When Mr. Jenkins asked for help handing out a photocopy, Cam volunteered, and then kneeled to give me mine. During free-writing, he just kept staring at me with this dreamy look on his face. Eventually the whole class noticed, giggling and elbowing each other until Jenkins shut them up.
Then when Jenkins asked people to read their pieces, Cam jumped up and started talking about “eyes like brightest jade” and “hair tendrilling out from ’neath a peak-ed paper cap” and “teeth like really great teeth,” stealing furtive looks at me the entire time. Even Jenkins laughed. He tried to hide it with a hand over his mouth and a threat of “detention if you don’t cut the bull, Cameron,” but you could tell. I just froze my smile and pretended I thought it was as funny as everyone else seemed to. Me: not amused.
I was ready for this day to be over. It was starting to feel . . . sour.
I headed across the commons toward the stairs to the language hallway. It was the fastest way; my feet autopiloted me that direction.
Bad idea.
The commons was always crowded, but usually you could weave through the knots of people pretty fast. Sometimes I’d even pretend I was on the field and roll dodge around people, fake stick in hand.
That didn’t work so well when random sophomores kept pulling you in for selfies.
“I’ve really got to get to class,” I said to the third girl to scooch close and pout her lips for the phone over her head.
Sophomore #3,972: didn’t hear or didn’t care. She took another shot. “Thanks, Kyle,” she said. Like we were friends or something.
I fake smiled and pulled away, edging around a group of band geeks huddled against the windows.
“Ky-LE. What’s up, bro?” A heavy hand clapped me on the back. It was attached to Lamont Davis, all six foot five of him. He was grinning chummily from the middle of a pack of football guys in letter jackets. Lamont’s crew: all waiting for Lamont’s cue on when to laugh.
“Hey, Lamont.” Lamont didn’t suck, but we’d never been friends, and I had nothing to say to him. After the last hour, and that conversation with Rachel, I didn’t have much to say to anyone.
“We were just talking about the kegger at Anderson’s Friday,” he said, nodding toward one of the guys. “His parents are at some medical conference. You in, bro?”
I’d gone to a few football parties. Emma’s friends on the Wolfettes always went, and the parties always got huge. But I’d never been invited directly before.
“Yeah, for sure. Sounds fun.” I smiled at Lamont and tried to push past him. He stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.
“Bring your new friends, huh?” Lamont tilted his head at a couple sophomores surreptitiously snapping photos. One was Erin Rothstein’s little sister, with her same tight blond curls and exaggerated curves. The rumor, mostly spread by guys like Dave and Lamont: “Baby Rothstein puts out.” I tried not to look disgusted.
“Flit that you’re coming,” Anderson chimed in, eyeing Lamont eagerly. “And that you’ll be waiting to meet them in my bedroom.” A couple dudes laughed.
I could imagine it: dozens of underclass girls sloppy on free beer. When I turned them down, what would happen? Looking at Anderson’s sneer, I had a pretty good idea.
“Dude, don’t make it like that.”
“Like what?”
I couldn’t exactly tell Anderson I thought he was a massive skeeze.
“I don’t want to be, like, bait for freshmen.”
Lamont snorted exaggeratedly. He’d positioned himself so I couldn’t get past him without pushing by. “It’s not like we’re desperate for you to be there, bro.”
“No, I didn’t mean that.” Lamont: suddenly bigger. He wasn’t just six-five, he was a thick six-five.
“You’re lucky I even asked you.” Lamont shoved me with the hand he’d left on my shoulder. It wasn’t hard, but I hadn’t been expecting it, and I stumbled backward. I could feel his cronies watching.
“You’re right.” I nodded, a little frantic. Lamont leaned in, his already-small eyes narrowed to tiny slits. I could feel the muscles in my arms and stomach tensing, ready to strike out at a moment’s notice. Or take a punch. He leaned back, sneering.
“You know what? Screw that. Don’t come. I don’t want you there.”
“Lamont, I didn’t mean anyth—”
“I’m serious, you better not show up. You might think you’re hot all of a sudden, but I’m not impressed.” He folded his arms across his chest. It made him even wider.
“All right,” I said, voice flat. Why the heck couldn’t I keep my mouth shut? What did I care if Lamont’s friends were creeps? But at least he didn’t want a fight. Lamont had fifty pounds on me, easy.
He wouldn’t move, so I had to squeeze between his elbow and the guy next to him, a kid I barely knew named Judd, or maybe Josh. Judd-Josh snickered as I forced my way through.
“And Kyle,” Lamont yelled at my back, loud enough so everyone around us could hear. “Watch yourself. Not everyone is as nice to idiots as I am.”
I kept walking, head down, trying not to look at anyone.
He was right about one thing.
I felt like a massive idiot.
chapter eleven
RACHEL