Don't You Wish (19 page)

“He shoots and he scores,” someone in the back says.

Ryder pivots and comes back toward me, stopping at my desk. “He doesn’t always score,” he says, just loud enough to be heard over the room noise. “Sometimes he just gets teased.”

I finally raise my head to stab him with my darkest gaze. It has zero effect.

“Then she gives it to a geek,” he adds, slyly reaching behind to knock Charlie’s book off his desk.

“Grow up, Ryder,” I say softly.

He leans over, his face inches from mine, his backside in front of Charlie. “Heard you got picked up on Red Road the other night.”

I don’t know how he knows that, but I won’t take his bait. “Because someone was a jerk and kicked me out.”

“Because someone is a cock-teasing little bitch.”

“Get away from her,” Charlie says.

Ryder just leans into my face, his rear end even closer to Charlie. “Did someone say something to my girlfriend—er, I mean, my ass?”

“Sit down,” I tell him through clenched teeth.

“Did he take you home to his cardboard box under the causeway?” Ryder goes on.

“Shut up, Ryder,” I say.

He lets out a long, loud fart in Charlie’s face, and the room explodes with screams and laughter, but I feel like I’m underwater and can barely hear it through the blood pulsing in my head.

Charlie backs away, or maybe he jumps. I can’t tell, because everything is in slow motion for a moment. Just as
Charlie raises his fist to slam Ryder, the lights flicker on and off.

“Mr. Zelinsky!” Brighton booms, and the room falls mostly silent.

Ryder just grins and holds up his hand. “No problem, Mr. B. Charlie’s fine.” Voices erupt again, and Ryder slinks back down the aisle as Brighton scowls at Charlie, and then at me.

Charlie avoids eye contact with me or Mr. Brighton. When class is over, he’s gone before I get a chance to say a word to him.

And no one says a thing to me, but Ryder is surrounded by an adoring crowd, taking high fives and looking all kinds of smug.

“Oh, my God. The entire school is talking about Ryder.” Bliss practically skips to our locker bank right before world history. “He’s, like, a hero!”

“A hero?” I slam the door with so much force, it jolts my arm. “He’s a complete douche.”

A bunch of kids pass us and make farting noises, then erupt in laughter. “Hey, Ayla. It was the fart heard round the world!” one kid yells.

“Cute.” But their laughter drowns out my dry response.

“Take back Crap!” another kid shouts. “We’re not the home of the homeless!”

I keep my head in the locker, biting my lip.

“Ayla, no one wants Charlie Zelinsky in this school,” Bliss says, getting close and lowering her voice. “What’s
the matter with you? He’s an embarrassment to Croppe Academy.”

I’ve never heard her call it anything but Crap. “Get off your high horse, Bliss. He’s on a scholarship,” I tell her. “That doesn’t make him unworthy to go here. It certainly doesn’t mean he deserved … that.”

She stares at me, her mouth in a little
O
of feigned surprise. “It’s true,” she says softly.

“What’s true?”

“Did you do it with that loser?”

I close my eyes, not sure if I should even respond. She’s casting like crazy for something to use against me, and no matter what I say, she can twist it around. I finally settle on the plain truth. “No, I didn’t do it with him.”

“But you like him, don’t you?”

“I don’t—” But I
do
. “I don’t like anyone to be treated the way he is.”

She snorts. “Like, since when? You live for that shit.”

“Maybe I did, Bliss, but not anymore.”

She takes a step back, then lifts an interested brow. “Can I count on you to get the answers from Flute Fly in history?”

I don’t respond, repositioning my books and looking anywhere but at her.

“Can I?” she demands.

Ayla would say yes, of course. Cheating is nothing, really. A small price to pay for popularity and approval that I can feel slipping like sand through my fingers. But Annie? Annie never cheated in her life.

“We’ll see,” I finally say.

“WTF, Ayla?” She pushes past me. “Never mind. I’ll handle the flute player. Good luck with the test.”

“Bliss.” I grab her arm as she starts to walk away. “Listen to you. Are you or are you not, like, my best friend? Is this the way we talk to each other?”

She searches my face. “I don’t even know you anymore.”

