Invisible (3 page)

“S
o, Jennifer, do you want to explain to me what happened in the cafeteria?”

I looked at the guidance counselor, Mr. Shelder, in disbelief. What did he expect me to say:
Sorry, I figured it'd be a good idea to attack the biggest guy on the football team for no reason. My bad.
But being nice little Jane Smith, I couldn't let the sarcasm out. So I did what I do best: I kept my feelings tightly locked away inside.

“Um, I'm Jane. Not Jennifer. And Alex Thompson insulted my friend, so I punched him in the face.”

“I see.” Mr. Shelder jotted down a note and looked at me with his best
concerned counselor
look firmly in place. “Are you often this protective of your friends?”

“No. Usually, I'm spineless.”

“I'm sure that's not true,” he said soothingly. “There's no shame in avoiding conflict. Especially when an altercation could potentially become physical.”

“Yeah, it's real noble of me to let jerks treat my friends like garbage.”

The bitter words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them, and I stared at the dingy tile floor in discomfort. I couldn't bring myself to look directly at Mr. Shelder, because I knew exactly what I would see if I met his gaze: poorly masked condescension. I could hear it in his voice already. He would probably return home, shaking his head, and muttering something stupid like,
“Teenagers. Why must they make everything so
dramatic
all the time?”

“Violence is never the solution, Jenny.”

That was easy for him to say. He wasn't the one who pretended not to notice when our lunch spot was referred to as the table for “gays and strays.” As far as I was concerned, this was one bout of violence that should have happened years ago. I was a little surprised it hadn't. I tentatively skimmed my index finger around the edges of my bruised eye as it throbbed mercilessly.

“Right,” I agreed, without even bothering to correct him on my name. Again. I couldn't drum up the energy to care. Not when the pounding of my eye could keep pace with ReadySet's fastest rock song. I tried to figure out which one of their hits best matched the beat while I tuned out Mr. Shelder.

“Good. I'm glad you're ready to apologize. It's really the mature way of handling situations like this.”

That
pulled me out of my pain-filled preoccupation.

“Wait,
what?
No way am I apologizing to that—” Mr. Shelder gave me his best look of disciplinary disapproval, the one that was supposed to evoke guilt in good girls like me. But I guess I'm not such a good girl anymore since I wasn't even fazed. No way in hell was Alex Thompson going to get an apology from me.

Not after all the crap he had said about my friends.

“Janice, be reasonable now. You know I can't just let this go. You attacked a football player a week before the big game. Ordinarily I would have already notified the parents.”

Of course, my offense wasn't that I'd hit someone—it was that I had hit a
football player
before some stupid school-rivalry game. If Mr. Shelder were to call
my
parents, he would have to discuss it with the quarterback's family as well. Something I suspected he would want to delay until
after
the game. After all, he didn't want to be forced into sidelining our star player over a simple misunderstanding in the cafeteria. High school really sucks.

“But because this is a first-time behavior from you, I hope detention will be a sufficient deterrent if you are ever tempted toward violence again.”

I slung my backpack over my shoulder. “I'll be sure to check myself before I wreck myself next time. Better yet, I'll reprimand him using my indoor voice.”

The silence that filled the room triggered my guilt reflex. It wasn't really Mr. Shelder's fault that I was in this mess. If he went out on a limb for me and actually tried to change the dynamic at Smith High School, it might put his job in jeopardy.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “No more fighting. Behave myself. Write a nonviolent story for the school newspaper. Got it.”

“Good. Wait, what was that about the school paper?”

“Nothing. Just ignore me.” I winced as my own words sank in. “Shouldn't be hard for you to do.”

And with that I walked out of his office—only to be confronted by my friends.

“Jane, you're officially my hero! That was phenomenal! The way you sucker punched him in the face . . .” Corey whistled appreciatively. “Most beautiful thing I've ever seen.”

Isobel still didn't appear to have found her voice. She just stood there in the hallway gaping at me. Unfortunately, Kenzie has never had a problem speaking her mind when it comes to me.

“Are you deranged? What were you thinking? Oh, I forgot.
You weren't thinking!
Seriously, Jane, what part of
enormous football player
did you
not
understand?”

Logan put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Even after a month of watching Kenzie's eyes turn dreamy whenever Logan was around, it still struck me as strange to see them actually doing couple-y things. My best friend dating a Notable who treated me like a geeky kid sister . . . yeah, that was one change that definitely required some adjustment time. “Mack, breathe. Jane, how are you feeling? Besides your eye, what hurts?”

The searing pain I felt in the cafeteria hadn't lessened, and I struggled not to resent that my so-called friends were yapping at me when they could be doing something
helpful
. Like shooting me with a tranquilizer gun so that I could be unconscious for the worst of the ache.

Or handing me some Tylenol for my headache.

Either was preferable to being on the receiving end of Kenzie's lectures.

“How . . .” I cleared my throat and tried again. “How bad does it look?”

“Badass!” Corey proclaimed. “Just like the way you took on Alex Thompson! You attacked him like a territorial she wolf on the Discovery Channel or something.”

I heard a snort and had to swivel my head so that my good eye could locate the source.

Scott.
Of course
.

“You've got a problem, man?” Logan demanded, his eyes a cold, hard gray I never wanted to have directed at me.

Sometimes it's nice being friends with a high school hockey captain. Especially when a major pain-induced headache makes rational thought unbearable.

Scott just ignored Logan and spoke to me instead.

“Interesting way to get a story, Grammar Girl. Nice plan. Nothing impresses teachers quite like getting your ass kicked by a football player. Foolproof.”

