“I’ll jog your memory,” Xander said, still cold as ice in his boxy black glasses. “There was a torrential downpour, and you left her stranded on a deserted road.”
Tucker scoffed. “So what? You’re here to defend her honor?”
“Yes.”
“He’s challenging you to a duel,” Rhett sneered. “Did you seeHamiltonone too many times?”
“Knock it off, Rhett,” I said, my hands clenching into fists, remembering it was Rhett who had told Brent to fuck with Harper’s car. I don’t know why it had taken me so long to see it, but Callowaywas bad news. I hesitated to call anyoneevil, but…
If the pitchfork fits…
Tucker glowered at Xander. “Pretty fucking bold maneuver, Ford. You know I could kick your ass right now.”
“Possibly, given our height and weight differentials, and your amplified propensity for violence,” Xander replied. “Regardless, I can’t, in good conscience, remain teammates with someone of such low character.”
“Low character.” Rhett chuckled. “Who does this guy think he is?”
“Shut it, Calloway,” I said, and Rhett swiveled his black-eyed gaze to me. I’m sure it was just my imagination, but the gym suddenly seemed ten degrees colder.
“It’s cool, Rhett,” Tucker said, holding his gym towel to his nose. “Can we have a minute?”
I leaned in to Xander. “I’ve got your back,” I said, loud enough for everyone to hear, and stepped aside, arms crossed.
Xander and Tucker moved a few steps away to have it out. I kept one eye on them, the other on Rhett. He cocked his head at me, eyes narrowed, watching me with a malicious kind of curiosity.
“Got something to say, Calloway?”
“I was about to ask the same of you, Mercer,” Rhett said, his tone overly friendly. Sinisterly casual. “You’ve been different this year. I mean, every year, you’ve been the Patron Saint of the Benders, but I always assumed it was part of your act.”
“My act?” I scoffed, but my hands on my arms tightened. “What the hell are you on about?”
“Your congeniality act. Your Mr. Everybody’s Friend act,” Rhett said, taking a step closer to me. “But you want to know what I think?”
“Can’t wait.”
“I think you’re abloodyimpostor with a secret,” he said in a mock British accent. “I think you’ve got the hots for that pretty little Bender with the shitty car. But that’s not all. Oh, no. I think there’s something else you haven’t been sharing with the class.”
“Oh yeah? And what might that be?” I asked, striving to keep mytone light.Congenial.
Rhett raised his narrow shoulders. “I have a secret of my own. I’m a hoarder. I hoard observations and tuck them away until I feel they might be useful. And I’ve made some observations about you over the last three years and three months.”
A muscle ticked in my jaw, but I said nothing.
Rhett smiled his mirthless smile. The one that didn’t touch his dark eyes in the slightest.
“I think, in a family of super smart people—geniuses even, like your brother—you’re the stupid one. The intellectual runt of the litter. And when I say stupid, I mean stupid as in,can barely read. And you’ve been trying your damnedest to cover it up by being the guy who makes everyone laugh so that no one finds out you’re actually kind of a moron.”
I couldn’t move. Could hardly breathe. My hands ached, clenched tight into fists. A red haze descended, and all I could see were Rhett’s black eyes in his narrow, pale face. A weasel face. All I could hear was my own blood thrashing in my ears. All I could think about was putting my fist through that weasel face until the constant, shameful feeling of not being good enough—of being broken and defective, an embarrassment to my family—went away. I’d beat that knowing smile off Rhett’s mouth until it didn’t work, and he couldn’t tell anyone. Until my fingers broke, and I couldn’t play piano. And then I’d have nothing…
Then Rhett broke the spell with a chuck on my shoulder and a laugh. “But hey, it’s all good. The crew has never been better. We’ll sweep the regattas, and it doesn’t take a high IQ to row two seat, am I right?”
My arms dropped to my sides, and I pulled my right hand back, fist ready to fly straight into his jaw, when a bone-chilling howl echoed through the gym. For a split second, I thought it had come from me. Then everyone in the weight room was running past me. Moving like a zombie, I followed Tucker and Xander and that fucker Rhett to thegymnasts.
A crowd had gathered around the mat beneath the horizontal bar where someone was moaning and making strange, hiccuping noises of pure agony. Declan McConnell, our rings specialist, ran for a trashcan and heaved.
“Gideon,” Tucker murmured. He shoved his way through the crowd then stopped, his face going pale. “Jesus fucking Christ, someone call an ambulance!”
My red-hazed vision cleared, and I sucked in a breath.