“Why?” I demand. “Because I don’t want to make fun of kids or throw stuff I can pay for into my purse or cheat to pass a class? You don’t want to be friends because I follow some rules?”

She frees her arm from my clutch with a dark look. “You’re breaking the rules, Ayla. You’re doing irrepairable damage to us.”

I just stand there and stare at her as she disappears into a group.

Do I really care about a girl who says
irrepairable
?

No. And I’m determined to stick with my plan. And that will not include cheating on a history test. Even if I didn’t study for it.

“I hope you are all ready to show what you know about the fall of the Roman Empire.” Ms. Guerra speaks with a soft Cuban accent, but there is something commanding about her. When she stands at the front of the room and crosses her arms, everyone shuts up and listens.

Well, almost everyone.

“Ms. G., I’m confused,” Bliss says, sticking her hand into the air.

“Yes, Miss Tremaine?”

“I was in Rome this summer, and the place was rockin’. And, ohmigod, the shopping was to die for. How can it have fallen if it’s still there?”

Some kids laugh, a few others turn to give admiring glances to Bliss, and props for having the nerve to delay the
test, but Ms. Guerra is not amused. She begins to hand out test forms, walking up and down the aisles.

Bliss has placed herself strategically behind and to the left of Candi Woodward, her mark. I’m sitting one row away from Candi, wondering just how much of the test is from what we covered in class, because I seriously did not think I’d be around this weird world long enough to have to take a test. But grades are really the last thing on my mind as I watch Bliss reposition herself to see Candi’s test.

Ms. Guerra reaches me and puts the paper facedown; no one is allowed to look until she calls time, like we’re taking the SAT or something. The room is quiet except for some gum cracking, pencil tapping, and seat adjusting.

Finally, the teacher is in the front again, and she claps her hands and says, “Begin!”

Papers flutter and chairs scrape. An old familiar tightness grabs my belly as it always does when I take a test.

I read the first question quickly.
The Roman Empire lasted from _____
.

Before I can even process the four possible answers, I hear Bliss let out the softest grunt.

Some kids laugh in sympathy, but I look over and see exactly why she’s grunting. Candi Woodward is left-handed, and there’s no way Bliss can see one word of her page. But I can pretty much follow along with each question.

My eyes automatically go to her page and see that she’s already colored in the answer: B. I look at my page. B is
27 BC to 476 AD
. That sounds about right.

I color B, and swallow the fact that I just cheated.

No, I would have known that. We talked about it in
class, I rationalize. The next question is
What was the praetorian guard?
I have no clue. It could be (A) the wall around Rome, (B) the emperor’s bodyguard, (C) a centurion’s headdress, or (D) an ancient form of birth control.

A little bit of laughter tells me that most people have caught Ms. G.’s joke and safely eliminated D as the answer. I stare at the options, but my eyes have a mind of their own, and my gaze moves to Candi’s paper.

B. The emperor’s bodyguard
.

Shoot, I just cheated again. I feel my palms sweat as I mark the answer. I hear Bliss clear her throat softly. Again. Unable to resist, I slyly look at her.

Her face is pink with fury, her eyes narrowed as she moves them from Candi’s desk to my test.
Share
, she silently screams.

My pulse kicks up. I just cheated for me, and am already feeling a little angsty about it, but should I help her, too?

She drops her hand and uses her index finger to make a “one” and lifts her eyebrows in question. I know what to do, I know this technique. I’ve seen it done.

If I scratch my face with one finger, the answer’s A. Two, B, and so on. I study my paper, glance at Ms. Guerra, who is making a show of trust by working on her computer, profile to the class. I could give the answer to Bliss, easily.

Ayla would.

But I don’t want to be Ayla. I have to start somewhere, right?

Swallowing hard, I look back at my test, the words to the third question swimming around. Something about Constantine the Great.

Bliss sighs audibly, loud enough to get Candi to look over her shoulder, then re-cover her page.

“You owe me, Flute Fly,” Bliss whispers so softly that only a few of us hear it.

Candi ignores it, coloring in another circle. I see the answers to the next four questions, and, like it or not, they register in my brain. A, D, A, C.

I stare at my page, squeezing my pencil hard enough to crack it.

“We’re nearing the halfway point,” Ms. G. announces.

Halfway? I’m on number four.

