Pivot Point (Pivot Point, #1)(21)

Laila hits him on the chest. “It wasn’t idiotic, it was cute. Come on, I can probably even find you some toilets to clean.”

“Ha-ha.”

In the kitchen Duke pulls on his rubber gloves and holds up his hands like he’s about to perform surgery. He even makes orange gloves look adorable.

“What do I do?” he asks.

“Why don’t you just sit over there so you don’t hurt yourself?” I say, pointing at the table.

Laila says, “Oh, Addie, don’t be a poor sport.”

“Says the girl who isn’t getting flesh-eating acid put in her hair.”

Laila sits me on a barstool and separates a section of my hair out from the rest. “Duke, come hold this while I get the stuff ready.”

He stands way too close and smells way too good. I avert my eyes, looking at the green numbers of the microwave clock. Laila walks across the kitchen and turns on the water to fill a bottle.

“You know what else the average girl who’s acting out does?” Duke asks quietly.

I glance once at Laila, but it’s obvious she can’t hear us. “What?”

“She starts spending all her time with a boy who’s no good for her.”

“And that boy would be …?”

“Me, of course.”

“You’re no good for me?”

“Horrible. I’ll take your mind off schoolwork, force you to constantly think about kissing, and make you want to spend all your free time away from home.”

I can hardly breathe. “Sounds tempting … you know, just to go along with my acting-like-the-average-teen plan.”

“Exactly.”

I look up and meet his eyes. “You know we’re nothing alike, right?”

“Isn’t there a reason for the saying ‘opposites attract’?”

“Yes—magnets.”

A spray of water hits me on the side of the face. “Watch out, I’m armed and dangerous,” Laila says, laughing. She turns the spray bottle on Duke.

“No, I’m defenseless.” He drops my hair and scoops me up by the waist, facing away from him.

“You’re using me as a shield?” I ask.

“You don’t make a very good one,” he says. “You’re too small.”

As if to prove his point, Laila lets off a series of squirts. Most hit me, but several hit him. The whole time I push against his forearm in an attempt to get free. He plops me back down on the stool and goes charging after Laila. She screams and runs. When they walk back into the room, he’s holding the squirt bottle and water is dripping down her face.

“I defended your honor,” he says to me.

“You used me as a shield.”

“So what’s this for?” he asks, holding up the bottle.

“We need to get Addie’s hair damp.”

“I’ll be in charge of that,” he says too readily.

“I don’t trust you or your toilet gloves.”

He squirts me once, right in the face. I blow air between my lips, spraying water everywhere, and try to suppress a laugh. “You’re so dead.”

A booming voice calls out from down the hall. “Laila, what’s all this water?”

“It’s nothing, Dad, I’ll clean it up in a minute.”

He pokes his head around the corner and sees Duke and me. “Oh. I didn’t know you had company.”

“Yeah, I do.”

His hair sticks up at odd angles, like he just woke up from a nap. His cheeks seem bonier than the last time I saw him, and the circles under his eyes twice as dark. “Do you have a few bucks I can borrow?”

Laila pats her pockets. “Nope.”

He rubs at his nose, and I’m tempted to rub mine as well. Not just because he did, but because the smell of smoke he brought with him finally reaches me. “Come on, Laila. I’ll pay you back. Your mom didn’t leave me any, and I have a friend coming over in a minute. I owe him money.”

“Sorry. I really don’t have any. I spent my last five bucks on lunch today.”

He stares at her for a long time, probably trying to verify that her thoughts are saying the same thing as her mouth. Laila’s thoughts have most likely shifted to words like jerk-wad. Okay, maybe not the wad part—she probably thought of a more colorful expletive—but still. I can tell Laila feels uncomfortable and I search for a way to change the subject.

“Hi,” Duke says. “You must be Laila’s dad. Nice to meet you. I’m Duke—”

“Duke Rivers. Yeah, I know you. Best high school quarterback in or out of the Compound in over a decade.”

I roll my eyes. Like it’s fair to compare guys outside the Compound to Duke. He has an ability; they don’t.

“Thanks. So you go to the games, Mr. Stader?”

“Not usually, but I read the news feeds. Have you decided which college you’re going to next year?”

Duke rests a hand on my shoulder, and even though it’s wearing a rubber glove it still manages to set my heart racing. “Not yet. I’m working on it.”

“How many offers have you gotten outside the Compound?”

“Several.”

“Wait,” I interrupt. “You’re going to college on the Outside?” Not many people do that.