Existence (Existence Trilogy #1)(3)
“Asshole,” she murmured, watching him relocate to the jock table.
I hated seeing them like this. The three of us had been friends since third grade. Back then, Wyatt had been all arms and legs. Now, he towered over everyone with his long, muscular body. Miranda hadn’t been immune to his sudden stud qualities last year. Now, she couldn’t stand him.
“Listen, Miranda, I was thinking, maybe if you two talked about what happened without you accusing him, things might work out.” I’d tried this before and she always ignored me.
Sure enough, she started shaking her head causing her brown curls to bounce back and forth. “I know what happened, Pagan. I don’t want to talk it out with him. He’s a big, cheating liar.” She took a violent chomp out of her Granny Smith apple and continued glaring in Wyatt’s direction. “Look at him acting like he fits in over at that table. I mean, really, who does he think he is?” I followed her gaze. Wyatt sat leaning back in a chair, laughing at something another basketball player was saying.
They all seemed pleased to have Wyatt in their presence.
Normally he sat with us. This year things would be different.
I sighed, wishing I didn’t have to be the one to point out the obvious to Miranda. “He is the only guy in this school who has college scouts coming to his basketball games to watch him play. That’s who he is. Leif may be the big Kahuna on the football field, but I don’t see any college scouts knocking on his door. You can be mad at Wyatt, but he belongs at that table more than anyone else.”
Miranda turned her glare on me and instantly it transformed into a frown. “Well, he can go to college on a basketball scholarship and cheat on all those cheerleaders, then. I should warn them all.” Her voice had taken on a defeated tone as she stood up and walked toward the garbage cans. I watched her, wishing I could find a way to fix this thing between the two of them.
Someone sat down beside me in the chair Miranda had just vacated. I turned in my seat, half expecting to see the soul. Imagine my surprise when it wasn’t the unwanted soul but the arrogant jock.
Chapter Two
“Hey, Pagan, Mr. Yorkley said I needed to come talk to you.” Leif’s voice seemed to snap me out of my momentary shock. If Mr. Yorkley sent him, he needed some sort of academic help. However, I wasn’t sure I wanted to help, nor did I intend on making this easy for him. I managed a “so what” expression and waited in silence. Leif cleared his throat and rubbed his hands on the knees of his jeans, as if he were actually nervous.
“Uh, um, well,” he began, “I mean, that is, I need some help in Speech. It isn’t my thing and Mr. Yorkley said you were the one to talk to about getting some assistance.” He stared straight ahead as he spoke. He hadn’t even glanced over at me. I really didn’t like this guy. He finally turned his gaze my direction. I was sure he bestowed this pitifully hopeful expression on females everywhere, in order to get what he wanted. My stomach betrayed me and quivered from the affect his pleading baby blue eyes evoked. I hated that he could make my body react to him at all, other than to hurl of course.
“This is the first day of school. How can you need help already?” I asked in a voice I hoped sounded annoyed. I wasn’t a simpering idiot who could be moved by a few bats of his long eyelashes, even if my double-crossing body didn’t seem to agree. Surely I was imagining the faint blush on his cheeks.
“Um, yeah, I know, but I, well, that is Mr. Yorkley and I know I’m going to struggle,” he said a little defensively. Leif had always been a good student. I’d been in a few classes with him.
“Why do you both think you’ll struggle? Surely, you’re not afraid to speak out loud in class.”
He shook his head and stared straight ahead again. “No, that’s not it.” I waited but he didn’t say anymore.
Interestingly enough, I became intrigued.
“I don’t really know why you need my help. It’s really simple. You write speeches about the topics assigned and then give them orally. Simple, basic, no fancy strings or hard equations.”
He turned his gaze back toward me with a sad smile. “It isn’t so easy for me.” He paused and acted like he wanted to say more, and then he shook his head and stood up, “Never mind, forget I asked.” I watched him walk past the table of his admiring fans and head outside through the double doors. I experienced a minute pang of guilt for being so hard on him. He’d come to ask for help and I’d basically just made fun of him. I reached for my tray, angry with myself for acting like a jerk. ‘Jerk’ belonged in his job description, not mine.
* * * *
My book bag landed on the kitchen counter with a heavy thump, announcing my return. I headed for the fridge. The fresh squeezed orange juice I’d worked so hard on yesterday sounded good.
“Pagan, honey, is that you?” My mom’s voice called from down the hall. She was huddled in the corner of her office with a large cup of coffee, typing away on her computer. I didn’t have to see her to know this. My mother is a writer.
She lives in stained sweats behind her computer.
“Yes,” I replied. Before I could pour myself a glass of orange juice, the sound of her slippers flopping against the hardwood floors surprised me. This was a strange occurrence. Rarely did she break away from her writing when I came home from school. It was usually closer to dinner time before she graced me with her presence.