The Fifty-Seven Lives of Alex Wayfare (34 page)

I slump against the stall door and slam my head back, once, twice. How could I be so stupid? I'd thought Blue was my friend, too. How could I be so wrong about Blue and Jensen at the same time?

 

 

I drag my gym clothes on and make my way out to join the class. I don't even bother putting my hair in a ponytail so it doesn't get sweaty. I just don't give a damn about anything anymore.

Everyone's outside at the track, freezing their butts off. Coach Graves, our gym teacher who's straight out of college, thinks it's the best use of our time to run a mile every day. Even in November. And if we happen to have time left over after the last person wheezes off the track? Then it's dodgeball for the rest of the period inside while she sits on the sidelines and flirts with the guys' gym coach, Mr Caswell.

Even though I've been running better times ever since I got back from 1927, without one asthma attack, I decide to take it slow this time. I've got nothing to prove, and I'd rather be at the back of the pack, alone, where I used to be, than up front by the good runners like Tabitha. But once I set off, feet meeting the pavement, I change my mind. My Shooter Delaney stubbornness kicks in. I zero in on Tabitha's golden, bouncing ponytail and make it my mission to take her down.

I spend the first lap keeping pace. By the second lap, I'm right behind her. By the third, I'm squeezing past. And when I turn the corner on the fourth and final lap, I fly past like she stopped to tie her shoe. It's not the best time in the class – not by a long shot – but it's worth it just to see her expression. The flared nostrils and the icy glare. It's the best thing to happen to me all day.

While half the class sits on the bleachers on the sidelines to cool down, the other half walks around the track. A few stragglers are still finishing their mile. Tabitha sits on the bleachers, so I choose to walk the track.

It's a mistake.

Halfway through my lap, hands on my hips, elbows out, three guys from Coach Caswell's class catch up to me. Robbie Duncan, Jake Horner, and Philip Rice. All three saw me give Jensen a ride home.

“Hey, Wayfare,” Robbie says, falling in step at my side. He's the type of guy who's always getting in the middle of things. If there's a pot to stir, he's the first to volunteer. It's like he carries around his own special spoon. “Lotta crap goin' around about you and Jensen today.”

I don't respond. I keep my eyes straight ahead. I watch the traffic going by on Sixth Avenue, out past the school parking lot. A silver Corvette glints by. I daydream about jumping inside and getting as far away from Annapolis as possible.

“What did you guys do Friday night?” Robbie asks. His glossy gym shorts graze the backs of his knees. His legs are covered in fuzz and freckles. He's a big dude, but he's still got quite a bit of baby fat. “Must've been real important if he blew off our pickup game.”

I risk a tiny smile at the edge of my mouth. So Jensen blew off his teammates to go to the library. To check out Pride and Prejudice. I remember how embarrassed he was when I discovered his secret.

“I just gave him a ride,” I say with a shrug. “That's all.”

The other two guys burst out laughing. I can tell Robbie wants to laugh too, but he tries to keep a straight face. His dimpled chin quivers. “Well we heard he gave you a ride.”

It takes a second before I get what he means. My jaw drops. I stop walking and spin on my heel to face them. “Excuse me?”

“Must've been one hell of a booty call,” Jake says.

“I know, right?” says Robbie. He makes circles with his fingers around his eyes like he's wearing glasses. “Who knew losing your virginity could fix your eyesight?”

They burst out laughing and stumble away, clutching their stomachs, leaving me standing rigid and humiliated in the middle of the track.

Robbie turns around and walks backwards, making the hand motion for me to “call him.” “Seriously, Wayfare, I'm way better than Jensen,” he calls out. “One night with me and that epilepsy thing is history.”

Jake punches him in the shoulder and says, “Or maybe it's better when she has a seizure. It's like your own personal vibrator.”

Philip moans Oh, Robbie, oh Robbie! while he pretends to convulse.

