Sell Out (8 page)

“What elephant?” I choked out, wishing our teacher would start talking, and I could avoid this conversation.

“You and Blake.” She furrowed her brow. “Why? What did you think I was talking about?”

My relief was so huge it came with muffled laughter. “No. I-I knew you meant Blake. Of course. I mean, it’s
Blake
.” Sheesh. I was the world’s worst liar.

Her head tilt and inquisitive stare said she didn’t believe me.

“He, um, asked me out for this Saturday.” I hadn’t planned to say anything, but desperately wanted her to stop examining me. It worked.

She sat straight, muffled a shrill, “Details, details, details!”

“Calm down. There’s nothing to tell. I told him I couldn’t go.”

A bird could have nested in her open mouth. “You said
NO
? To Blake Mason?” She leaned over and rested her palm against my forehead.

I slapped it away. “Stop.” She didn’t get it. Bringing a guy home to meet my dad was out of the question.

“Do have any idea how lucky you are? You were invited to the head table during your first class. It took me two months before I made any real friends.” Her eyes flickered to a girl at the front of the class, and I wondered if there was more to the story.

I suddenly felt like I should apologize. “I’m not trying to sound ungrateful. It’s just that I can’t.”

“Can’t? Can’t what?”

“Date, okay?” I put my head in my hands, embarrassed. Normal girls dated. Normal girls brought boys over for dinner and family barbeques. Normal girls didn’t have to worry about some hyped-up guy selling her story to TMZ.

Zoe tapped her finger to her lips. “Super strict parents. Should have guessed with the homeschool thing.”

“Something like that.”

Ms. Harrell flipped off the lights by the Smart Board and started to write an equation.

“Don’t worry,” Zoe whispered and winked. “I’ve got it all figured out. I don’t know Blake very well, but Chugger and I were in the same biology group last year.”

I shrank into my chair as she pulled out her phone and started furiously texting. Whatever was happening under Zoe’s fingertips scared me almost as much as cheap polyester. The lies were piling up. One after one, they multiplied. My father always said no lie was small or white or insignificant. And yet, to be normal, truth had suddenly become my enemy.

*

I leaned against
the doorframe of my final class and stared at all the missing students from yesterday. One more class. One more chair to find. One more group of girls asking me about Blake Mason.

Three seats remained empty. One in the front and two in the back of the room. I chose solitude and scurried past the curious glances. For once, I understood why Daddy opted to just rent out a restaurant instead of trying to go in disguise. People were much too nosy.

My purse vibrated and I froze. Nobody had that number but my dad, Aunt Josephine and Principal Rayburn. I jerked my bag up, fumbling to make sure something wasn’t wrong.

Unknown:
You have Ms. Bakerfield for sixth period? Poor thing.

I checked the room. A blond girl had her phone in her lap, and another guy had ear buds hidden under his long hair. I slouched in my desk, hiding the phone on my lap, and punched in a response.

Me:
Who is this?

Unknown:
The guy who did all the work in first period.

Me:
Cody?

He dropped into the seat next to me, cell phone clutched in his hand. Our eyes met and he smiled. Not Chugger’s cocky smile or the confident swagger that surrounded Blake. A sweet smile, like we were old friends.

Cody:
You look surprised.

Me:
I am. You haven’t said more than two words to me all day.

Cody:
Maybe I’m shy.

The guy could practically have a conversation with just one look. Quiet, deliberate, fascinating, yes, but nothing about his squared shoulders and searching gaze said, “shy.”

Me:
I’m not buying that for a second.

Cody:
Ok. Maybe I’m intrigued.

My insides fluttered and I peeked at him. He sat back, eyes locked to the front like Ms. Bakerfield was the most interesting person ever. She wasn’t, but Cody might be.

Me:
How did you get my phone number?

Cody:
I’m resourceful.

Me:
You must be. It’s unlisted.

Cody:
I’m also a pro at Google, Ms. Rock Star Princess.

My phone suddenly felt like a boulder.

Me:
Does anyone else know?

I looked up after typing, my stare icy. I shouldn’t blame him, but I did. He shook his head with an answer that allowed me to take a full breath.

Cody:
Don’t worry. I won’t say anything.

Maybe it was the way worry crinkled his brow or the way his shoulders fell forward, but I believed him.

Me:
You’d really keep my secret?

Cody:
Secret keeping is what I do best.

I inhaled deeply and tried to calm the nerves assaulting my stomach. Even if Cody did keep my secret, the truth was bound to slip out at some point. Not just that Donnie Wyld’s daughter was attending high school in North Carolina, but that the reason was because he was sick. Pictures of my dad would be plastered on every paper in every supermarket with some cheesy headline like, “Rock Star’s Days Are Numbered.”

Me:
I actually thought no one would recognize me.

Cody:
They probably won’t. I’m a rock junkie. Totally on another level.

I looked sideways at Cody. He had eased back in his seat, one notch above a slouch, and studied me with fascination. He flashed his rare smile and somehow it pushed the storm clouds away.

Me:
That’s a bold statement. Especially to someone who knows music as well as I do.

Cody:
Test me.

I bit my lip and racked my brain for something that would stump him.

Me:
Colitas?

Cody:
Hotel California. First verse. Means marijuana in Mexican slang.

Me:
I’m impressed.

Cody:
Your turn. Dec 9th, 1967. Jim Morrison.

Me:
Arrested on stage for causing a riot.

Cody:
You might just be my soul mate.

