CHAPTER

6

Sunday sucks. Zach is in my head like a stupid song. I actually go to church with Dad and Darla. Figure a dose of religion might kick this ugly crap out of me. Unfortunately, Pastor Tom’s sermon has nothing to do with sex … or sin. I try to listen anyway. He’s reading a Bible scripture, and I hate to say this, but it’s really boring. I pick up one of those little pencils on the back of the pew in front of me. Poke the dull lead into my palm. Think about art class. Imagine Zach’s fingers wrapped around a pencil. Then I imagine his fingers wrapped around something else.

Holy …

I noisily shove the pencil back in its little holder. Darla gives me the evil eye. I glare back at her. Cross my arms and slouch into the pew. Hope a lightning bolt doesn’t strike me. Then hope it does. To put me out of my misery. I’d think about Jillia, but I’m not sure church is the right place for that either. So I half listen to Pastor Tom and imagine replacing the alternator in the pickup. Running football passing routes. The homework I have to finish when I get home.

It’s like this for the rest of the day. Zach popping into my head without warning. Me trying to switch my brain to other things. It’s exhausting. And it’s stressing the hell out of me. This is not overactive hormones. Because it’s more than just about sex. I want to be with Zach. Spend time with him. Like, go to a movie. Watch a football game. In addition to being cute, he’s funny. I like him.

It’s a crush. I’m crushing on a friggin’ guy. That’s sick. And I don’t know what to do about it. When I think about going to art class in the morning, I break out in a sweat. I want these feelings to go away. At the same time, I don’t want them to go away.

Yeah, I could have slept in and gone to school an hour late Monday morning. I thought about it. Right this second, I could turn around and spend first period at McDonald’s eating an Egg McMuffin. But here I am, walking to the art building on time. I stand in the doorway of the drawing room. Look inside. The first thing I notice is Zach isn’t there. Then I see Melanie, grinning and waving at me. She pats the empty stool next to her.

Fine. Good a place as any.

Taking a deep breath, I straighten my shoulders and stroll in. Like I’m Brett Miller the football star. Like I’ve got it all under control.

“Hi, Brett,” she says as I settle myself onto the stool.

“Hi, Melanie.”

Her grin stretches to her ears. She does this wriggly thing on her stool, like she’s a puppy that can’t sit still. “Did you have a good weekend?” she asks.

“Sure.” I search around the room. I think the bell is about to ring. Zach’s still not here.

“We’re drawing a still life today,” Melanie says. “Isn’t that cool?”

“Yeah. Cool.” What’s a still life? I swear, it’s like I’m here, but I’m not.

“This seat taken?”

I glance over. My heart speeds up. My throat tightens. “Uh … no,” I squeak out. Recover my normal voice. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“Groovy,” Zach says.

I realize I’m smiling. I hope it’s not a goofy grin, the way Melanie was gawking at me. The thought makes my pits sweat. I force the corners of my mouth down. Shift the easel around, just for something to do. My heart is totally pounding. I look over. Notice he’s taking a zippered pouch out of his backpack.

“Chewing tobacco?” I ask.

He snickers. “Nah. I save that for the weekends.” He pulls out a couple of expensive-looking pencils.

“Wow,” I say. “You bring your own equipment?”

“Yep. Right tool for the right job.”

“That’s what my dad said. When I tried to change a spark plug with a regular socket.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but … exactly.” He smiles. He’s got these dimples in his cheeks.

I clear my throat and stare at the floor. “So you’re serious about this art stuff?”

“Pretty much. I want to be an illustrator when I grow up.”

“That’s awesome. I mean, that you want to grow up and everything.”

He laughs. Our eyes meet.

“Uh, gentlemen?”

I look up front. The entire class is quiet. Mr. Spencer is staring at us with his arms crossed. “If I can have your attention, I’d like to start class.”

“Sure,” Zach and I say at the same time.

My face is hot. I know my cheeks are red. Crap. Crap, crap, crap. Did that look like flirting? Because we weren’t flirting. Were we? Was I? I glance quickly around the room. None of my teammates are here. But they might have friends. A couple kids are eyeing us smugly. Who are they?

I turn away. Try to focus on Mr. Spencer. He’s talking about a bowl of fruit on a table. We’re supposed to draw the bowl of fruit. It’s a still life. Okay. I pick up my pencil.

Except I’m sweating like crazy. The pencil slides in my clammy fingers. I can feel sweat running down my sides. I can’t breathe. It’s so friggin’ hot in here. I’m going to puke. Or explode. I set my pencil down. Whisper to Melanie, “Tell Spencer I got sick.”

She nods with a worried look.

I grab my backpack and run outside.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Miller.” The school secretary peers over her glasses at me. Her forehead is creased with fake sympathy. “It’s too late in the semester to transfer. And all elective classes are full.”

“Even music appreciation?”

“It’s full, Mr. Miller. And even if it wasn’t, it’s—”

“Too late in the semester,” I finish for her. “I get it.” I slide my backpack off the counter. “Thanks.”

“And next time, don’t leave class without a permission slip.”

I stomp out. Barely get out of the way of Principal Nakamura, who’s strolling in.

“Hey, Brett,” he says. “Everything okay?”

“Sure,” I grunt back. Being on the football team has its perks. But there are times I’d rather be a generic student, a kid no one recognizes. “I have to get back to class.”

“Okay, bud.” He slaps my shoulder.

But I don’t go back to class. I sneak out to the football bleachers. I’m a pretty good student. I’ve only skipped a class one other time since I was a freshman. So I feel a little guilty, hiding underneath the stands. But when I think about going back to drawing, my chest tightens up. Like I’m going to suffocate.

I drop my backpack on the ground. Lean against a support post and cross my arms. When I look up, I see gay Nate standing about ten posts away. He’s staring back at me.