Pivot Point (22 page)

Duke climbs in next to me. “She is.”

The middle seat belt is loose and I tighten it to fit. “Okay, stop talking, both of you. I don’t need to be reassured.”

Laila puckers her lips as she slides behind the wheel. “Maybe I just wanted to kiss you.”

The engine rumbles to life and Duke leans across me, his hand reaching toward the dash. It stops a few inches away from the radio. “How do you turn this thing on?”

“Uh …” I study the knobs and buttons, trying to remember. “This one.” I push the knob that says Power, and the radio blares to life.

At my house, Duke grabs my hand as we walk up the path. “I’m nervous.”

“Really? Why? You’re so at ease with my mom. Just tell the truth, and my dad will like you.”

He nods and squeezes my hand. We walk inside, and my dad is sitting in his chair watching what looks to be one of his criminal-interview tapes, but I can’t tell because he turns it off too fast.

Duke drops my hand and extends his toward my dad. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Coleman. I’m Duke.”

“Duke. Hello. How did the game go?”

“We won, so I guess that means good.”

“You guess?” My dad doesn’t like halfhearted statements. He thinks everyone should be able to answer definitively.

“There are always ways to improve,” Duke clarifies.

“I hear you have your choice of colleges next year. Any closer to picking one?”

Considering how many times people ask him about college when I’m around, I can’t imagine how much Duke has to deal with that question. It has to get old—I know I’m sick of it. Maybe because it reminds me that he’ll be gone next year.

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re closer to picking?” I ask.

“Getting closer.”

My dad stares at him for a long time, and I wonder how he could think there is something to analyze in that question.

I grab my dad’s forearm, and he turns his attention to me. “Well, Dad, we’re pretty tired. Where do you want Duke to sleep?”

His face is hard when he says, “The room across from mine.”

I wait outside the bathroom, toothbrush in hand, for Duke to finish. The doorknob rattles, but he doesn’t come out. Soon the door is banging against the frame.

I take a step forward. “Are you okay?”

The door goes silent. “I think I’m stuck.”

I laugh. “Just unlock it.”

“I’m trying.” The door shakes again. “Stupid Norm doors,” he mutters.

I lean my cheek against the frame. “See the little lock in the center of the handle? Just turn it a hundred and eighty degrees. It’s old, so it kind of spins. Don’t turn it a full circle or it locks again.”

The door swings in, and he’s suddenly right in front of me. “I’m free,” he says. “How’d you know all that? Are you a Norm-relic expert?”

I smile. “I got trapped in there earlier.”

He bites his lip. “You look cute without makeup.” We trade places, crossing in the doorway. He lets his hand slide across my waist. “Good night.”

When I get back to the room after brushing my teeth, Laila is already in the trundle bed, texting.

“Are you talking to your make-out partner?”

“Rowan? No. It’s my mom.” She tucks the phone under her pillow. “What do you think of Rowan anyway?”

“I think he lives too far away to put any effort into analyzing him.” The minute I say that though my mind drifts back to Trevor. “What was with all his questions? Why do you think he’s so curious about our school and stuff?”

“I don’t know.”

I stare at the wall, where moonlight, projected through the blinds, stripes the darkness with white. “You know who Duke kind of knows?”

“Who?”

“Trevor.”

“That guy you tried to do Thought Placement on?”

“Yeah.” I prop myself up on my elbow. “And he was kind of a jerk to him.”

“How so?”

“Trevor came all the way to the locker room to tell Duke that he did a good job, and Duke and his buddies laughed at him. Duke couldn’t even remember his name.”

Laila laughs. “Are you feeling protective of the cute Norm boy?”

I collapse back down onto my pillow. “No,” I say without conviction. He was cute though.

ig•NO[R]•Mi•ny
:
n.
public shame

Ever since Friday night, I feel terrible. I can’t even look Trevor in the eye. I feel like I’m partially responsible for what happened to his shoulder just because my old school is to blame.

Rowan runs up to me in the hall at school and grabs me by the arms. “Addison, Addison,” he says, out of breath. “I’ve been looking for you.”

I nearly drop my notebook but manage to keep it in my grip despite Rowan’s hold on my arms. “What’s up?”

“Stephanie’s throwing a party for Trevor tonight. You have to come.”

