeah, she’s hot.
Why don’t you just ask him?
I fold the note and move to toss it to Corndog, but Drew intercepts my pass. “What are you talking about?” He unfolds the paper and I swipe at him, trying to get it back, but he blocks me with a forearm. Ugh, he’s such a football player. Corndog doesn’t seem to care that our note has been hijacked, because he’s giggling like a little girl.
Drew reads the paper. “Why are y’all writing notes about my junk?”
I bite my lips together to stop myself from laughing.
“I know you can’t help but think about my package all day long,” Drew says to me. “But English class is not the time or place to obsess over it.” He snorggles and flicks my forehead. I flick his forehead. And then we’re in a forehead flicking war.
“She’s so boy crazy, it’s pathetic,” Kristen whispers to Marie, throwing me a glare. I suck in a deep breath. Corndog avoids my eyes and turns to face the whiteboard.
I sink down into my seat, embarrassed. My rep must be pretty bad if Kristen Markum, the girl who gets it on with everybody, thinks I get around.
???

Brian works us like plow horses in gym class.
But there is a bit of good news. I get lots of smiles from him as I run laps around the track.
I speed past Laura just in time to hear her comment on how cute Brian is, and how it’s too bad he’s our gym teacher. It’s a good thing Brian’s busy yelling at the baseball players in Coach Burns’s class to pay any attention to her.
I’m on lap six of twelve, thinking about Brian’s chapped lips and wondering why he bites them so hard, when Corndog jogs up next to me.
“Hey, Parker,” he says, loping along, arms flailing all over the place.
“Your form sucks today,” I reply.
“I’m tired. I stayed up too late texting.”
I laugh. We have been texting a lot. Corndog and I talk about books and animals and how I might become a zookeeper and how he wants to study agricultural law one day. A lawyer for farmers?! I texted him last night.
A soil expert, he replied. One of the reasons farming has become so hard for people is soil erosion. It’s become chemically altered because people overuse it.
Part of me wishes we could’ve been close friends before our last semester, but considering we spent three and a half years duking it out over grades, this is the first time we’ve been able to relax around each other.
“You stayed up late texting?” I tease. “That was very wrong of you. You should be removed as captain. You are a horrible influence on these young minds.”
He laughs, his brown hair flopping in the wind. “You’re the bad influence.”
“Me?” I blurt.
“You’re jogging with me. All the other girls want to be like you. They’re gonna be all over me now.” He jerks his head, indicating I should look behind us, and sure enough, Kate Kelly and Emily Mansfield are following, checking us out. Those girls are goody two-shoes who go to my church, and started ignoring me after Mom left. Everyone knows Kate’s had a huge crush on Corndog for a century.
“I highly doubt anyone wants to be like me,” I say, wiping sweat off my forehead.
“You slaughtered my GPA and ruined my lifelong dream of being valedictorian and—”
“Corndog!” Brian yells, waving his hand in a circle. “Pick up the pace.”
“Coach, come on!” Corndog snaps, but he starts running faster than I could ever hope to run.
I go back to jogging by myself, and when I pass Brian, he narrows his eyes and mouths, “Corndog?”
I shake my head and give him a knowing smile. I feel a shift: Brian doesn’t have all the power. Is he waiting on me to make a move?