My burst of laughter earned a stern frown from Ms. Bakerfield. I slipped my phone into my bag, unwilling to lose it like she promised would happen my first day. But even without Cody’s words on my fingertips, my body flushed with an unfamiliar simmer. I tried to focus on the lecture. But the part of my brain in charge of analyzing and processing data was turned off. Blocked out by the brown-eyed boy who just made me regret accepting a group date with Blake.

T
he high from
texting with Skylar dissipated the minute I stepped into the gym—mats waiting, coaches ready with whistles dangling from their lips, the air heavy with anticipation.

Wrestling drills.

Any other day I’d be stoked, ready to show off my skill and power. But today, my throbbing skin ached and stung like a thousand wasps had attacked me. I’d slathered on three rounds of aloe, but lifting my arms still hurt.

Blake, on the other hand, sported a nice tan and an out-for-blood expression.

Standing opposite me, he hopped, and then crisscrossed his arms for a lengthy stretch. “Joey said you and Skylar were awfully cozy in sixth period today.”

His spies were merciless. “We may have sent a few texts.”

He cracked his neck, twisting it side to side, but kept his eyes locked on mine. “I heard it was more than a few.”

“So?” I knew that look in his eyes. Possession, ownership. Like a kid with a shiny new toy in his greedy little fist.

His eyes flashed. “So, you know I’m into her.” The king’s authority rolled off his tongue.

“What about Lindsay?”

“Lindsay and I are on a break.” His shoulders tensed, his hands clenched before releasing. “I’m not going to be a monk in the meantime.”

Irritation inched up my spine. He wasn’t even serious about Skylar. “So what? I can’t even talk to her?”

“You can talk to her all you want.” He stretched his arm across his chest. “As long as I’m standing right there.”

Coach Taylor approached, glancing between the two of us before lifting his whistle. The excitement on his face meant he noticed our intense exchange.

Blake scanned me, sized me up, and seemed unimpressed. “This is going to be a great year.”

The whistle blew and we attacked, slamming into each other like two bears going after the same fish. Arms locked, bodies pressed together, muscles strained as we fought for control.

Blake’s hands shifted and his fingers pressed into my enflamed skin like a branding iron. I faltered for only a second, trying to block out the pain. But a second was all he needed. I was trapped; his weight pushed me onto my back despite fighting against him with all my strength.

My second shoulder hit.

Match over.

It didn’t matter that I was taller and stronger and more skilled than Blake. Or that my sunburn gave him a significant advantage. All that mattered was timing, and Blake just proved himself the Alpha.

“Nice job, Blake. Cody, get your head in the game. You’re worse now than you were at the start of the school year!” Coach Taylor turned to watch the next group of boys go at it.

I pushed Blake off me. He stood and offered a hand I wanted to slap away, but I accepted the help back to my feet.

He grinned as if we’d been playing Xbox and not vying for dominance. “Skylar’s parents are all kinds of strict, so we set up a group date on Saturday. And, don’t worry, I’ve already picked out your girl.” He slapped my shoulder and took off toward the circuit loop we needed to run through between drills.

A fire that had nothing to do with my sunburn engulfed me as I stared at his retreating form. Blake had always been an arrogant jerk, but being king had multiplied it by a thousand.

It wasn’t enough that he had a date with Skylar. He was going to make me watch every second of it.

H
enry returned to
school on Friday after missing two days. He walked by after second period with a hoodie pulled low on his face like he wanted to remain invisible.

“Hey,” I said, leaning against the locker next to his. “Where have you been?”

He shut his locker and looked at me.

I flinched. He had a green and black bruise below his right eye. His lip had scabbed down the center. “Oh, my gosh, Henry! What happened?”

“Car accident.” His answer sounded dull and rehearsed. “No airbag.”

I wanted to reach out and touch him, soothe the pain I saw in his eyes. “Does it still hurt?”

“A little, but the doc says I’m healing up nicely.” He pointed to his side. “Only one broken rib.”

“I guess you’re tougher than you look.”

An arm draped around my shoulders. “Henry, my man.” Blake put out a fist to Henry who bumped it with cautious eyes. “I heard you took out a very innocent tree.”

“Yeah. Good thing I had a seatbelt on. From what I understand, it could have been a lot worse.” Henry kept his eyes locked on Blake’s.

“Not anymore. I’m going to take care of it.”

Take care of it? My mind whirled with a million questions.

Henry shuffled back a step, his mouth open. “Really?”

Blake nodded and a genuine smile crossed Henry’s face. A smile that radiated relief, joy, and surprise all wrapped into one shiny package. There may have even been tears. “I won’t mess up again.”

Blake pulled me closer, although I was too absorbed in Henry for it to matter. “I know. We’re all good.”

Henry walked backwards two steps before turning. His posture was now straight. His shoulders no longer slumped.

Blake slid his hand down my back. “Everything’s all set for tomorrow night. We’ll meet you at Mass Theater 12 at seven. Play some pool. Watch a chick flick if you want.”

I was still staring after Henry, hardly listening to Blake’s words. “What was that all about?”

Blake tugged on my hair, and I turned. His mouth and eyes pulled down like he felt the same pity I did for Henry.

“There was a big cheating scandal last year. Caused an uproar throughout the school.”

“Henry cheated?”

“No. He was the narc. Got a lot of students in trouble. Kids who were just trying to stay above the tide. It’s not easy to maintain Madison standards.”

His words landed like a cement block on my chest. Right or wrong, Henry had broken the unspoken code among teenagers—never tell.

“Is that why nobody talks to him?”

“People take loyalty very seriously here. But I can’t condone violence.”