My hands curl into fists. I clench my teeth so hard it sends a piercing pain shooting through my temples. Anger and humiliation wring and writhe inside me, and the need for revenge climbs to the surface of my skin like steam.

I force myself to make a beeline for the locker room before the Shooter in me does something drastic. Like relieve all three of them of their manhood.

CHAPTER 27

 

 

I change into my other clothes, ripped sweater and all, and skip the rest of gym. I'd be shocked if Coach Graves even notices I'm gone. Instead of going to lunch, I head to the AV department to start my shift early. It's this small room off the main computer lab, stacked full of equipment for teachers to check out for their classrooms. There's a tall counter to sit behind, which makes it one of my favorite places to hide. Sometimes Mrs Latimer lets me have my lunch there. Mostly because she usually needs my help fixing one of the pieces of equipment.

Seriously. I've probably saved the school a fortune on equipment costs.

Today, there's a sticky note attached to one of the projectors telling me it won't power on. I turn off all the harsh overhead lights in the room and flip on a few desk lamps. The light from the computer lab filters in, giving me enough to work by, but it's dark enough to calm my nerves. I take the projector apart at the back of the room, losing myself in wires and connectors, troubleshooting whether or not it needs a new fuse or a new power switch. Soon my mind is wrapped in a protective haze. The last few hours no longer exist.

Halfway through the second lunch period, I hear someone come in. I look up and my blissful fog of solitude vanishes. It's Jensen, wearing one of his cute, lopsided smiles. My stomach twists in half like it's a balloon and I'm shaping it into a poodle or giraffe or something. I set my tools down. My hands tremble. I really don't want to talk to him right now.

“I'd like to check something out,” he says as I make my way up to the counter.

“Yeah? What's that?”

“You.”

I make a face at him. “Seriously? You're seriously going to take a stab at me too?”

“It's not a stab,” he says, looking down, drumming his thumbs on the counter. “I was just trying to be funny.” He peeks back up at me from under his honey blond hair. He quirks a tiny smile.

“It's not funny. Not after what your boys said to me on the track.” I flop down at the desk behind the counter. He comes around to my side and flops down in the chair beside me.

“Ah,” he says. “You heard the rumors.”

“How could I not? Robbie and his asshole friends practically made a banner and slapped me in the face with it.”

“They're jackasses, Wayfare. You just have to ignore them.” He props his white sneakers up on one of the TV carts behind me, blocking me in with his long legs. His Abercrombie jeans are perfectly distressed. His gray Henley clings to his chest. He looks like he belongs on a runway, and it's kind of distracting.

“Why doesn't it bother you?” I ask him.

He shrugs. “Um, because according to them, I'm a humongous man slut. Apparently I've slept with half the varsity volleyball team and most of the cheerleaders. Even the freshmen. And the girls aren't any better. Not one of them has ever said it isn't true. So… after a while it just becomes background noise. And besides, all the people who matter to me most know the truth. My parents. My teachers. My church. So who gives a flip what the kids say at school?”

I stare at him, warily, wondering why he still insists on being nice to me. Is it because he feels responsible for the new rumors now too? On top of the old ones?

“Here,” he says. “I brought you something.” He drops his feet with a thud and pulls a chocolate pudding cup out of his backpack. He sets it on the desk in front of me, a plastic spoon perched on top. “I noticed you weren't at lunch.”

Deep, skeptical lines crease my brow. A pudding cup? Really? He's being too nice. Too thoughtful. It makes me want to crush the cup in my hand because it's all an act. He's all an act. Just like Blue.

“You don't have to do this,” I say, pushing the pudding away.

“Do what?”

“Be nice to me. Act like you're my friend. You can stop now. I'm letting you off the hook.”

I can tell he wasn't expecting that. He frowns. “Um… OK…”

“I don't care about the seizure stuff anymore,” I say. “It was a long time ago. And I don't really care what they say about me either. I just want things to go back to the way they were. When they didn't talk to me at all. When I was invisible. If you keep being nice to me and hanging out with me, the rumors aren't going to stop. They'll get worse. And I just want to go back to being Wayspaz the loner Fix-it Freak.”

