Rival Love (10 page)

For the remaining part of the day I try to forget about Skylar. I try to think about my football game instead, but every time I do, my thoughts revert right back to her words. The true hollowness in her voice makes my heart twinge. Damn her. Why? Why in God’s name did she have to affect me so much?

The voice of Ms. Dawson, my precalculus/trigonometry teacher, carries over my thoughts. “Caleb, would you care to step up here and solve this problem for us?”

I blink and focus on her slender hand stretching a black dry-erase marker to me. She waves her hand a little and offers me a smile. I snatch it from her and approach the white erase board. Looking at the problem, I curse under my breath. The problem in front of me looks like straight Japanese and there’s no way I’m going to be able to solve this correctly. Of all the times in the world to not pay attention in class, here it is.

As I’m staring at the board, feeling like a completely stupid jackass, the classroom door opens and relief washes over me. Everyone seems to turn their attention away from the problem I’m supposed to be solving and over to the person entering the classroom. My jaw almost unhinges when I notice it’s Skylar.

“Ms. Fletcher, how may I help you?”

Skylar fidgets with a stack of papers and suddenly hands them to Ms. Dawson. “I don’t think your Calculus 2 class is…well…challenging enough. Mr. Ferrill said I needed to have a talk with you about this. He also said I needed your signature on these forms.”

Unbelievable!
Here I am, working my ass off to get a good grade in this stupid math class and she’s not being challenged enough.

“Come over to my desk. I will see what we can work out for you.” Ms. Dawson turns her attention back to me and says, “Caleb go ahead and solve the problem on the board while I take care of Skylar here.”

Skylar passes by me and glances at the board then at me. She smirks and whispers, “It’s five. Retard.”

Damn nerd!

I write five and walk back to my seat. Hope Ms. Dawson isn’t expecting me to show her how I got that answer. Watch, this will be Skylar’s revenge on me for the toilet prank I pulled on her Sunday. Maybe I should erase my answer before Ms. Dawson sees. Ah, screw it. If it’s wrong, it’s wrong.

“Good job, Caleb.”

Holy shit!
She gave me the right answer.

Lance’s words come rushing back. Maybe having Skylar here isn’t such a bad thing. She could give vital info on how to defeat Harris Academy, and she could help me out in math. But how can I convince her to help me?

Chapter 19

Skylar

Dreading seeing Brian and my mother, I take a cab from school to work. I’m not on the schedule but it doesn’t matter. I need to clear my head. Somewhere. Anywhere but Brian’s house.

The stocky cab driver shoots me dirty looks using the rearview mirror. I pretend to not notice especially when he pulls up to the curb of CJD. I toss him some bills and hope I don’t see the man again.

Making my way to the back where only the staff is allowed, a door swings open and my face nearly misses it. I let out a gasp of surprise and Alex glances over at me. “Sky? What are…Jesus, what happened to your face?”

Dipping my head, letting my hair cover up most of my bruise, I mumble, “It was an accident. I slipped and fell. I’m fine.”

Alex sets down three bags of cups, and looks me over. “Accident? Your slip and fall has very distinctive markings of a handprint. And you don’t look fine.”

I sigh. “It’s nothing.”

“Why are you hiding out here on your day off if it’s nothing?” His eyes flick up and down my five-foot-four frame again. He arches his brows, remaining silent, probably waiting for my response. I don’t give him one. He sighs. “Fine, stick to your terrible lie. But just so we’re clear, you’re not working today looking like that.”

“I won’t.”

He starts to turn away, but stops. “You know I’m only a few years older than you, right? It hasn’t been that long since I was in high school, so if you want to talk, about anything, I’m here.”

I smile, even though it hurts to lift the left side of my mouth. “Thanks, Alex.”

He nods and then leaves. As comforting as it sounds to be able to confide in Alex, I won’t. He’s my boss, and if I start running to him with every little secret or problem or just whatever, things will be awkward.

In the break room, I drop my backpack onto the small round table, snatch a stale raspberry muffin from the basket, and sit in one of the chairs. While I pick off chunks of crumbly muffin, I pull out my books. God, I’m so lame. I’ve never done my homework on a Friday night. But this is better than the alternative.

