I searched for the disgruntled parent, but teenagers surrounded me. I squeezed myself into a smaller space.
“Did you hear that woman?” I asked Tucker.
“What woman?”
“The one who said the thing about volleyball players being sluts.”
Tucker looked around. “Are you sure that’s what you heard?”
I shook my head. “Must’ve been nothing.” I’d learned a long time ago that asking someone else if they heard something was much safer than asking them if they saw it. Most people didn’t trust their ears as much as they trusted their eyes. Of course, auditory hallucinations were also the most common kind of hallucinations. Not good for me.
“Now cheerleading, that’s a sport. A sport with dignity. You make it or you don’t. There’s no gray area, not like with volleyball.”
Her voice mingled with the crowd and the squeak of shoes on the court, then faded out.
Tucker shifted beside me. “The legend says that some chick who went to East Shoal years ago was so obsessed with high school that she refused to leave it, and, in a weird suicide stunt, made the scoreboard fall on herself. Now her soul inhabits the scoreboard, influencing matches to help East Shoal win. Or lose. Depends on how she feels that day, I guess.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that before? Geez, I thought everyone was obsessed with it for no reason.”
“Well. I don’t know if everyone’s obsessed with it because of the legend or if the legend grew because everyone’s obsessed with it. Anyway, McCoy says we’re not supposed to talk about it. But if you really want creepy, you should watch him take care of it. Cleans every lightbulb by hand. Caresses it.”
I laughed.
Tucker paused, his neck and ears turning red. He fidgeted. “There’s also the myth about a python in the ceiling tiles, being fed by the lunch ladies. But that one’s not too interesting. Do you know about Red Witch Bridge?”
I shot him a look out of the corner of my eye. “I’ve heard of it.”
“Never drive through the covered bridge by Hannibal’s Rest at night. You hear the witch scream right before she rips you to shreds and leaves your car empty by the side of the road.” A gleam of excitement lit his eyes as he waited for my reaction. Normally he only got that look when he was telling me about one of his conspiracy theories.
“Have you ever done it?” I asked.
“Me? Drive through Red Witch Bridge? No, I’m brave as soggy potato salad.”
“You? Soggy potato salad? No.”
Tucker laughed and puffed out his skinny chest in mock bravado. “I know I don’t look it, but I’d run the other direction before I got anywhere near that bridge.” He dropped the act and offered me the Coke. “Thirsty?”
“You don’t want it?”
“Nah. Bought it and then remembered that I hate soda.”
I took it hesitantly. “You didn’t put anything in it, did you?”
“Do I look like that type of person?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Soggy Potato Salad. You’re a wild card.”
I technically wasn’t supposed to have caffeine—my mother said it made me too excitable and screwed with my medicine, which made her a liar because I felt perfectly fine whenever I broke the rules—but I drank it anyway.
“I see your textbooks have had a rough day.” Tucker prodded the binding of my calculus book.
“Mm,” I said. “Stray cat found its way into my locker.”
“Superglue will fix that right up.”
Superglue? Now there was an idea. I glanced down at Miles. He was staring over his shoulder at us, eyes narrowed. The enormity of this balancing act hit me all at once, made my stomach lurch. I couldn’t let him walk all over me, but I couldn’t make him angry, either.
Tucker gave him the finger. Miles turned back to the court.
“I’ll regret that later,” Tucker said, “when my steering column is gone.”
Either Tucker would regret it, or I would.
“Are you okay?” Tucker asked. “You look like you’re going to vomit.”
“Yes.” No. “I’m okay.” This was the least okay thing that had happened to me since the Hillpark Gym Graffiti Incident.
I realized too late that I’d snapped at him. I didn’t mean to be harsh, but I hated worry, and pity, and that look people got when they knew something wasn’t okay with you and they also knew that you were in denial about it.
I wasn’t in denial. I just couldn’t let it slip this time.
Chapter Seven
I spent the rest of the game flipping my focus back and forth between my homework and Miles. He didn’t look back up at us, but I knew he knew I was watching him.
I distracted myself by trying to think of ways to pay Tucker back for the Coke. He ignored me when I brought it up and changed the subject to conspiracy theories— Roswell, the Illuminati, Elvis faking his own death, and when Miles glared up at us again, a nice little story about a Nazi moon base.
Tucker was the sort of intelligent, history-savvy person I could throw at my mother and watch him stick, but also the sort of person I’d never do that to, because I had a soul.
Then I thought, Hey, I could hug him. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I hugged him. But I knew that physical contact meant certain things in the world of normal social conduct, and while I trusted Tucker more than most of the other people I knew, I didn’t want to mean those certain things toward him.
Tucker left with the crowd when the game ended. I stayed behind to help the club, but they were so quick and efficient that the net was down and the ball carts stowed before I’d stepped off the bleachers.
Miles and Jetta stood at the scorer’s table. When I walked up to them, they fell silent; I was pretty sure they hadn’t been speaking English.
“What?” Miles snapped.
“Do you need me for anything or can I go home?”
“Yeah, go.” He turned back to Jetta.
“Bis später, Alex!” Jetta smiled and waved as I walked away. Apparently any feelings I’d hurt by not shaking her hand had been forgotten.
“Um. See you,” I replied.
Outside the school was pandemonium. I expected big crowds after football games, but this looked like the entire school had formed one huge tailgating party. At eight at night. After a volleyball game. On the first day of school.
There was no way I could do a sufficient perimeter check here, so I went for plan B: Get out. I wheeled Erwin out of the bushes where I’d hidden him, and hoped to God no one noticed me. The people closest to the school entrance were the men still standing on the roof, the few football players probably waiting for their girlfriends, and Celia Hendricks and two other girls, doing who the hell knows what.