All this time I thought becoming normal, more like them, would make everything better. Turns out no matter who you are – the follow-the-crowd type or the independent soul – people will always find something to harass you about. Something shiny to peck at. Something different that sets you apart. So why waste your time being someone you're not?

Jensen leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “You really think I'm pretending to be your friend?”

“I don't know.” I pick at the flaking laminate edge of the desk. “Tabitha said you felt guilty about the rumor thing and that's why you've been nice to me.”

He lets out a laugh and leans back in his chair. “Honestly, Wayfare. For being the topic of so many juicy rumors, you sure aren't up to speed on the rest of them, are you?”

I frown, not getting the joke.

“I broke up with her on Friday. After you dropped me off. So… she's pissed right now. She'll say anything.”

He's not lying. I can tell by the look on his face. “Great,” I say, tossing my hands up. “Now they're all going to think you broke up with her because of me. I already heard someone say Tabitha ‘caught us together.'” I make air quotes with my fingers.

Jensen shrugs. “I mean, we're going to have to endure some rumors if we're going to be friends, right? And some of them are going to be stupid. It's just the way it goes. But I'm willing to risk it.” He lifts an eyebrow. “Are you?”

I bite my bottom lip. I'm honestly not sure if I am. “Can I think about it and get back to you?”

He kicks my shoe. “No. We're friends. Deal with it.”

I finally crack a smile. He smiles too.

“I'm sorry,” I say. “I guess I'm just extra cynical today.”

“Because of the rumors?”

“That and something else.”

“What else?”

I tuck my hair behind my ear, staring down at the vacuum patterns crisscrossed in the carpet. “I found out a friend of mine wasn't who he said he was. Turns out he was a big fat liar. The biggest and the fattiest.”

“This dude,” Jensen says, grabbing a pencil off the desk and drumming it on his leg. “Was he your boyfriend?”

At the mere mention of the word boyfriend, I see a flash of Blue in the moonlight, his cowboy hat casting a shadow over his face. Was that what I thought he was? My boyfriend? I remember the feel of his hands tugging at my hips. His lips touching mine. I shake my head, feeling so stupid. Even after all this, I still want to kiss him again. It was good, you know? The kissing. He was good. Somewhere, deep down, I still wish he could've been mine. Even with Jensen, my lifelong crush sitting before me, suddenly free and single.

The Descender was right. I am an idiot.

“I guess he was kinda my boyfriend,” I say. “But whatever he was, he's not anymore.”

“Did he cheat on you?”

“No. He just… played me.”

“How do you know he played you? Did you confront him about it?”

“Didn't have to. Just figured it out.”

Jensen cracks another smile. “Right. Because your deductive skills have been so sharp lately.”

This time I kick his shoe, and he laughs.

“All I'm saying is, you should talk to him. Find out what's really going on. Might not be what you think. It never is, you know?”

A tiny sliver of hope pricks me. It gets under my skin. Enters my bloodstream. The bell rings for the next period.

“You should talk to him,” Jensen says again, standing up. He hefts his backpack over one shoulder. “You confronted me. Twice. And look what we got out of it. Pudding cups and revelations.” We share another smile as he heads for the door. “Catch ya later, Wayfare.”

I lift my hand in farewell, then frown down at my lonely pudding cup. What if Jensen is right? What if Blue isn't the traitor I think he is?

Oh, but he has to be. No one else knows what he knows.

No one else but Porter.

I pull out my cell phone and send Porter another text. I press the keys so hard the phone creaks under the pressure. Tell me who Levi is RIGHT NOW.

He writes back right away.

No.

I squeeze the phone in my hand. I want to slam it against the wall.

It's the last straw. I'm so tired of his stupid lies and his stupid silence. Is he refusing to tell me because he still thinks he's protecting me? Or because he has something to hide? After all the lies he's already told, and all the things he's kept from me, my gut says to place a bet on the latter.