While I continue munching on stale muffins and completing sheets of homework, I feel a deep pain for my old life. Mostly for Kevin. His kisses on Friday nights, before and after a game. My friends, our personal huddle group in the stands, cheering with stupid glittery signs, and our hair and faces all decorated. With my orange streaks I looked like a tiger, especially with my crazy eyes changing to a wicked burnt orange themselves. But Mikia has this really awesome way of making her own reddish brown hair look like flames. And Sam…Sam’s sunshine-blond pixie cut looked like a sunset.
Is Mia in their trio now?

The thought makes my stomach churn or perhaps it’s all the muffins I inhaled. Before I even realize it, drops of tears splash the tabletop and dot my notebooks. I sniffle, wipe my nose, and begin putting everything back into my backpack.

I don’t want to think about them. I don’t want to think about where I would be if it weren’t for this stupid move. Or if Kevin would have ever come clean with me about Mia if I was still there. It’s better if my mind isn’t set on these kinds of things. Of course, the only other options are thinking about nothing or thinking about my future.

The back pocket of my shorts buzzes. I lift my cell, which I confiscated from my mom’s purse this morning, and read the screen. “Unknown number.” My heart flutters. Maybe it’s Kevin coming to his senses, or it could be Sam or Mikia blocking their numbers because they’re scared I won’t take their calls now. Sliding my finger up the screen I answer it. “Hello?”

“Good, you answered. Please tell me you aren’t at work.”

I feel my face changing into a puzzled expression. “Who is this?”

“It’s Caleb. Look, my friends have been visiting your work and asking about you.”

“Did you call me to tell me your friends are stalking me now? And who gave you this number?”

“It’s on the fridge. And no, I’m telling you that the entire football team is going to be eating in Summit. Half of us are going to Wixter, the other half is eating at Naples.”

I sigh. “Okay.”

“You do get that they’re both near your coffee shop?”

I toy with the zipper on my backpack and snarl, “I don’t care where your stupid clan is.”

“Skylar, please listen to me. Lance and Derrick, for some reason, are determined to see you. They want to…yeah, no way, well…um. What up guys?”

“Did anyone ever tell you crack kills?”

He laughs. “I know.”

I pull my phone away from my ear and stare at the screen. I should hang up right now. For some reason, I put the phone back to my ear and ask, “How long do I have?”

“Fifteen maybe ten. Eh…ten-ish.”

“Fine. Oh, and FYI, Caleb, next time I’m not covering for you. So you better figure out how to get your damn friends to quit stalking me.”

“On it.” The phone clicks.

***

Leaving CJD in a rage, I walk to let off some steam. It’s not helping. Three blocks of walking and I still want to hunt Caleb down and kick his ass. Well, him and his stupid friends for wrecking my sanctuary.

When I turn a corner, my body almost collides into a group of Harris Academy students hanging outside of the local grocery store. None of them look at me. I keep my head down and hurry to the next store down, a locally owned hardware store. I’m getting closer to my target but a shout causes me to go still. “Yo, Skylar! Skylar Fletcher!”

My entire body feels like someone doused me in ice water. I can’t turn my head. I need to keep moving. I hear the footsteps coming toward me. Running would only make this worse. Walk. Just keep walking like you didn’t hear them or they’re mistaken.

Moving at a normal pace down the sidewalk, I reach the hardware store. The footsteps are upon me. Fingers bed into one of my shoulder blades and try to turn me toward them. I flinch. The boy cocks his head and says, “Hey…oh, uh…sorry.”

“I knew it wasn’t her, dummy! Pay up.”

The kid being insulted wrinkled his forehead a little. “Sorry, we thought you were someone we knew.”

Dipping my head, I slip into the hardware store and exhale. I snatch a cart and begin to weave through the aisles. Snatching three rolls of clear postal tape and two cans of spray paint, I head back to the counter. An elderly man gives me the stink eye while he rings up my items. “Twelve eighty-two.”

I pull out a twenty and place it on the counter while I gather up my bags. He shakes his bald head as he counts out my change and hands it over. “Thanks.”

“I remember faces!” he shouts at me as I make my way toward the door. I almost tell him “Good for you,” but decide to just let it alone and leave in silence.

The guys hanging outside of the grocery store earlier dispersed. Thank goodness. I get the rest of my items I need: twelve rolls of Saran Wrap. As I head to the checkout counter, I’m well aware people are staring at me like I’m an alien life form, or possibly a mass murderer.

