Rebel at Spruce High

“I’m not a cheater,” I assert yet again with more force.

One of his friends steps in. “C’mon, Kirkland. It isn’t worth it. Let’s get out of here. Your mom’s here to pick us up.”

The kid—Kirkland—lets out a sigh. “I’mma beat your score,” he tells me, “someday,” he adds uncertainly, then turns and leaves with his little trio of moody prepubescent gamers.

Kirkland. Wow, he’s grown a lot since the last time I saw him. He’s Kirk and Bonnie’s kid, and if I’m doing the math right, he just started third grade this year. Bonnie was a frequent customer at Lucille’s where my mom works. She used to babysit me back in the day, too, before my lovely stepfather came into the picture and cut everyone nice out of my life. If it wasn’t for his invasion, I’d have a better relationship with Kirkland. I could have been a big bro to him or something—a ten-years-older big bro, at that—but I guess I’ll settle for being the cheater in the arcade instead. Even though I’m no damned cheater.

With my experience at the arcade soured, I decide to suck it up and head home. By the time I get there, the back of my shirt is drenched in sweat. Coming around the side of the house through the always-opened gate in the fence, I push into my shed and drop my backpack on the floor, letting the door close behind me. Sweet relief. I click on the ceiling fan, drop onto my bed, then stare up at the blades of the fan as they go round and round. I wipe at a spot on my chin, then realize it’s a tiny smear of mustard, which I had apparently neglected to clean off properly in the school restroom. Has this been sitting on my chin the whole afternoon?

There’s an unsuccessful shove at my door, startling me. I lift myself up to witness the doorknob twisting with a loud creak, and in stumbles my stepbrother Lee, his thick eyebrows pulled tightly together with questions.

I sigh and drop back on my bed, not wanting any part of it. “It has been a very long first day back, Lee. The least you can do—”

“What happened at lunch?” he asks anyway.

“—is leave me be for a bit so I can rest,” I finish.

Lee closes the door behind him, drops onto my gaming chair uninvited, gives it a spin, then frowns at me. “Everyone was talkin’ about it. Why were you so late for fifth period? Were you really at the principal’s office that whole time? Heh, wow. Mom and Dad are gonna freak out.”

I cover my face with a hand—which smells like mustard now. Thanks Hoyt, you good-for-nothing level-one imp. “This morning, she’s Marly. Now, she’s Mom. Who will she be tomorrow?”

Lee stops spinning in the chair. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you have football practice or something …?” I ask him tiredly, wishing he’d just leave.

“It’s over already. It’s 5:35.”

I lift my head off the bed again to peek at my alarm clock, still resting on the floor halfway across the room where I knocked it this morning. I must’ve been at the arcade longer than I thought.

Then I frown at Lee. “What’s so amazing about Hoyt Nowak?”

“What do you mean?”

“Hoyt’s an asshole. Why hasn’t Coach Strong done anything about him? Why does the school protect him?”

“He’s not an asshole.”

“Why do you protect him?”

Lee pushes out of the chair with a huff. “I came in here to get you for dinner. Marly made spaghetti casserole.”

“Now we’re back to ‘Marly’.”

“And to advise you to keep away from that new guy.”

Now I sit up all the way. “New guy? You mean Vann?”

“Vann?” Lee scoffs. “What a weird name. What is he? A shoe? I don’t know what you’re doing involving yourself with him, but I heard why he’s here, and it’s not good. And if what he did during lunch today was any indication, all the rumors are true. Just keep away from him.” Lee reaches for my doorknob.

A second ago I wanted him to leave. Now I want him to stay. “What did he do? Why did he get transferred here?”

“Dinner’s gonna get cold,” he grunts, then heads out, leaving my door open behind him—and my questions unanswered.

I glower at the hot sunlight pouring in, frustrated as Lee’s ominous words float around my head like buzzing flies. He probably doesn’t know anything, I reason with myself. He just wants me to think he knows something special, like the real truth of why a guy like Donovan Pane got transplanted to a place like this. My stepbrother’s always trying to one-up me somehow and keep an upper-hand. He knows nothing.

Satisfied with that wobbly and maybe faulty conclusion, I push out of the shed and head to the main house for dinner. Mom’s in a chipper mood as she serves us, and my stepdad Carl is dark and brooding as he stabs bite after bite of piping-hot casserole into his mouth. He doesn’t look anyone in the eye, even as my mom goes on about something funny that happened last Friday at Lucille’s, the seedy bar-slash-café she works at on the edge of town. Lee keeps to himself completely, shoveling his food away much in the same manner as his dad does, except less angrily. I stare at him awhile as I slowly eat my own dinner, having found myself right back to wondering what the hell he knows, despite my efforts.