“Is it his birthday?”

“No, this is even better. Today he can throw again.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. And he wanted a party?” Considering what we talked about the other night, how he realized he would never play football competitively again, a party seems like the last thing he would want.

“No, of course not, it’s a surprise.”

“Rowan, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“No, it’s a great idea.” He looks around and then lowers his voice. “So how’s your friend Laila doing? Has she asked about me yet?”

If Rowan thinks Laila kissing him on the cheek is a big deal to her, he is going to be sorely disappointed. “Um … no?”

He scans the hall. “There’s Katie. I gotta go invite her.” He starts to leave but then turns around and writes on my notebook cover. “That’s Steph’s address. Six o’clock. Don’t be late.”

At five forty-five I show up at Stephanie’s house. I know I have to talk to Trevor about my old school, about the fact that I’m not actually from California at all. If I don’t, I might be eaten alive by the guilt that is now in the process of gnawing a hole through my stomach. I vow that I’ll find the right time tonight.

Stephanie answers the door, and her smile disappears. “Oh, hey, Addison.”

I look her up and down. “You’re wearing your cheer uniform.”

“The whole cheer team is here. It’s supposed to remind Trevor of how we first met.”

“Oh.” I wonder if Trevor wants to remember that. Okay, not completely true—what I really wonder is if
I
want Trevor to remember that.

“Come in. The party’s out back.” She leads me through the entry and then to an enormous kitchen, where she grabs something out of the cupboard and continues on through some French doors into the yard.

The backyard is big and set up like a mini football stadium—lines painted across the grass and everything. In the tiny end zone is a bin full of footballs. My eyes slowly drift, following the lines, to the opposite end zone a good fifty feet away, where an empty bucket sits waiting. We join a couple of other cheerleaders.

“Are we going to play a game and see how many of us can land a football in that bucket?” I ask, hoping Stephanie will say yes.

“No. That’s for Trevor. He’s going to give us a show.” Stephanie sweeps her arm through the air and points to the lawn chairs set up on the side.

“This is his first day. You probably shouldn’t push it too hard.”

She exchanges a glance with the girl next to her. The kind of glance that says they talk about me when I’m not around. “This is the day he’s been looking forward to for a year.”

“Him or you?” I try to say it nice, but her sour expression indicates I may have failed.

“What’s that supposed to mean? All of us have been excited for this day. You don’t know because you weren’t here.” The girls nod their heads in agreement. Stephanie starts to put her hands on her hips, but then must remember she’s holding something because she looks down and says, “Oh.” She hands the small plastic bottle she had retrieved from the kitchen to the girl on her right. “We only had Tylenol. Will that work?”

Before I think better of it, I say, “What’s that?” They all freeze and look at me. My brain races, searching through the Norm Products unit we had to take in school.

“What, people don’t get headaches in California?” Stephanie asks with a sneer.

We get headaches; we just don’t need a pill to cure them. And for injuries too serious to self-cure, we have Healers. “Tylenol? Oh, I thought you said Lionel.” It’s the lamest cover-up ever. I blame my inability to tell a decent lie on my dad and his power.

“You’re from California?” one of the girls asks.

“Yes.”

“I have family there,” she says. “What part?”

It might be my guilty conscience making them look like a pack of velociraptors ready to devour their meal, but it’s also possible they suspect my lie. I clear my throat. “Near Disneyland.” I point to the ice chest on the patio. “I’m just going to get something to drink.”

“Yeah, okay. Rowan should be here soon,” Stephanie says, like that’s the only reason I came.

I sit on a lawn chair sipping water while the backyard fills up with people. The more crowded it gets, the more nervous I get for Trevor. When Rowan arrives, I try to express my concerns to him, but he’s too busy being the life of the party and at one point turns to me and says, “Addison, relax. Have fun. We’re at a party.” I realize it’s pointless.

Eventually the music is turned down and several people start shushing everyone. “He’s here. He’s coming.”

When Trevor walks through the back door and everyone yells, “Surprise!” he looks genuinely shocked.

“Wow, Stephanie, thanks,” he says. “What’s the occasion?”

She blushes and gives him a hug. “We’re just all so excited for you. Today is a big day. The first day of getting back on track to your future.” She gestures to the grass, and a couple big spotlights come on. I watch his face. What starts off as a genuine smile tightens to a forced one.

