There’s nothing to look at in chemistry but Abe and Marion.
Her hair is down.
At one point Abe reaches over and touches it and I don’t think she even notices. Not like when Tommy’s hand was in her hair. Not like when it was mine.
I look out the window and think about the game. I wonder if Coach will even play me. He bitched me out in front of everyone and benched me in practice yesterday.
But I can still run. I need to run. Especially if I’m going to have to sit here for another fifty minutes and watch the backs of their heads.
* * *
Coach benches me.
I dig my cleats into the grass and bounce my knees to keep them warm. I haven’t sat the bench since freshman year.
Time clicks by. I keep looking to Coach. Waiting for that head-nod. But he doesn’t look my way.
We’re down by two at the end of the third and Conner drops himself next to me. He’s the only one holding up the offensive line without me out there. The replacement striker is too slow. He can’t keep pace for the whole game.
“Their left fullback is weak,” I tell Conner as he squirts water down his neck. “If you drive it up the right you’ll have an open shot. I’d set you up if—” I glance at Coach and dig my knuckles into the bench.
“Don’t blame Coach for that,” he says, tossing the water bottle to my feet. The whistle blows and Conner returns to the field.
The other team scores a goal. We score none. And I don’t get up from that bench till it’s over.
* * *
They’re in the hall together. Again. Abe against the locker next to hers. Marion putting her books away. Sun shoots down the hall and I’m not paying attention to her hand on his elbow. Only, my feet are walking. Toward them.
Abe sees me and his grin falls. I step between them and lean my hand against the locker. My shoulder in Abe’s face.
“Excuse you,” he snaps, stumbling back, and Marion scowls. I swallow hard. I’ve seen that look before. On other girls. Not her.
“I need to talk to you,” I say, and she frowns.
“Then talk.”
I shoot a glare over my shoulder at Abe and my fingers curl into a fist against the locker.
“You mind?” I say, and he flicks hair out of his eyes.
“Kind of.”
I drop my shoulder and face him. “Kind of? Are you sure you want—”
“We were having a conversation,” Marion interrupts, and I look back at her. She’s pissed. “If you have something to say, Kurt, say it.”
A locker slams behind us and suddenly everything’s too loud. I crack my knuckles against the aluminum and roll my shoulder.
“Say it,” she says quietly, without the anger of the moment before, and I think maybe she wants to know.
Only, I don’t do this.
Any of it.
I drop my arm and I’m gone.
* * *
I lean against the brick of the school and kick the grass.
I want a cigarette.
Instead I pull my cell phone out and call home. Maybe Dad will let me take Josie out of the house. Go bowling. Get ice cream. So she’s not rotting in that house all day long. So it’s not just the two of them. Maybe it’s my turn to get her out of that cave.
Students pour out of the building and I see Troy, fighting the crowd with his practice bag on his shoulder. He catches my eye when he reaches the gym door and steps to the side.
“Sucks that Coach didn’t play you yesterday,” he says, and I shrug, lifting the phone for him to notice.
“Right,” he acknowledges, but then he stands there another moment rolling a rock under his foot.
“Coach will get over it,” I say. “Especially when he decides he wants to start winning again.”
Troy kicks the rock into the grass.
“You should really apologize to the B-squad,” he says.
I stare at him and he stands his ground. He’s not angry, just matter-of-fact.
The phone rings in my ear, but no one picks up. There’s no machine. No voice mail.
Nothing.
“Right,” Troy says, stepping off and opening the gym door. “See you at practice in ten.”