ON MONDAY, I LEARNED OF THE phenomenon known as the Dust Off. Not from Eli but from the organizer himself, during lunch.
I searched for an isolated seat where I could force-gag a rectangular slice of pizza down my throat. A crowded table in the middle of the cafeteria generated most of the noise in the room, a murmuring roar. Pretty girls and bulky guys packed in so tight some didn’t have chairs. Yet a lanky kid with dirty-blond hair waved more people over. I turned to see which attractive/athletic person was being beckoned. The only thing behind me was a wall.
I looked back to what was literally the center of attention, and the kid changed his gesture. He pointed at me, mouthed the words “Yeah, you.”
I moved toward them, reluctantly. In a different lunch period, Zach Lynch would be the alpha in this popularity pack, and going to his lair would lead to something stupid or violent. Probably both. The influence of the school’s football star might extend beyond a single lunch period, meaning I could still be walking into a bad situation. The worst thing: that realization came when I was already among them.
The kid that waved me over sat on a table, his legs swinging. His skinny jeans were so tight they looked like scar tissue. He wore an equally tight black T-shirt under a denim jacket. All in all a lightweight. One punch would knock him into his next class. I sized up other, more formidable guys in the group as most of the conversations tapered off. Everyone became aware of my presence, and my skin went clammy, making my underclothes stick to me.
Skinny Jeans said, “You’re new. Nick, right?”
“Yeah. Who are you?”
“Carrey.” He tapped a large black guy in a letterman jacket on the shoulder. Seeing other brown faces relaxed me. “This is Lorenz.”
“’Sup.” Lorenz offered his palm and I slapped it.
Carrey introduced me to a few more people, who were friendly enough, but I still didn’t get where this sudden burst of goodwill was coming from. I’d eaten here all last week and no one cared. Why the change now?
My cold pizza got colder and I noticed a couple of hot girls at the end of the table with a dark-haired guy wedged between them. He was twisted away from me—to better manage the girl in his lap. With his free hand, he stroked the thigh of the second girl, who sat on the table, kind of like Carrey, but with her legs spread so that the guy and girl #1 were positioned between them.
They all wore jeans, so it wasn’t like the girl on the table was full-on panty vision, but still . . . it was raunchy. I guess I’d brought a little bit of Idaho with me. There, couples couldn’t get that close at a school dance, forget about a broad-daylight three-way in the middle of the cafeteria. I expected some teacher to break it up, but all of them seemed interested in something other than the erotic powwow I was witnessing.
Carrey said, “Hey, D, he’s here.”
The dark-haired middle of the people sandwich craned his neck and spotlighted me with bright, traffic-light green eyes. “My man!”
He nodded and the girl in his lap climbed off, pouting. The girl on the table swung one leg up and away, but slowly, for the boy’s benefit. The move might score her bonus points at a future strip club audition, but today it just allowed “D” an escape from her thigh lock.
“D” stood, his long cargo shorts exposing half of his muscular calves, and a loose, natty sweater hung over his torso. He was my height, but lighter, fitter. He bounced when he walked. All swagger.
Hey, D, he’s here. . . .
What did “D” want with me? When he introduced himself, I knew. Because of Eli. “What’s up, Nick. I’m Dustin. Heard some good stuff about you.”
“Then he’s all like, ‘People said Zach’s boys jumped you but you gave them the business,’ and everyone started laughing,” I said to Eli in the J-Room after school.
He leaned back in his chair with a serious look on his face. “Go on.”
I told him the rest, about how Dustin kept giving me props for standing up to “Roid Rage Zach” and then invited me to his party on Saturday.
“Anything else?” Eli said.
“No, the period bell rang and everyone jetted. But he told me to come to the”—I felt stupid calling it a Dust Off, a horrible play on Dustin’s name—“party. Just like you said.”
He stroked his chin like there was hair there. “It happened faster than I thought, but I think we’re still okay.”
“About that . . .”
“You want to know how I knew he’d invite you,” he said.
I shook my head. “No. I got that part figured. You told me Russ had been running his mouth, and that got my schedule changed. Thing is, I don’t think Russ would’ve told people I put up a good fight. Makes Zach look bad. But Dustin couldn’t shut up about all this respect I had because of the way I handled myself. Funny how neither version mentions you showing up with your trusty camera.”
