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“Offensive to Mona, first of all. Second, betrayal. Remember?”
“And he’s cool too, right? I mean, instead of getting angry about the catfishing thing, he’s been, like, super chill about it.”
I squeeze until she cries out in pain. “Because he used it to blackmail me!”
She pulls away and rubs her cheeks. “Well, none of us are perfect, okay. We’re all flawed. That’s why God gave me a deviated septum. He couldn’t have my face be too symmetrical because I’d be too beautiful otherwise.”
“I can’t even keep track of this conversation anymore.”
Lexie loops her arm around mine. “I can. Theo’s hot and into you. He blackmailed you, you’re sabotaging him; it’s unfortunately messy since things can’t possibly end well here, but fairly entertaining enough to give me something to look forward to every day.”
“Now I want to trip you down the bleachers.”
“Come on, cutie.” She pulls us away. “Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.”
I sigh and ignore her but let myself be comforted by the warmth and weight of the jacket, pulling it tighter around me and letting its soothing scent wash over me.
CHAPTER 7
To-Do List
Read through Bell-Haven’s vandalism policy
Draft a list of potential positioning statements
Reach out to contacts for character testimonies (Theo will provide)
Watch footage during night of vandalism
Change the streaming password so Lexie stops watching my shows without me
The end of the week creeps up and it’s time for our school’s annual fitness test. Gym is always my least-favorite class because it’s an entire waste of time. There are no desks, no place to study, and it’s too rowdy to focus whenever I sneak a tiny notebook of notes in.
This is why I went through the mandatory push-ups, sit-ups, planks, and mile-long run of laps around the gymnasium as fast as I could before math next period.
Mr. Jacob shouts out my time as I finish my final lap, and I pivot my direction, heading for the stack of books I left on the bleachers against the farther wall while the rest of the students continue their nonacademic torture.
My hands shake, and the tips of my fingers feel a little numb as I heave out breaths, trying to open my textbook. My vision blurs when my gaze first lands on the pages of our current lesson plan but adjusts after a few blinks.
The text vibrates on my lap, my hands and legs still shaking, so I sit with my legs around the bench of the bottom bleacher and place the text on the stable wood, trying to breathe through my nose.
I read the section three times, frustration building in a pounding at my temples when the numbers start to jumble in my brain. Math has always been difficult for me, and no matter how much I study, each year it gets harder and harder.
Luckily Mr. Khan is out sick today, so I have another day to study for the quiz rescheduled for next week, because the more I look at the text, the more my eyes fill with frustration. I’ll have to look up some videos online of people having similar problems; it’s the best way I learn, visually and audibly.
“Lopez,” Theo calls out, jogging toward me, not wearing the school’s designated gray-and-blue sweats but a black-and-white name-brand tracksuit. He nearly crashes into the bleacher, stopping short and planting his hands on either side of me against the bench. He leans in, breath uneven, one hand sliding to his chest as he tries to catch it. “Tell me the truth right now; remember I can keep a secret. Are you actually an Olympian?”
His cheeks are flushed pink and sweat has his white shirt clinging to his chest in a way I can see the outline of the muscles hiding under the fabric. “Are you okay?”
“No,” he says, dropping himself onto the bleachers across from me, barely avoiding the textbook between us. “Which is why I don’t understand how you are. How are you so fast?”
“I have good stamina.” I peel my eyes away from him and focus on the text. “I have a treadmill at home. I always lay out my work on the stand so I can study while I use it. Movement helps memorization.”
He looks down and notices the book. “Let me get this straight. You’re fast because you’re always moving to help you learn. And you just outran the entire track team and the varsity athletes, including myself, so that you could sit here and get a couple more minutes of studying in?”
“Twenty-seven more minutes, to be exact,” I say, flipping the page over.
“You’re… something.”
