Call It What You Want(17)

But we don’t work on our group activity at all. We barely exchange three words.

When the bell rings, she disappears into the hallway, as much of a mystery as she was before.



By lunch, isolation is back with full force. I only share one class with Maegan. There’s a part of me that wants to trail after her like a beaten dog looking for a pat on the head, but there’s a bigger part of me that tells the first part to sit down and shut up. I remembered my bottle of water this morning, so I cling to my usual table in the back part of the cafeteria. I have a roast beef sandwich, an orange, a bag of grapes, and a plastic bag of pretzels.

And a big empty table. Today’s novel hits the plastic surface with a thunk. I’m close to the end. I’m going to need to swing by the library again.

I’ve read three pages before I realize someone is standing in front of me.

My eyes lift. It’s Owen Goettler. He’s got a full tray—and when I say full, I mean there’s enough food for six people. Oranges and bananas and bags of chips and pretzels, along with boxes of dry cereal and granola bars.

Something about his stance seems confrontational. I want to ask if he’s asking for donations, because it kind of looks like he is, but considering what I know of him, that feels immeasurably cruel.

I can’t believe I threw that ten-dollar bill at him. In retrospect, that was probably cruel, too. Dismissive.

I put a finger in my book and close the cover. “What’s up?”

“If I keep this stuff, are you going to screw over my mother?”

I stiffen. “I don’t even know your mother.”

“Yeah you do.”

I don’t, actually, but that’s not a hill I’m going to die on. “Well, I’m not going to screw her over. Do what you want. Enjoy your six bags of Goldfish.” I flip my book open again.

He slams his tray down, then shoves the cover of my book closed. “Is there some weird thing about me taking something from you that’s going to screw up the lawsuit? Because—”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

And then I realize his face is red. His hands are trembling at the edge of the tray. He’s either ready to cry or ready to punch me in the face. “My mom said we have to be careful. So if you’re trying to trip me up …”

I have to look away. “I’m not doing anything to you, Owen. The money wasn’t even mine.”

He jerks back. His hands let go of the tray.

I can hear the words almost before he says them. You stole it?

“I didn’t steal it,” I say, before he can speak. My voice is rough. “Connor Tunstall dropped it in the line, and he wouldn’t take it back from me. It was floor money. I didn’t want it. The end.”

He stands there breathing. He doesn’t touch the tray.

I flip my book open again and shuffle through the pages. This dickhead lost my page.

After a minute, he slides onto the bench across from me. He breaks open a banana.

I refuse to lift my eyes from the book, but I go still. “What are you doing?”

“Eating lunch.” He bites off a chunk of banana. “What are you doing?”

“Reading.” But now I can’t focus on the words on the page.

He says nothing else, just continues eating his banana. He does it slowly, the way he eats a cheese sandwich. Tiny bites.

I have absolutely no idea what to do with this. It’s weird. Invasive. I’m tempted to stand up and go find another table.

But then Connor Tunstall himself stops beside this one.

WTF is up with my day?

“Hey, Rob,” he says, his voice full of mocking brightness. “Find a new friend?”

I don’t look at him. “Go to hell.”

Across from me, Owen continues to eat his banana with meticulous precision.

Connor leans down close to him. For an instant, I’m worried he’s going to be a total shit to Owen, but I should know better.

“Don’t trust anything he says. Rob knows how to run a con.”

I keep my eyes on my book. The sword-wielding centurions on the page could have started a massive orgy, for all I know. The words have become a swirling mass of anger and regret.

Owen swallows the piece of banana he was chewing. “I’ll keep my eyes open.” I can’t tell if his tone is sarcastic or genuine.

Not like it matters. I wish he hadn’t sat down.

My jaw is so tight I’m seeing stars. “Go away, Connor.”

“I’m looking out for a classmate. You understand, right?”

I shove up from the bench, and like yesterday, he flinches almost imperceptibly.

But then he laughs and turns away. “Careful, Lachlan. The last thing you need is a suspension.”

It takes me a minute to sit back down. Owen is still picking at his banana. His bizarre collection of snacks sits on the tray beside him.

“So, you know how people say the opposite of love is hate?” he says.

I frown. This is the most surreal lunch period ever. “What?”

“My mom once said that’s not true. She said the opposite of love is indifference. She said love and hate both require directing energy at someone. I think I’m seeing that in action.”

I am so confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”