He went silent.
“Eli?”
“Okay, I leaked the story. With some edits.”
My fingers curled around an imaginary roll of quarters. “What do you think you’re doing, man?”
“I knew if you had enough buzz, people would notice, and you’d get an invite to the Dust Off. It’s a good thing.”
I don’t like people telling me what’s good for me. We hardly ever agree. “Let me guess, you didn’t get an invite.”
He wouldn’t look me in the eye. “I’m not into cliquey stuff like that.”
“What, I’m supposed to go spy on the kids at this party, bring you some dirt to print in your paper? Then they can treat both of us like outcasts?”
He jerked like I’d jabbed him with something hot. “It’s not like that, Nick.”
“Right now it seems like you’re using me for . . . hell, I have no idea what this is about. Here’s what I do know: the story you ‘leaked,’ that’s going to get back to Zach, if it hasn’t already. You think he’s going to pat me on the back and invite me to his house? I don’t need you making more trouble for me, Eli.”
I grabbed my stuff, for once heeding all the warnings I’d heard from the U.S. Marshals over the years. Whatever Eli was trying to pull me into smelled bad. I didn’t need details; I just wanted to steer clear. Plus, I had to get to the conference call with Bertram. “I’m gone.”
“Nick, wait. You have to go to that party.”
“I’m going, but as a normal freaking guest. Not your spy.”
Eli stood, searching for something to say. I wasn’t going to give him the chance. He seemed like a decent dude, and I appreciated him helping me with my Zach Lynch problem last week, but I didn’t need his covert schemes. I had enough of that going on at home.
If there was one thing I was good at—one skill I’d honed through all my identities—it was getting people to back off. For good. I puffed up to say some truly foul things to Eli. Not that he deserved it, but it was kind of like Modern Battlefield, sometimes it took a big bomb to end the game. Things would be easier if I left with him hating me.
Before I could launch my offensive, we were interrupted.
“I’m not your answering machine, Eli.” Reya Cruz stepped into the J-Room. “Turn on your phone, you pendejo. . . .”
She and I stood there staring at each other, and I couldn’t think of one harsh thing to say.
The last time I saw her up close she’d been in gym gear, and incredible. In street clothes—stretchy low-rise jeans and a tight tee—she shamed a few fashion models.
She swept dark hair behind one ear. “Nick, hey, you haven’t been in gym.”
“Schedule change.”
“Right.” She looked at her shoes.
“I solved the mystery. I know what the R stands for.”
That pulled a smile from her, one that faded fast. She blurted, “I heard about what happened between you and Zach. I’m so sorry. He—I, I mean, I shouldn’t have been talking to you right in front of him. We’ve been over, for two months now, but he still likes to pull the stupid macho crap as if it’s cute. It isn’t. I’m sorry.” She met my eyes again. “I heard Zach bit off more than he can chew with you.”
Eli chimed in, “Really? That’s what you heard?”
I looked to him, knew what he was getting at. His “leaked story” had scored me some cool points with his sister. That didn’t change anything between me and him.
Reya told Eli, “What’s it to you? By the way, you’re about to lose your phone privileges. Mami’s been calling you. ‘There’s no reason to have it . . .’”
“‘. . . if I don’t pick up,’” Eli finished, grabbing the phone from his bag. “I know. I know.”
Reya turned her attention back to me, asking me about my classes and how I liked Stepton. Good and good, I told her. With her, everything was good. I wanted to stay longer, but Bertram’s call was in fifteen minutes.
“I gotta run. This thing with my parents . . . ,” I said, letting it hang on purpose.
“Sure,” Reya said. “It’s nice talking to you again.”
Eli interrupted, “Reya, you going to the Dust Off this weekend?”
She said, “You know it. What about you, Nick?”
“Yeah.” Eli stared me down. “What about you?”
“I’m thinking about it,” I said as coolly as I could manage. Eli, still manipulating.
She said, “I hope you do. I’ll look for you there.”
I nodded and backed into the hall. I was still pissed at Eli, but seeing Reya again sapped some of my irritation. I checked the clock on my phone as I walked. Now I had ten minutes to get home. I could make it, but I was thinking beyond the conference call. To the Dust Off.
Where she’d be looking for me.