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“Oh, I have the cowboy hat.” He thumbs toward the backseat. “But seeing as we can’t wear hats in school …”
I stare at him, doubly confused. “Since when have you ever followed or respected the rules?”
“No idea what you’re talking about. Rules are the bedrock of any civilized society. That must be the old, rebellious Vann you’re talking about.” He smiles. “I’m a good boy now.”
This is just too much. “I don’t know what kinda game you’re playin’ here, but—” I blink. “Are those pearl snaps on your shirt??”
“One half of the game is called: respect Toby’s need for space, respect his need for figuring things out, respect his feelings and his fears and his reservations.” Vann gives me a smart look. “The other half of the game … well, I guess I’ll keep that a secret. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my good ol’ pal, I’ve got a first period to get to on-time for once.” He shoots a wink at me, then pushes away from his car. “I’ll see you in chem,” he casually calls over a shoulder.
And I’m left there, dumbfounded. “This isn’t over!” I shout at his sexy, flannel-painted, tapered back. He doesn’t stop. “We’re …! I’m not just gonna …! You and I have to …!”
Well, who’s the stammering idiot now?
Completely flustered, I head inside, get my things from my locker, then head to the office. My whole first period, I can barely focus on anything. I accidentally run a note all the way to the fish bowl (the adorably nick-named freshmen wing of Spruce High) instead of the science lab where it was supposed to go. I mess up a spreadsheet by transposing an entire column of numbers. By the time the bell rings, I don’t even realize where I’m headed: straight to English, where I’ll see Hoyt for the first time since outing his little secret in front of Julio—the aftermath of which I don’t know.
What I encounter at the door to the classroom, however, is ten times more shocking than the sight in the parking lot.
It’s Hoyt and Vann hanging out, smiling, and chatting.
Hanging out. Smiling. Chatting.
Hoyt. Vann.
Did I wake up in an alternate reality? Did my body shift dimensions in my sleep? Is that why I woke up to a nice stepdad, a brotherly Lee, a country boy version of Vann, and a friendly Hoyt who likes him? Is this one of those corny Hollywood movie things?
Then they separate after a handshake—a fricking handshake—and off Vann goes, taking off to his second period while Hoyt goes into the classroom. Feeling an out-of-body level of perplexed, I go in after him. The only available seat is, strangely, not in front of Hoyt, but rather next to him.
And it’s there that I sit and burn the side of Hoyt’s face with my eyes. All he does is sit forward, his model-boy face and perfect hair seeming to ignore me outright, until I finally go, “Well?”
He turns to me, innocence in his eyes. “Hmm?”
“What was that?” I ask, pointing at the door. “You and Vann? What’s going on?”
“Oh, that?” Hoyt shrugs and gives me a strangely gentle smile. “Just him thanking me for helpin’ him out. Did you like his belt buckle? I haven’t worn that sucker since freshman year.”
“You did that to him? Those are your clothes?”
“Hell nah. Look, can’t you be happy for him? He’s tryin’ to make a change. Prove himself. Do better. For you.”
When I spot a few heads turned, I lean over the aisle and bring it down to a whisper. “And what’s that got to do with you at all??”
“Oh, I guess that depends entirely on how the rest of your day goes.” He chuckles. “I knew there was a way I was gonna be able to do right by you in the end, Toby-Tobes. Despite all of my wrongs. And damn, have there ever been so many wrongs.”
Now I’m just plain weirded out. “So you two are friends now? Just like that? Only two nights ago, I was havin’ it out with you on G-Man’s front doorstep. And not long before that, you and Vann were at each other’s throats.”
Hoyt starts twirling a pen between his fingers. “Things seem to work out in the strangest ways, don’t they?”
Then the bell rings, Ms. Bean promptly begins class, and I’m left staring at the side of Hoyt’s face, bothered, a dozen and a half unanswered questions bouncing around on my tongue—questions Hoyt is apparently being too coy and smug to answer.
The moment the bell releases us—don’t even ask what Ms. Bean’s lesson was about; I couldn’t tell you if my high school career depended on it—I am hurrying down the halls and out toward the temporary buildings as fast as my feet can reasonably carry me. Sunlight hits my face as I turn a corner of the wooden walkways, blinding me. I lift a hand a second too late, then seem to wade through stars and indistinct shimmers of light as I scramble toward trailer 4-A.
