What We Saw(54)

I tell Dad I will as he latches his thermos into his gray lunch box. As he passes me on the way to the garage, he slides a crisp twenty-dollar bill onto the desk next to my computer. When I turn to tell him thank you, he just nods and closes the door behind him. I hear the automatic door open and his year-old Dodge Ram purrs to life.

I take the twenty back upstairs with my laptop and paper.

Not a bad start for a Monday.

My fear about things being different with Ben ends when I park behind the gym and see him waiting for me. He is leaning against his truck, his backpack slung casually across one shoulder, early man armed with provisions.

He bumps fists with Will, who struts off to class like he’s Captain America. As he goes, Ben turns to me.

“There you are.”

“Waiting for the T-Birds?” I ask.

“Nah. You’re the one that I want.”

I laugh, and he kisses me. We skirt the news vans, walking in the side doors at the end of the hallway hand-in-hand..

Dooney, Deacon, Randy, and Greg aren’t coming back to classes yet. The school board doesn’t want any more media attention, and the guys are all studying at home this week. Stacey isn’t back either, and I’m secretly relieved. I don’t want to have to explain to Ben what happened Saturday afternoon.

Dooney is absent and everywhere at once. His presence looms large even though his seat is empty. A bunch of guys from the basketball team have started wearing his jersey number, 12, emblazoned on armbands with Sharpies. Some of the cheerleaders have made buttons—royal blue with a yellow twelve—and are handing them out before school. I see them everywhere on the way to class, pinned to hoodies, T-shirts, and backpacks.

By the time Mr. Johnston dismisses first period on Monday morning, there is more to the story that surges through the hallways:

Phoebe broke up with Dooney yesterday.

Ben hasn’t heard from Dooney to confirm, but Christy swears up and down that it’s true. As Lindsey, Christy, Rachel, and I wade through the halls toward history, I see Phoebe close her locker with an armload of books as the Tracies approach.

Tracy bumps into Phoebe. Hard. Her books explode in all directions.

Tracie scowls and rolls her eyes, stepping over a binder. The rings have popped open, and its insides spill across the linoleum. Neither one of them stop.

Tracie doesn’t say sorry.

Tracy just yells, “Whoops!”

Then they both laugh and keep walking.

Phoebe is scrambling on her hands and knees to gather her notes and books, but no one is stopping to help her. In fact, no one is stopping at all.

I grab Rachel’s arm. “What the hell?”

Christy shrugs. “That’s what happens.”

I am about to ask her what she means when I see LeRon bump into Phoebe, still squatting to pick up her things. He knocks her sideways onto her hip as Kyle slides his size fourteen high-tops across the papers from her notebook, tearing them into pieces.

“Stop it, you *!” Phoebe is crying in frustration.

“You hear something?” LeRon asks Kyle.

“Nah, man. Don’t hear nothing.”

Reggie cocks his head to one side like he’s listening. “Wait!—oh—no, me neither.”

Phoebe pummels her fist against Kyle’s leg, trying to pull a spiral notebook out from under his shoe. “God. You’re such dicks.”

“We’re dicks?” Reggie says. “You’re the one who dumped Dooney.”

“Such a bitch move.” Kyle spits the words at her, kicking the spiral under his foot a little farther out of her reach.

“Right?” Reggie tosses an arm around Kyle as they start down the hall with LeRon.

I’ve had enough. I thrust my book at Rachel, who grabs it and hisses my name in an attempt to stop me. I storm across the hall.

“Leave her alone,” I tell Reggie, stooping down and sweeping a pile of Phoebe’s stuff toward her.

Kyle turns around, zeroing in on me. “Whatcha gonna do about it?”

“She won’t do a thing.” I look up and see Ben towering over us. “But if you say one more word to her I’ll rearrange your face.”

Kyle wilts. “Bro—I didn’t—”

“See me? Know?” Ben offers him options. “Well, now you have. And now you do.”

The three stooges stutter apologies and it’s cool it’s cool, extricating themselves from the razor wire of Ben’s steady gaze as quickly as they can. I hand Phoebe the last of her ruined papers. She scoops up the whole tangled pile and scrambles away without a word. Ben holds out his hand to help me up. I take it.

“Where’d you come from?” I ask.

He holds up his history text. “Grabbed the wrong book.”

“What is going on?” I ask him.

“People choosing sides,” he says. He checks his watch as Rachel hands me my book. We have to hurry.

Ben pecks me on the lips and winks. “Try not to get caught in the middle.”

Coach Lewis is a drill sergeant with a stopwatch and a clipboard.

Christy is dragging by the end of the third line drill, but she doesn’t stop. When she finally taps the last goal line, Coach clicks the button and nods. “Not bad, Miller.” She pitches Christy a water bottle. Christy raises it in my direction and nods.