A meek girl with huge red glasses and oily hair pulled back into a messy bun eyes me up. She comes to the coffee shop sometimes with her posse from Adams, a neighboring school. She sneers at my items and mumbles, “The environment thanks you for your contribution.”

My eyebrows rise. “Yeah, well it thanks you every day you work here bagging groceries.”

She rings up the last of the Saran Wrap. “Twelve fifty-three.”

I roll my eyes at her sour tone and slide my card through the credit card machine. When she hands me my bags I smile and leave the store.

After catching another cab, a question plagues me on the ride home: how am I going to sneak all this stuff in without anyone noticing? This isn’t my old house where I can safely tuck my goodies in the shed out back.

The cab drops me off and I stand outside the house staring at my bedroom window.
Too high.
Cursing, I look around for vehicles in the drive. My car and my mom’s car are the only ones there; hopefully she went to the game with Brian.

Slipping through the front door as quietly as possible, my eyes scan the front rooms. No one seems to be here, but just in case, I tiptoe up the stairs and to my room. Settling into my desk, I yank open a drawer and shove the bags inside. It’s not the safest place, but at least it’s not in plain view either.

I start to head back downstairs, and catch a glimpse of my appearance in the full-length mirror on my door. I flinch at the red and purple at the edges of my eye. Mom’s going to freak out. She’ll blame me for this too. I can’t worry about that now though.

I enter the kitchen and raid the pantry for the stash of chocolate bars my mom has hidden away. It takes me a minute but I find the tin can where she always sticks them and grab one and an empty pasta jar from the recycling. I make my way to the backyard near the cherry tree.

Quickly, I unwrap the chocolate bar, and stuff it into the old Prego jar, then set it down near the ant hill under the tree. I’m about to break off chunks of chocolate and lead it to the jar when my cell buzzes to life in my back pocket.

“Hello?”

I discard my current plans to make a trail of candy as I hear, “Hey, honey, how are you?”

I head in the house. “Hey, Dad. I’m…okay. How are you?”

He pauses, mumbles something, and then says, “I’m okay. I spoke to your mother and she said you weren’t swimming this year.”

“Yeah, well…the jury is still undecided about that but so far it’s looking that way.”

“I hate to hear that, honey.” No, he doesn’t. My dad could care less what I was doing just as long as I go where he wants next fall. “Well, since you might be free for Thanksgiving this year I was thinking you might want to spend it here with us in New York.” Us: the half sister and stepmother he left me for. I’d have to stay with them while he pitched his “You can get a great education for free here” speech.

My face is in so much pain from scrunching my forehead. Last thing I want to talk about is Columbia, which is a great school, but it’s not what I want. And he’ll probably want us to have family dinners at his stupid brownstone walk-up. Plus he’ll probably want me to spend more time with Lidia and that’s not happening either.

“Honey?”

I walk into my room and sit on the bed. “Uh…I don’t know. I can’t commit to it just yet, because I’m not fully decided on the swimming thing yet.”

“I understand. Just think about it, will you? No rush. I’d think a change of pace would do you some good. And you can check out Columbia while you’re here.”
Ugh!
“Lidia wants to chat with you a second. Hang on.”
I should hang up.

“Hey, Sky. How are you?”

“I’m fine, how about yourself?” I roll my eyes and pick up my guitar from its stand in the corner near the window.

“I’m great. I’m going dress shopping this weekend for homecoming. I made the court.”
Yippee.
“Oh man and my date is so hot. How is um…Kevin right?”

“He’s okay, I guess.” I strum a couple cords hoping she’d get a clue and change the subject fast.

“Oh, did you guys have a fight or something?” she asks, way too chipper.

That’s it, this conversation is officially over. “What’s that, Mom? Sorry Lidia, my mom needs me. Talk to you later. Bye.” I end the call and toss my phone across my comforter.

I’ve no intention of calling her back. I don’t hate Lidia, but I’m not happy with her. It’s not her fault that my parents split, but she’s part of the reason—the love child. It’s because of her my dad misses every moment in my life. He sends birthday gifts in the mail and has never been to any of my games or meets. Not even the really important ones like state. But he’s there for Lidia and I really hate that.