A look of pity flitted over her face, followed by a smile. “Because they can fly, silly.”
I give my head a little shake, trying to clear the images in my mind and the heaviness in my chest, but the picture of Stacey tossed so carelessly over Deacon’s shoulder still glows up from the screen in my hand. I can’t tear my eyes away, even as Principal Hargrove announces the assembly is over and dismisses us to return to class.
Ben pulls me closer, back to this moment. His hand closes over my phone. He gently takes it from me, holds down the power button, and swipes it off.
“Not worth reading that crap. C’mon. Let’s get back to class.”
I know he’s right, but it’s too late. I can never un-see that picture or those words. My stomach jumps and twists like Phoebe Crane flying over the top of a pyramid during a halftime routine. As if summoned by my thoughts, she descends on me and Ben with the Tracies in tow. She is crying and furious.
“You know this is bullshit, right?”
Ben stands up and steps into the packed bleacher stairs leading down to the gym floor. The entire student body is bottlenecked at the doors to the hallway. “It’ll all be . . . okay.” He searches for the words and I see his eyes dart in both directions over Phoebe’s head looking for an alternate escape route. I don’t blame him. If he finds one, I’m following.
“Stacey Stallard is going to ruin Dooney’s entire future.” Phoebe’s words sizzle, water dropped on the hot oil of her anger.
“Wait, so it is Stacey? You know for sure?” I ask.
Phoebe looks at me like I’ve grown a purple horn in the middle of my forehead, as if she simply can’t be bothered with someone of my enormous stupidity.
“Duke is coming to the games next weekend. He’s given them a verbal commitment. It’s a full ride. And now, what? He misses practice today, and Coach won’t let him play?” She is almost yelling in frustration. “We’re supposed to go to Duke together.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Ben’s voice is firm and calm. “Listen, I bet Coach lets him suit up. This is all crazy.”
“Besides,” says Lindsey. “We don’t know for sure it’s Stacey who brought the charges.”
Phoebe’s eyes narrow to slits and she hisses through clenched teeth. “Let me tell you what I know for sure. That dumb white-trash bitch has found a way out of the trailer park. Her mom has been out turning tricks at the Flying J truck stop since we were all in grade school.”
“What?” I can’t believe my ears. “She’s a waitress—”
Phoebe turns on me. “And what kind of pie do you think she’s serving those truckers between shifts? When LeeAnne Stallard heard her baby gave it up to a black boy and that he was Dooney’s best friend? Bitch smelled a payday. End of story.”
“Dooney’s dad is loaded,” agrees Christy. “He’s a lawyer.”
I’m too shocked to even respond. The bleachers are mainly empty now. Phoebe is about to say more, but Ben sees his opening and takes it. I follow him, walking down the bleacher seats instead of the stairs, stepping into the hallway just as a loud slam reverberates off the opposite wall. The noise comes from Wyatt Jennings’s body hitting the lockers. Two of Deacon’s friends—LeRon, a sophomore benchwarmer, and Kyle, the starting center—lift Wyatt off the ground and hold him there.
“Whatcha gonna do, faggot?” Kyle sneers at him. “Have your daddy arrest us?”
“We’re the law around here, sweetheart.” LeRon shoves a shoulder into Wyatt’s ribs. “You want Deputy Dad to take our phones so you can see if we got dick pics. Ain’t that right?”
Ben moves so fast I don’t realize he’s gone until I see him knock Kyle sideways with a shoulder and push LeRon backward into the crowd with both hands.
“What the hell?” Kyle tries to lunge at Ben, but Ben catches him by the shirt and spins him up against the lockers, hard.
“Chill out, dude.” Ben’s voice echoes over the din in the hall.
Mr. Johnston wades through the crowd. “Everything okay here, gentlemen?”
“We’re cool, Mr. J.” Ben shoots a glare at LeRon and Kyle, who clearly want to throttle him but think better of it.
“Get to class everybody. Go! Now!” Mr. Johnston assumes the stance of traffic cop in the middle of the hallway, hurrying stragglers along.
“You good, man?” Ben squats next to Wyatt to help pick up his books.
Wyatt gives a short nod, then jumps up and turns to flee. “Thanks.” He mumbles the word and disappears around the corner.
“That was really cool of you.” Lindsey looks a little surprised.
“Freakin’ Superman,” says Rachel.
Christy laughs, pointing down the hall after Wyatt. “Lois Lane seemed grateful.”
Ben frowns at her. “Can’t afford to have those jerks suspended for fighting. Gonna need every warm body on the bench next weekend—if we even have a chance now.”