Call It What You Want(39)

I’m quicker on the uptake today, and I swivel my head around to see Connor striding toward us. I expect him to smack me on the back of the head or something equally moronic, but instead, he’s glaring at Owen. “What did you just say?”

Owen snaps his eyes back to his sandwich and doesn’t say anything.

Connor moves closer. He’s never been a bully, but he has a pretty short fuse for people jerking him around. It’s because he can’t do anything about how often his father does it.

He’s all but looming over Owen. “I asked you a question. What did you just say?”

“Leave him alone,” I say.

Connor ignores me. “Did you call me a prick?”

Owen’s gone still, the sandwich suspended between the table and his mouth. His eyes seem fixed on the bread, the yellow-and-white line of egg salad. It reminds me of the way bunnies go still when they sense a predator. Like a complete lack of motion will render him invisible.

“Leave him alone, Connor.”

“New boyfriend, Lachlan?”

“Why? Jealous?”

That gets his attention. He swings his head around in my direction. “Are you trying to start something?”

“You’re the one who came over here.”

He puts his hands on the table and leans down. I’m sure he expects me to back off and wither like Owen is doing, but something has changed since Mr. London’s office this morning. Maybe it’s knowing I have nothing more to lose. Maybe it’s realizing I’m not the only one with problems. I have no idea.

I do know I’m sick of hiding from Connor and his friends, like I did something wrong.

I hold his eyes. Keep my voice even. “How’s your dad?”

He jerks back. It sounds like an innocuous question, but it’s a low blow, because I know more about Connor’s relationship with his father than anyone else, including Lexi Miter.

Emotion flickers in Connor’s eyes, some combination of rage and regret. “Go to hell, Rob.”

“Tell him I said hi.”

Connor draws himself up. For an instant, I think he’s going to shove me off the bench and slam me into the ground.

Mr. Kipple must notice us, because his voice calls out from forty feet away. “Mr. Tunstall. Mr. Lachlan. Is there a problem?”

Connor’s hands are curled into fists at his sides. If we were in a cartoon, steam would be coming out of his ears. “No problem,” he calls back tightly. He looks back at me. “Tell him yourself.”

“Is that an invitation?”

He gives me a cynical look and takes a step back. “Yeah, sure. Come on over. Big party Saturday night.” Then he snaps his fingers. “Oh wait. You can’t. Don’t you have to chew your dad’s food or wipe his ass or—”

“Stop. Rob. Stop.” Owen’s voice, a low rush across the table. He’s grabbed hold of my forearm.

I’m halfway out of my seat, and I didn’t even realize it. My jaw is clenched so hard it hurts. All I see is red.

Connor laughs and walks away.

“Sit,” says Owen. His eyes are as big as saucers. “Kipple is still looking over here.”

I ease back onto the bench of the cafeteria table. I know better than to provoke Connor. I might know how to push his buttons, but he knows all of mine, too.

I pick up my sandwich. “Sorry.” My voice sounds like I’ve been eating gravel. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

We eat in silence for a while.

Eventually, Owen lets out a nervous laugh. “I thought he was going to break my jaw for calling him a prick.”

“Nah, Connor’s usually all talk.” It’s so weird to discuss my former best friend like this. Like he’s a specimen I once studied, not a guy I grew up with like a brother. “It would take more than that.”

“Why did he get mad when you brought up his dad?”

I hesitate.

Owen picks up on it. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, it’s—it’s fine.” I don’t owe Connor anything. In fact, a dark, angry part of me wants to spill all his secrets on the floor of this cafeteria so our classmates can see who they’re idolizing. “He and his dad don’t get along. He used to try to pit us against each other. ‘Why can’t you be more like Rob?’ That kind of thing. It used to make Connor nuts.”

“Oh.”

I can tell from his voice that it doesn’t sound like enough. I hesitate again. “It’s not just that. Connor’s dad is … hard on him.”

“What, like he knocks him around?”

“No, it’s not like that. He …” I rack my brain, trying to think of a suitable example. “Last year, Connor got a C on a midterm and his dad locked him out of the house all night.”

“Oh.”

“In January. In the freezing rain.” He made him go to school the next day, too. Connor texted me and asked me to drive him to school, and I remember thinking it was weird because he had his own car. He climbed in the passenger seat and shivered the whole way to school, then came down with the flu the next day.

His dad made him take Motrin and go to school anyway. Made him play lacrosse, too. The coach benched him when Connor puked in the middle of the field.