A, D, A, C. If I color those in, I’ll be on number eight. And there are only twenty questions.

I hold my pencil over the circle, and see my hand is shaking.

“Ayla.” Bliss’s whisper is desperate. A few around us look up, glancing from her to me. “Help.” She mouths the word and flips two fingers. “Number two?”

I just stare at her.

“Ms. Monroe, is there a problem?” Ms. Guerra’s question resonates through the silent classroom.

“No,” I answer, heat stinging my skin.

“Then finish your test.”

I nod and return my attention to the page, reading a question six times before the words even resemble English.

“Psst.” I hear the sound and don’t even want to look, but then realize it’s Candi, not Bliss, trying to surreptitiously get my attention.

When I look up, she has completely shifted in her seat,
leaving her test wide open for me to copy. Partially turned to me, she adds a tight smile, and I read the message in her eyes.

She thinks she owes me for being nice to her and defending her to Bliss in the cafeteria.

A row away, Bliss stares me down.

The only thing I can do is turn down the offer. I shake my head at Candi, ignore Bliss, and read the next question, taking a shot at the answer.

“Five minutes!”

I skim the test, answer three that I know offhand, and Christmas tree the rest. I don’t look at her, but I sense Bliss doing the same random marking, smashing her pencil over the circles like they’re my head and she’s holding a hammer.

“Pencils down, please. And you are free to socialize for the remainder of the period.”

As though the conductor has nodded to the string section, twenty-five arms reach for cell phones and iPods, but Bliss stands, gathering her books and bag while she stares at me.

I say nothing, making a show of getting my own phone.

“Call your friends now,” Bliss says as she nears me, her voice low and menacing. “Because by tonight, you won’t have any left.”

She walks out of the classroom without even glancing at the teacher.

I wish there were some way to avoid it, but I have to go to lunch. Several unanswered texts to Jade confirm my suspicions; if she has to pick sides, she’ll go with Bliss.

Guess Jade knows which way the wind blows.

I cruise through the cafeteria line, reaching for a Styrofoam bowl of fries.

“French fries, Miss Monroe?” Charlie is right next to me, a sly grin on his face. “I think that might be taking this whole cool-girl-goes-rebellious thing too far.”

I laugh easily, the first time in hours. “I know, right?” I pop one into my mouth and make a
nom-nom
sound. “I’ve already broken every unspoken rule the school has. Why not enjoy some forbidden calories while I’m at it?”

We slide our trays and our knuckles brush against each
other, sending an unexpected jolt up my arm and into my chest. I sneak a look at him to confirm he got the same charge.

I can tell by his smile he did.

“There’s a lot of talk about your bad behavior in world history, too,” he says.

I shake my head. “I’m completely out of control.” I reach the cashier, a heavyset Latina woman who smiles at me and then glances at Charlie.

“Are you paying for both lunches, Ayla?” she asks.

“Uh …” I’m not sure what to say.

“I have my card,” Charlie says, his voice tight as he pulls his wallet out.

Lunch Lady just gives him a pitying look. “The payment didn’t clear yet, Mr. Zelinsky,” she says. “I told you that on Friday.”

“Try it again,” he says, holding his student ID.

“Your name wasn’t on the list I received this morning,” she says coolly. “So you can’t get that lunch.”

I don’t know what list she means, but I can practically feel the heat of shame rolling off him.

“Just put it on this card,” I say quickly.

“No, Ayla. That’s not necessary,” he says, leveling a dark look at Lunch Lady and getting nothing but scorn in return. She hates him too, I realize, just like everyone else in this school. “If you swipe the card, Mrs. Alvarez, you’ll see that money was deposited this morning.”

“I don’t have time for that, young man.”

There’s a line building and some unhappy grumbling behind us.

“Let’s move it up there,” someone calls out. Lunch is short, and line delays cost precious time. I stick my card into the machine. “Put both lunches on here.”

“Ayla.” Charlie puts his hand on mine, but there’s no electrical charge this time.

“Don’t sweat it,” I tell him while I swipe the card to escape his grip. “There’s a chem test next week. You can pay me back in—”

Charlie stumbles a little as a kid passes behind us, bumping into him. It’s a pack of populars, with Ryder in the middle.