Rebel at Spruce High

Becky is thick as thieves with Nadine Strong, who is Coach Strong’s mother. Becky and Nadine went to this school ages ago. I have a mind to say something snarky about Coach Strong and how he leaves his precious athletes unchecked, but then remind myself that word gets around in this place—and not to mention that I work for Coach Strong’s husband’s parents’ burger joint. Phew, say that five times fast. If I talk bad about the coach, it will get to his husband, and then I’ll get funny looks at my job from Mrs. Tucker, my boss. That reminds me, I need to ask her if I can come in late Friday; I want to attend the auditions even if I’m not auditioning myself, and they tend to run late.

“I don’t know who pulled the fire alarm,” I confess.

Becky sighs. “I doubt anyone does. Maybe it was a phantom. Ugh, now I owe another call to Nadine. She’ll want to know about Marcie. You have a better day, Toby. Stay outta trouble, will you?” She’s back on the phone before I can even draw breath for a reply.

After the bell rings, I launch out of the office like a flaming boulder from a catapult, hurrying down the hall toward English. My peace from first period unravels the instant I’m on my way to second period, knowing who I’ll face. I pray I get there before he does; I need to snatch a seat as far away from him as possible.

I whip around the corner, then nearly crash right into him—the one I was trying to avoid, who stands at the door like a varsity-letterman-jacket-wearing block of dumb. “Hey there, Toby, bud!” he starts off, like he’s been waiting for me. “How’s your morning?”

I glower at him. “Move out of my way, Hoyt.”

“Hey, now. Yesterday was a mess, but we can do better, can’t we? You and I need to be civil with each other. I see you as my pal,” Hoyt decides sweetly, using that same mock tone of his, like he’s performing for a crowd of guffawing jock buddies at any time of the day. “Like my little brother. I’ll watch over you, alright? I might razz you up a bit, too, sure, but what else is a big brother for? Maybe I went too far at lunch yesterday, sure—”

I’m a year older than him, and this dope wants to call me his little brother. “I said move, please.”

“—but I ain’t ever hit you. I don’t beat you up, do I? Not like that biker-wannabe new kid Vann tried to do. Shoot. You need an upstanding pal like me on your side, not him.” Hoyt pats his own chest almost daintily. “I don’t want there to be any hard feelings.”

“Noted. Now move.”

“Besides, your brother’s on my team,” he then has to add, salt to the gaping wound, “and we’re tight, he and I. So what about us, Tobes? We kinda have to get along, right? It just makes sense.”

I’m finished with Hoyt’s playing around with me, so I shove past him. He makes no effort to move aside, but also doesn’t fight me as I push by, letting me press against his sturdy, athletic body on my way in, his eyes following me with a humored smirk on his irritatingly pretty-boy face.

The whole back row is taken, so I claim the next farthest seat in front of some guy I had geometry class with sophomore year. I open my book, ready for the bell to ring already and get this class over with. Hoyt, whose smug face I’m struggling to ignore, struts into the classroom finally and makes his way straight to the desk behind me, has a word with Mr. Sophomore Geometry, and sends that guy searching for another desk without any complaint. Hoyt takes his place, and just as the bell rings, he props his feet up on the back of my chair with a hearty sigh. Despite all my efforts to avoid it, I am once again blessed with a less-than-peaceful second period full of Hoyt’s big feet on my shoulders. No one notices, least of all Ms. Bean—for whom I’ll buy a new set of spectacles for Christmas.

When the bell releases us, I hear the distant shout of, “See ya in PE, Toby, pal!” before slipping out of the room.

But Hoyt is quite suddenly the least of my worries. As I make way for the temporary trailers outside, my heart starts to pick up pace. Now it’s a vastly different kind of dread that fills my bones with every step I take toward trailer 4-A. I can’t tell if I’m more excited or scared to see my chemistry partner.

Or if I’ll even see him at all.

He could have been suspended. Or expelled. Or whisked away yet again for causing an uproar at one more school, shipped off to the neighboring Fairview High School dozens of miles away. That thought doesn’t sit well with me.