“You were trying to get a story? Why?” Corey asked as he draped a protective arm around my shoulder. I winced as he pressed down exactly where Alex had landed a wayward punch.

Every single inch of me hurt.

“Jane's working on a piece for the school paper,” Isobel informed him, picking one hell of a time to speak up. “See, she's planning on starting—”

“Isobel,” I interrupted warningly. I didn't want Scott to know about my ideas for the paper—definitely not before I had a chance to run them by Mr. Elliot. Creating a fiction page was a long shot, but it wasn't
impossible
. At least, it wasn't if Scott didn't have any opportunity to prejudice Lisa Anne or Mr. Elliot against it. “Not right now, okay?”

Everyone noticed my not-so-subtle head nod in Scott's direction.

Scott didn't appear even remotely fazed by all the sudden attention. He grinned. “Don't stop on my account. You were saying?”

“Um . . . that violence is never the answer. Jane, you shouldn't have hit Alex.” Isobel didn't speak with her normal level of conviction, and I knew she was still shaken up by what had happened.

But I had absolutely no idea what I could say to make it better.

“Look, I've already heard the ‘turn the other cheek' speech,” I told her tiredly. “I get it. Really.”

“I don't think turning the other cheek was necessary.” Scott examined me narrowly before he snapped another photo. “Both sides of your face look equally bruised to me.”

Logan couldn't hold himself back any longer. “What the hell is
wrong
with you?” he demanded. “Get that damn thing out of her face!”

“Logan.” Kenzie put a firm hand on his shoulder to make sure he didn't try to land a punch of his own. “Take your own advice and calm down.”

He turned on her hotly. “Alex was punching Jane,
our Jane,
and that jackass just stood there taking pictures!”

I didn't really know what to make of the whole “our Jane” thing, but the rest of it was accurate. Except . . . Scott was doing exactly what Mr. Elliot and Lisa Anne wanted. What he probably thought I wanted too.

He was doing his job.

Not that I was going to defend him.

“I
knew
I forgot to bring something to school with me today—my noble steed. Good thing you were able to come riding to the rescue, Logan. She'd be lost without you.”

It's never a good idea to piss off a high school athlete, even one as laid-back as Logan Beckett. They tend to punch really freaking hard, a lesson I had just learned the hard way from Alex. Although Scott looked like he might be able to hold his own if it came to blows. Not that his muscles bulged in a protein shake/pumping weights kind of way. They were just very nicely shaped.

Like the rest of him.

I really must have smacked my head hard when Alex knocked me down in the cafeteria. That was the only logical explanation for why I was standing there daydreaming about Scott's arms while Logan was poised to kick some butt.

“Logan,” Kenzie repeated, a definite warning underlying her tone. The situation was quickly getting out of control, so I forced myself to face down Scott before anyone could do something stupid.

“A white knight is still better than an ass,” I blurted out. “So . . . lay off.”

Scott's lips twitched into something that resembled an amused grin, and I knew I had just blown any chance I may have had for him to see me as a force to be reckoned with. Still, my comeback seemed to go a long way toward mollifying Logan. His shoulders finally relaxed as he returned his attention to me.

“Do you think you have a concussion, Jane? Say the word and we'll blow off school and go to my house.”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “Are you a nurse now too?”

“Both of my parents are doctors.” Logan's clipped tone made it clear that he was trying to keep himself in check. “My mom is sleeping off a night shift, but I'm sure she can take a look.”

“I'm fine, Logan. Really. No doctors needed.”

“And you can't just ‘blow off' school!” Kenzie said indignantly. “Your tutor is
not
okay with you randomly skipping class!”

Of course, since
Kenzie
is both Logan's girlfriend and his tutor, she'd know her own official position.

“This would fall under extenuating circumstances.” Logan grinned for the first time since he'd seen me get pummeled. “Look at her.”

“Hmm . . . good point.”

“Hey!” I said. “I'm right here!”

“She does look pretty bad,” Corey agreed as another wave of headache-related pain rushed through my system.

“Still right here, guys!”

Isobel shifted uncomfortably, her eyes locked on the dent in the locker right behind me. “You didn't have to do that for me, Jane. Really. It was no big deal.”

And that's when I realized my black eye would probably fade a lot sooner than the blow to Isobel's self-esteem. It wasn't fair. Alex had no right to pick on a nervous freshman girl whose biggest ambition for high school was probably fading into obscurity with her fellow geeks.

But that's high school.

“I did it for me.” I suspected she could tell I was lying. I
had
done it for her. But that still didn't make it the wrong thing to do. “The guy's a jerk.”

Isobel pushed her glasses higher up on her nose, and I knew she was every bit as uncomfortable discussing what had just happened as me. “You didn't need to punch him.”

I shrugged. “Nothing else came to mind.”

“Just . . . don't do it for me again, okay?” I winced as another wave of pain rolled through me. My thrashed limbs sure wished I had been more like Gandhi and less like Mohammed Ali. I forced a grin anyway.

“I'll take that under consideration.”

The five-minute warning bell sounded, and my friends melted into the surging crowd of students hurrying for class, although not before Logan sent Scott a glare that said:
You hurt her, I kick your ass.

“So we're done then?” Scott asked casually. He tapped his camera when I stared at him blankly. “You've got your story, I've got my photos. Your master plan is complete.”

“That was
not
my master plan,” I insisted, even though I doubted he would believe me. “I didn't show up to lunch thinking,
Hmm, I think I'll get into a fight with a football player today!
”

“But you don't regret it. Even if you could go back and change how things went down, you wouldn't.” He made it a statement, not a question.

“Sure I would.” I gestured to the eye that was definitely going to have one hell of a shiner. “I would've ducked, for starters.”