“What’s all that?”

“You’re going to show us what you’ve got.”

I want to scream,
You don’t have to, Trevor,
but I know he’s a big boy and can make his own decisions. Stephanie takes a few steps back and yells, “Give me a T!” The other cheerleaders jump up and fall into formation behind her while they finish spelling out Trevor’s name. I have to keep myself from laughing out loud when Trevor meets my eyes and gives me the are-they-really-doing-a-cheer? look.

When the cheer ends and Stephanie says, “What’s that spell?” The whole party starts chanting Trevor’s name. I instantly feel like the worst friend ever. I should’ve called him, warned him about this, but I was too busy worrying about myself. Even
I
hadn’t realized how many people would be here, how much pressure Stephanie would put on him.

He raises his hand, and the crowd quiets. I think he’s going to give a speech about how flattered he is but how he can’t do this. Instead he says, “Looks like I have some footballs to throw.” There’s another loud cheer. He walks slowly over to the bin, his normal casual swagger gone. There has to be at least thirty footballs. He picks one up and spins it between his hands.

“There’s your target,” Stephanie says, pointing to the other end of the yard. Her giddy look of anticipation makes me want to rip her hair out. He brings back his arm, takes a step, and releases the ball. It spirals beautifully through the air and lands inches from the desired target. A deafening cheer from the crowd assaults my ears because I’m too anxious to mentally muffle the noise.

Stephanie picks up another ball and tosses it to him. He throws again. His fifth ball makes it into the bucket, but not without its cost; he’s in pain. His whole body has tensed. His face looks painted on for how fake his smile is. And Stephanie keeps handing him ball after ball.

I can’t stand it any longer. I’m feeling nervous and guilty. I jump out of my seat, ready to yell, when Trevor says, “I can’t do this, Stephanie.”

A low muttering of exchanged comments ripples through the onlookers.

“Of course you can. You’re doing it.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry. Thanks for this though.”

Considering how many kids are in the backyard, I’m surprised at how quiet it has become. I grab Rowan and pull him to his feet. “Rowan wants to try throwing some footballs. He thinks he can get way more than one into the bucket.” When Rowan doesn’t move, I elbow him in the ribs.

“Yeah, I totally can.”

Stephanie shoots me a look of such rage that I’m surprised I’m still standing. I raise my eyebrows and then say, “Brandon.” He’s sitting next to Katie and looks up when I call his name.

“Yeah?”

“You versus Rowan. Loser has to do a dare.”

Brandon laughs. “Okay, you’re on, Rowan.” This suggestion seems to loosen up the crowd, and soon everyone is talking and laughing again. Stephanie stomps off, and Trevor goes after her without a single glance back. I wonder if he’s mad at me for my attempt to take the pressure off. When Stephanie comes back, alone, she walks straight up to me and in a cold voice says, “You may think you’ve won,
Addison
, but when he remembers who he is, he’ll come running back to me.”

“He left?” It’s a stupid response to what she said, but it’s the only thing I care about. I don’t even care if it looks like I’m running after him, since that’s what I’m doing. I turn on my heel and run through the house and out the front door, where I see the tail end of his car disappear around the corner.

ir•reP•A•RA•ble
:
adj.
something that can never be how it was

I knock on the door. Duke’s mom answers. “Hi,” she says. Duke must’ve inherited some of her charm, because her smile makes me feel just as at ease as Duke’s.

“Hi. I’m supposed to meet Duke here.” I hold up my backpack. “Homework.” It’s the excuse I’m going to use with my mom when I get home as well—I haven’t asked her permission, but I really want to see him.

“Oh, Addie, he’s not home yet, but feel free to wait in his room.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Up in his room, I pull out a book and start reading. When I’m done with the chapter, I glance at the digital clock on his wall monitor. It’s been half an hour. I know I can’t stay much longer.

My phone is in my pocket and I fish it out and dial his number. On the floor between his bed and nightstand, the song that corresponds to my phone call starts playing. I sigh and reach down the crack, fishing out his singing phone. “Very helpful,” I mutter, and press End. “Where are you?” Guess I’ll have to leave him a message the old-fashioned way.