Brendan Atcheson narrowed his eyes into slits, then tried raising his chin. No, he still didn’t look anything like Jason Bourne. He just looked like a stupid squinting teenager.
Nothing about the figure in the bathroom mirror was heroic or sexy, or even very manly. Except maybe his height. And his chest wasn’t too bad, between the pec muscles and the beginning of some hair. Not that you could show off a bare chest at school. With a shirt on, he had to be the least sexy person at Guadalupe Middle School, and that included the teachers. (Even Mr. Kendrick was sexy and he was, like, ancient.)
Still, it was weird, because Brendan was pretty sure that when girls giggled, it meant they thought a guy was hot, and girls sometimes giggled around him.
Not Mina Santos, of course. Mina didn’t giggle, and she didn’t seem to find him hot. Then again, why should she? So clumsy he’d trip over his own feet (except on the basketball court) and with a mind that went completely blank when he stood in front of someone like Mina. So he scowled. And according to the mirror, it wasn’t even a sexy scowl. Plus his ears stood out and his beard was pitiful.
But at least he didn’t have to ride on the Big Yellow School Bus anymore. So humiliating to be the only eighth-grader on board. (It still pissed him off that he couldn’t use Jock’s gift toward a better bike, but Sir would’ve known.) Well, maybe a few others still took the bus. But none of Brendan Atcheson’s friends.
The face in the mirror jeered at that. Yeah, like you have friends. He didn’t. (Other than Jock, of course.) The only place he wasn’t the Invisible Boy was on the court. If he got snatched away like the Cuomo girl, nobody’d even notice until the next game. And the other players would be just as happy to have him gone—until they looked at the scoreboard. Just like people were going to notice Brendan Atcheson once he and Jock moved from plans to action. Soon, soon.
He watched as his fingers ran thoughtfully along his jawline. Should he shave? He’d done it just two days ago, but his face was so smooth, it might have been two minutes. With hair as dark as his, you’d think he’d need to shave every day. He probably would eventually. (Maybe twice on nights he had a date.)
Yeah, right. He’d be dead long before he had either a beard or a date.