I know none of them could’ve hurt Mariana.
First of all, there was no motive. Mariana was Bram’s girlfriend of a year, and the two were attached at the hip. He hasn’t been the same since her death.
And as for Adam, why would he sacrifice his life and his football career to get rid of a kind soul like Mariana? It makes no sense.
“You want to work on our lit papers after school?” I ask Henry as I put away my books.
“Oh, um, sure,” he says, reddening. “Though I might not redo it after all.”
I narrow my eyes. “Show me your paper, Henry.”
“What—why?” He isn’t making eye contact.
“You didn’t even get a bad grade, did you?” I should’ve known. That whole façade back in lit class was to make me feel better about my crappy grade.
“Well, I did get an A-minus,” he says sheepishly, dragging the sole of his shoe over the linoleum.
“You’re the worst, you know that?”
“You have mentioned this before, yes.” He slings me a lopsided smile.
As for Henry, I know him best of all. He’s the kindest and gentlest of souls. It just isn’t possible.
We reach the cafeteria and join the line. When we get in the middle of debating which caf staple is most likely to give usE. coli, a commotion at a nearby table draws our attention.
A group of boys is gathered around the table, laughing. One of them picks up an apple from the ground, and the others call out, “Do it again!”
The boy tosses the apple into the center of the crowd, which parts enough for me to watch it nail someone in the head. The boys burst into laughter as the apple bounces off the table, hits the bench, and rolls along the floor. “What’s wrong?” Todd Ellison jeers.“All-league receiver two years in a row, and now you can’t even catch a piece of fruit? Guess that’s karma for you.”
His target, Adam Abbott, merely sits there, head lowered over his tray and navy-blue hoodie drawn, like he’s trying to go unnoticed even as the boys continue to mock him. Beside me, Henry tenses.
Then he’s out of the line, darting toward the fray.
I follow him, searching for whichever teacher is supposed to be on cafeteria duty and finding none. When I turn my eyes back to the scene, another football player, Neil Chen, snatches a plastic water bottle off the tray. Adam doesn’t move as Neil winds up, bottle poised to nail him in the head. Henry and I are too far away, so I shout a warning at Adam. Only he ignores it.
I’m already flinching, bracing to watch the impact, when a dark lean figure swoops past the table and the other boys to grab Neil’s wrist.
Bram.My tight chest lets out a breath. But Bram proceeds to twist Neil’s arm until the boy screams, letting the bottle drop to the ground. My stomach mimics the wringing motion until Henry reaches the boys, coaxing his brother to let go.
The other football players stand there, wide-eyed. Todd Ellison starts in Bram’s direction, but Henry steps out, cutting him off. Behind him, Adam slowly gets to his feet like a statue come to life.
“Let’s just go,” one of the boys says, nudging Todd.
Bram, wearing the same gifted hoodie, the crew neck of his black T-shirt peeking through, glares icily at Neil. “Gotta release earlier, Chen. Aren’t you like…fifth-string QB?”
“Sick freak,” Neil mutters, gritting his teeth like he might risk another go at Bram. But the others hiss and tug at him, and when they turn for the cafeteria door, he reluctantly follows.
I feel the shift in the room. The way every student in this place has either moved closer to the door or scooted as far to the end of their benches as possible. I glance over to where pretty redhead and student council president, Kennedy Russo, sits with a rice bowl, watching with her mouth half-open. Her cheerleader friends are speaking in hushed tones and recording videos with their phones. One tugs on Kennedy’s pink cashmere sweater, then leans over to whisper something in her ear. I don’t need to get close to know that their thoughts—everyone’s thoughts—echo Neil’s words.
Sick freak.
They think the Abbott brothers are freaks. And their fear rises in the room, fast and hot as flames.
2
I slip past the boys to Adam. “Are you okay?” I ask, tugging back his sweatshirt hood to examine his head. Now that he no longer has tokeep his blond hair short for football, it’s grown out. I push it aside to find two large welts forming on his forehead. They’re just above the thin and puckered flesh where his right eyebrow used to be, above the impaired eye and the scars running like tracks across the right side of his face. Hiding behind the hood and the hair, he’s far from the clean-cut all-American boy and confident future prom king of last year.
Twobumps on Adam’s head means we missed the first shot those jerks took at him. “Let me take you to the nurse for some ice.” I attempt to pull him up by the hand, but he shrinks away, tugging his hood back up.
