“What?! What did that bitch tell you?”
Sarah snickers. She’s so subdued all the time I consider it a victory. I can’t even put into words how good it feels when I get her to laugh, or even just her little versions of it.
“She said she saw you at the mall chatting up some hot guy—”
“He was helping me buy shoes! He was an employee!”
“I don’t know what you’re getting all defensive about. It’s just a simple question.”
“Wait a minute… I never told Faith his name.”
“Maybe he was wearing a name tag.”
Damn people and their damn eyes.
“So… tell me about him.”
“What’s there to tell? I went to Running Rampant, bought a pair of running shoes, and the guy that helped me is from Jefferson. I can’t tell you what he looked like, and he sounded… normal, I guess, which is a plus in this world. What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to tell me why Faith stood outside the store for ten minutes watching you.”
“Jesus, she spied on me for ten minutes? That’s creepy.”
“She said when you talk to people you’re usually like a little pill bug, all dark and closed up, but with this guy, you were open and glowing—”
“Glowing? She said I was glowing?”
“Direct quote. And you were waving your arms around. She was worried you might smack him or knock something over.”
“I was not waving my arms around!” Was I?
“She said you were a waving lunatic.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Fine. I’m not going to let you change the subject. Answer the question.”
“I forget. What was it?”
“Stop being so coy. What made this guy so special?”
“I never said—”
“Parker!”
“All right!” I take a breath. “I don’t know what it was.”
“You’re admitting to being at a loss for words? Careful, I don’t think I can handle my world turning upside down twice in one conversation.”
I take another breath. “All I can say is, he knew how to talk to a blind girl.”
“Damn, girl, that’s all you needed to say.”
NINE
Today’s going to be a shitty day. Sometimes you just know.
After my alarm woke me up, Stephen Hawking reminded me that a week from tomorrow is Dad’s birthday. I have reminders set up early for things I need time to prepare for. I deleted it.
At Gunther Field I have this feeling I’m being watched. I stop at a couple of turns and stand perfectly still to listen. Once I call out to see if anyone’s there; I don’t hear anything. Just paranoid about that coach watching me last Friday.
As if that’s not enough, I get a text from Molly saying she’s staying home sick—with symptoms too unpleasant to describe—probably just something she ate so she’ll be back tomorrow. Classes will be a pain today.
All leading up to me sitting in Trig before the bell, regretting my decision to come to school at all since I’ll just catch up with Molly on everything tomorrow when she’s back.
“Scott,” Ms. McClain says. “Molly’s not here today. Can you help Parker this period?”
My next heartbeat is painfully fierce and my mouth opens to deflect this request but someone beats me to it.
“I’ll do it!” D.B. says, sounding way too eager, but I’m desperate so I’ll take it.
“I don’t know…” Ms. McClain says. Is she trying but failing to keep the dubious tone from her voice, or is she deliberately injecting it?
“I’m already sitting right here,” D.B. says.
“It’s okay,” Scott says, his voice like a wink. “It’s not like he has to teach Parker anything. He just has to tell her what’s on the board. He’s smart enough to do that much.”
D.B. laughs. It sounds genuine. Either this is okay trash talk or D.B. doesn’t know an insult when he hears it.
“Do I have a say in this?” I ask, invoking a variation of Rule Six.
“I’ll leave it to you, Parker,” Ms. McClain says and starts talking to someone else up in the front of the class.
I point toward Scott, then D.B., and back again. “Eeny meeny miny moe, catch a douchebag by his toe, if he… whines then let him go, eeny meeny miny moe.”
My finger is pointing to D.B., as planned. When doing Eeny Meeny with only two choices, always point to the one you don’t want first.
“Cool,” D.B. says. “I’ll move to Molly’s seat so I don’t have to twist around.” He executes this maneuver with an amazing amount of clatter, like a one-man band changing seats on a bus. The bell rings.
Ms. McClain talks for a while. Then the squeak of marker on the board tells me she’s writing.
“She’s drawing a circle,” D.B. whispers loud enough they can probably hear it across the hall. People giggle.
“I can’t see,” I whisper, in an actual whisper, “but my hearing is excellent.”
“Uhhh… Oh, am I too loud?” More giggles. Ms. McClain ignores it.