"They said you can't play till you do."
"I can do an online doc appointment. Who will tell me I can't?"
I'm so surprised, I'm not sure what to say. He picks up the pace as we move around the front right corner of the school building, starting into the circle drive which leads into the mostly empty parking lot.
"Your dad will make you go,” I tell him. “When we get home—"
"He won't know."
That makes me laugh. “Hell yes he will.”
He turns to me. "No, he won't. Because you’re not going to tell him." He looks furious, like he might hit me—if he doesn’t throw up first.
"Are you always this pigheaded?" I ask.
"Are you always such a goddamn do gooder?"
I laugh again—because he’s so ridiculous. "This isn't do gooder. They said you got knocked out."
"I didn't." He makes this sound that’s kind of like a laugh, but with a rough edge on it. "Bullshit. It wasn't even a hard hit, but I was tired from last night."
I want to jab him there, but I won't. "We're going to the ER like I told them I would. I'm taking you now."
"Good luck with that." He stalks off between two parked cars. I blink, but he just keeps going.
"Are you fucking serious with this shit?" I shout.
He moves into the next row of cars and picks up his pace. I jog after. "Dude, what are you doing? Are you okay?"
He whirls on me—only for a second, so I can't read his face before he's walking again. "I'll get home. The only thing I need from you is keep your fucking mouth shut, Millsy."
I can't let him walk to the house. Not with a concussion. That's the only thing on my mind when I shout, "Okay—fuck. Turn around, you motherfucker!" I cup my hands around my mouth to shout, "I'll take you home!"
He stops. Stubborn jackass.
"That's right,” I shout. “Turn on around and let me take you home, ya stubborn ass."
He turns around. He's about a hundred feet up the way, walking in the grass that runs beside the road in front of the school. I can't see his face for the bright sunlight, so I wave him toward me and keep badgering, hoping he’ll come.
"C'mon, angel face. Let's get it movin'."
I just need to get him home. Then I can talk to Mom or Carl. Every step he takes toward me, he looks just a little worse. Got knocked out and just wants to forget about it. Dumbass.
I walk toward my car, still waving, and open the passenger side door. Then I start pointing at it like a host on Wheel of Fortune.
I watch his lips twitch. He presses them flat, because God forbid he smile at me. But I still see the corners dimpling.
"What the fuck?" he mutters as he nears me. He shakes his head, then winces.
"Get in, friend." I take his backpack, pleased when he does what I tell him to. I shut the door and stash his bag in the backseat before realizing that he needs his water, so I get his bottle out of the pocket on the side of the bag.
"Here you go."
"Wouldn't say we're friends," he mumbles as I slide behind the wheel. He's got his seat back just a little, and one arm draped over his eyes.
"Probably frenemies. Or stepfuckers." I blanch when I realize what I just said. "Not that kind of fuckers," I choke.
I can hear him snicker from behind his arm. "Knew you're sweet on me, but that's some fucked up shit."
"Fuck off, Masters."
"I thought I was angel."
"I said angel face. And angry angel." I roll my eyes at my own stupidity as I back out of my parking spot.
"I'm not angry." He says it so quietly that I almost don't hear.
"Are you hangry?" I'm not sure what else to say. My face is still hot from stepfuckers.
"No." He leans his chair back more, lowers his arm, and folds a hand over his eyes, rubbing his temples lightly with his fingertips.
I see his face twist in a grimace as I pull onto the main road. "You okay?"
"You shouldn't give me a ride." His voice is low and groaned.
My stomach flips at his tone. "Why not?"
He shakes his head, and then his other hand comes to his face. "Pull over."
"What?"
"Stop the car! NOW."
I pull over on a grassy shoulder, and he lunges out, slamming the door shut before bending over in the grass.
“Damn.” I feel almost sorry for his stubborn ass. That he's new, and he’s a freak dickface who's also clearly miserable. At least I think he is. I guess I could be wrong.
I make a mental note to ask my mom more questions about him. Then he's straightening up. I watch as he pulls his sweat-soaked T-shirt off and wipes his face with it. He moves slowly toward the car and pulls the back door open.