Call It What You Want(21)

“I remember that feeling,” says Rob, and I go still.

He looks away, as if he’s said too much. I’m not sure what to say.

He clears his throat. “If your dad’s not on your case, what is it?”

I hesitate. He’s so forward. And I’m a terrible liar.

Rob tips his head back and stares up at the fluorescent lights before I can say anything. “God. I’m such a social reject. It’s none of my business. I haven’t talked to anyone in months, so it’s like I forget how.”

“It sounds lonely.”

“You have no idea.” He pauses, and he looks back at me before flipping a page in his notebook. “Now I sound pathetic. Most people probably think it’s what I deserve.”

I should say that I don’t think that—but I don’t know what to think of the boy sitting in front of me.

“Do you think that?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” He hesitates, then fiddles with the metal spiral of his notebook. “My dad used to say that hard work and dedication pay off. I used to believe that was true. I mean, it worked for him. And then it worked for me, too. I mean, I get good grades. I was great at lacrosse. But then … well. You know. And after it all unraveled, I started to wonder about all of it. Like, was I working harder than anyone else at lacrosse, or was I better because my parents had money to pay a private coach? Is that a weird form of cheating? I mean, yes, because it wasn’t our money to spend. But beyond that … I don’t know.” He makes a disgusted sound, and his eyes meet mine. “Sorry. Like I said. Social reject.”

“You’re not a social reject.” But he is. Literally. “Life at home must be really awful.”

He shrugs a little, but his shoulders are tight. He picks up his pencil and spins it through his fingers. “Is your life at home awful?”

No? Yes? I have no idea how to answer his question. “It’s not like yours, I’m sure.”

“You said your sister’s home sick. Is she still?”

I look at my paper. “Yeah.”

The air between us thickens with unspoken words.

Then he says quietly, “Cancer?”

My pencil skips across the page. “What? No!”

He draws back. “Oh. Sorry. You seemed … upset.” He runs a hand across the back of his neck. “What, is she knocked up or something?”

I can’t speak. I literally feel the blood rush out of my face.

He must see it, because his eyes widen by about a thousand percent. “Holy shit. Really?”

I can barely breathe. I can’t believe I gave it away. “Please don’t tell anyone,” I gasp.

“Who the hell would I tell?”

“I … please—” I feel like I’m hyperventilating. “Please.”

“Chill out. I’m not going to say anything. But … wow.” He frowns. “What’s going to happen to her scholarship?”

“We don’t know. She hasn’t made a decision yet. No one knows.” My throat is tight. My chest feels like it’s going to cave in. He might be a social reject, but he knows everyone involved in lacrosse at Eagle Forge. All he’d have to do is mention this juicy bit of gossip to one person, and it could be all over. “Please, Rob. Don’t say anything. My parents would kill me.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone!” He flings his pencil at the table. “God, does everyone think I’m going to screw them over?”

My heart is in my throat. I push back in the chair, but he’s already looking repentant.

His hands are up. He sighs. “I’m sorry. That’s not about you.” A pause. “But seriously. I won’t tell anyone. I’m just trying to keep my head down and graduate.”

My heart begins to slow. Of all people, he probably is the best person I could have told. He really does keep his head down.

A moment passes between us.

“Project?” he says.

I nod. “Project.”

I pick up my pencil, and we get to work.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Rob

If I made a list of all the places I don’t want to go right now, the library would top it.

I sneak in before the first bell on Wednesday, but of course Mr. London is right there at the desk. I can see him through the windows. My book technically isn’t due until next week, but if I don’t return it and find a new one, I’m going to be stuck staring at my lunch later.

I need to get over myself. Maegan told me her sister is struggling with a decision that will affect the rest of her life. I’m standing here debating whether I have the courage to face a librarian.

My father would be so proud.

That thought alone is enough to spur me through the door. I stop at the desk and slide my book onto the Formica surface. I don’t make eye contact with Mr. London. I don’t even say anything.

So brave. I want to punch myself in the stomach.

“Finished already!” Mr. London is reacting like I swept through the doors with unbridled enthusiasm, and a small, dark part of me wonders if he’s mocking me. “What did you think of this one?”

“It was fine.” I’m lying. It’s a five-hundred-page fantasy, and I finished it in two days. It was phenomenal.