Cassidy shrugged, glossed lips pushing out into a pout. “Whatever.”
“Come on, Adam.” I patted my leg.
“He’s not a dog.” Owen leaned in and said this into my ear. I blushed and dropped my hand, but not before Cassidy rolled her eyes.
It only took a single second, but it felt like slow motion. Adam, with his jerky, unnatural movements, turned to follow me. His forehead slammed into the edge of the open locker door. Thwack! Followed by a clang of reverberating metal.
All three of us took in one collective gasp. The only one who appeared unfazed was Adam. He took a step back and then redirected his path so that the locker door was no longer blocking it.
“Oh my god, are you all right?” Cassidy cupped both hands to her mouth. Adam blinked. “You’re bleeding!”
A thin trickle of blood ran from a small gash on his forehead, and Adam had exhibited absolutely zero reflex.
“Dammit.” I rushed over to him.
“A blockhead and a klutz,” Owen said flatly. “I guess that means we don’t have a superhero on our hands?”
I stood on my tippy-toes and peered up at the cut, not able to stop myself from feeling like this was all Cassidy’s fault. The cut was shallow, but head wounds had a way of bleeding more than they ought to. I felt my cheeks burn with annoyance. Two minutes ago Adam had outwardly been a perfect specimen. I poked at the skin around the gash.
“Pity, too.” Owen clucked his tongue. “Because I was already coming up with names and everything.”
My glare cut to Owen. “Would you like to know my names for you right now or would you like to help?”
“You should take him to the nurse’s office.” Cassidy buzzed around me.
“He needs space,” I snapped.
Adam touched the injury. His fingers came away with a spot of bright red blood. “I’m sorry, Victoria.” Then to Cassidy he said, “She had just gotten me cleaned up.” His pale complexion and hollowed cheeks made him look doubly remorseful.
Cassidy did a double take.
“Inside joke.” I pinched the gouge closed and applied pressure. “You wouldn’t get it.”
She gave me a you’re crazy look before shaking it away. “He didn’t even flinch,” she said. “Christ, he’s tough. He should try out for the team.” Her breath was minty next to me. I wished people would stop saying that.
Just as we’d hypothesized, Adam didn’t feel a thing. He was as impermeable to pain as a tank. This wasn’t normal. Or good. Pain was an important evolutionary development that made normal human beings withdraw from damaging situations. Without pain, there was basically nothing standing between Adam and sticking his hand down a garbage disposal.
“I mean…” Adam wrinkled his forehead. “Ouch.” His voice carried the same monotone, but he looked to me and Cassidy for approval. “Sorry.”
I frowned. “It’s not your fault.” I released the skin and it started bleeding fresh.
“That might leave a scar, you know. But—” Cassidy leaned over to examine the sides of his face, where there were the remnants of Adam’s incisions and other cuts and scrapes that already appeared older than they actually were. “Looks like you’ve already got a bit of a collection started. My mom can recommend a plastic surgeon. She got a face-lift last year.”
The second bell rang. “Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?”
“Sort of.” She glanced at her watch and bit her lip. “I’ll tell Mrs. Landers that he’ll be late. See you around, Adam.” She waved her fingers, spun on the spot, and headed back down the hallway, which was already being drained of students quicker than a flushed toilet.
“You should go, too,” I told Owen. “There’s no use in both of us getting in trouble. Make up something for me.” The final bell was ringing. We were both already late. I grabbed Adam by the wrist and began towing him toward the girls’ bathroom.
“Tor,” Owen called after me. “Come on, Tor. You know I’m a terrible liar. People will see right through me. I have a very honest face.”
But I just told Owen to stop being such a pansy and, after checking in both directions, pushed my head into the bathroom.
“Hello?” I asked. “Anyone in here?” When no one answered, I glanced both ways and pulled Adam inside. I stashed him in the large handicapped stall at the end and balanced on top of the toilet, between the feminine hygiene waste bin and the unraveling roll of toilet paper, so I could stand eye level with his cut. I leaned closer. It was a shallow wound, but enough to leave a goose egg. “You seriously couldn’t feel that?” My voice dropped to a whisper.
“No.” He stared up at the ceiling like he might catch a glimpse of the gash. “Is it broken?”
“Broken?” I smiled. “No, it’s not broken. Just a cut. Although…” I leaned in. “Most people would have thought that hurt. If it had happened to Owen, he probably would have cried.”
I hopped off the toilet and dug around my backpack until I found a bandage and a spool of surgical tape I’d used on Mr. Bubbles.