“I know.”
Clay started walking again, slowly. “That’s insane. He’s got more money than sense.”
I nodded.
“What does Jane think?”
My shoulders bounced, shifting the duffle strung across my back. “Take the money and run.”
“Huh.” The sound was of agreement. “Well, it’s not like you can’t handle yourself in a fight. If it comes to that.”
It had been my first thought, as well. That Michael wanted me to fight someone.
We arrived at the crosswalk to the school. Cars were already filling the student parking lot. Somewhere over there was Michael’s cherry Mustang and his sexy girlfriend. Along with the rest of his “crew” and whatever he was really going to be paying me for.
My shoulders bunched tight.
The light changed, but we didn’t cross. Clay thumped my upper arm.
“Well, go make some money, Champ.” Like I was a prizefighter. “If anyone deserves easy money, it’s you.”
Clay stepped forward to the curb.
I fought the urge to pull him back, like he would step out into traffic and get flattened.
“I guess I’ll see you in the gym after school,” he said. “Unless you get another assignment. In which case, go for it.” Clay stepped into the street, long slouchy steps. He never looks both ways. Just trusts that the cars will all stop for him.
I slid a step ahead of him.
Once across the street, Clay slowed down. Gave me a funny look when I waited for him. “Go on, you’ve got a job to do. They’re probably waiting already.” He nodded at the student parking lot.
“Sorry.” The word didn’t feel big enough.
“I can take care of myself.” Grit in his words. Like he knew and resented that I didn’t think he could.
“Fine.” I started taking longer strides. Clay paced me for a final line.
“Try not to flatten them with your charm,” he said. “And remember, use protection. Cheerleaders have STDs, too.”
“Asshat.”
“Dick.” He thumped my back like a blessing, and I walked faster, leaving him behind.
Instead of heading straight to the cafeteria, I cut into the student parking lot.
Someone shouted my name.
“Over here!” Michael and his friends were lounging around showroom-ready cars. “Gotcha breakfast.” Michael held up a bag from Burger King.
If I’m supposed to be Michael’s new best friend, I’d lean against his car. Girls giggled as I pushed through the crowd. Some guys glared at me. I wondered who was in on whatever game this was.
Who was the show for?
“Here you go, man.” Michael handed me the bag and a drink.
“Thanks.” We slapped a handshake like old friends.
I opened up the breakfast sandwich. It looked good, but I wasn’t so stupid that I didn’t suspect anything. I flipped through its layers and didn’t see anything weird, so I took a bite.
It tasted fine. Little conversations started around me. Heavy music blared through car windows. Some of the girls kept glancing at me and smiling, and since I don’t have Janie’s delusions, I knew something was up. Cyndra caught my eyes and shook her head slightly.
That’s when I knew for sure that there was something wrong with the food. Or the drink.
I finished them both.
When I’d swallowed the last gulp, the hyperjocks started whooping and pounding each other’s shoulders. Some of them reared back, curling their hands in front of their mouths like they’d just witnessed something so funny they had to contort their bodies or they would fall to pieces. Their girls were less animated, hugging their books and giggling.
“Pay up,” Michael said. He held his hand out to Dwight, one of the football studs.
“Screw that.” But Dwight was laughing and digging in his wallet. He handed over a couple of twenties. A few other jocks pressed bills into Michael’s hand. I’d just earned my pay for a few days.
“Hey, man, welcome to the gang, right? No hard feelings?” Dwight held out a hand, making wet snorting sounds that reverberated in his head. He coughed the loogie into his mouth and made a face. “Anyone have a cup? I don’t want to spit this monster on the ground in front of the girls.”
The jocks started pounding each other again.
I handed the Burger King cup to Dwight. “Here, use this one.” I waited until everyone was quiet. “Again.”
The laughing stopped. Everyone held still as if a bee hovered nearby and they were all allergic.
Dwight leaned forward and let the glob of phlegm plop onto the dregs of ice in the cup.
I wanted to fight him. Not because I cared about the first loogie in the drink, but because it looked like he actually would fight me. He wouldn’t be able to back down in front of all his friends.
But then I imagined the coffee can, and I thought of the fifty I’d already earned.
Dwight handed the cup back to me. I hawked and spat into it, snapped the lid back on the cup. “I wonder what we’re having for lunch. You buy lunch, don’t you, Dwight?”
The whole crew erupted at the look on Dwight’s face.
“Burn!” Michael yelled. The jocks howled, turning on a dime from ridiculing me to laughing at their buddy. Several slapped hands with Michael.
“I told you he was cool.” Michael looped an arm over my shoulder and shook me gently. “My man. Psycho Iceman.”
I fought off the urge to push his arm away.
Some of the gang slapped hands with me and told me their names, as if I didn’t know already. Like I was a transfer student they were meeting for the first time instead of someone they’d been ignoring all along.
More cars began to fill the lot. Stereos warred with each other.
“Sorry about that,” Michael said softly when there was a lull and it seemed no one else was paying attention. “That’s just, like, hazing—now you’re in. You’re cool.”
“Whatever.”
Cyndra picked up her books.
“Time to go to class,” she said. “I think Jason should walk with me, since we’re on the same hall.”