Chapter 17 #2
At that, Jamie smiles, but there’s a sinking feeling in my gut.
I don’t want to use terms like that about Tabitha.
I don’t want to sound like I’m ordering her around or manhandling her.
But Jamie won’t understand me being civil with her.
And she definitely won’t accept me doing it for her benefit.
Jamie hates being seen as a charity case or just a girl.
I know she’s neither of those things, but I don’t want to rehash it.
I think one more punch from her and all my stitches would be busted.
“So, what’d Ms. Jenkins want?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Oh, you know, usual teacher crap. ‘You’re not living up to your potential. Your work is sloppy. Your grades are slipping.’ That kind of garbage.”
“Ms. Jenkins said that?”
“Okay, she was nicer than that. But it’s the gist of what they all say to me.”
“I don’t get grades,” I say as the passion swells inside me. “Why we need to regurgitate the same stuff they lecture is beyond me. I hate that school turns us into mindless drones.”
“Well, that’s why I don’t do the homework,” Jamie says with a laugh. “No way am I willing to be a cog in the machine.”
I grin at her. “You and me, James. We get it.”
I freaking love that she gets it. I’d still believe in this stuff if I were on my own. But I love that Jamie’s friendship validates my ideas. She’s definitely my ride-or-die.
By the time we reach Mom’s car, we’ve bypassed Milo, who meanders like he’s lost in a world inside his head. Knowing him, he’s still thinking about King Lear even though we’ve escaped English.
After Mom parks the car in the garage, Jamie and I book it toward the soccer ball lying in wait in the corner. We barge into each other, wrestling with our feet to take ownership of the ball. With some fancy footwork, Jamie gains control and taps the ball through the rear door to the backyard.
But she’s not the only one who’s perfecting their fancy skills.
I gain on her, sliding my foot in from the right.
“Here comes Nelson, going in for the steal,” I commentate.
“Oh, he fakes right, he fakes left. He pushes back, and West doesn’t know what hit her.
” With a scissor move, I take possession of the ball.
“Nelson gains speed, he lines up the goal, and…” I throw all my power behind a kick. “Goooaaaallll!”
Jamie moves in on the ball after it ricochets off the back fence. “Since when is that the goal? I thought we decided it was over there.”
“And as always,” I continue in my commentator voice, “West is a sore loser.”
She pokes her tongue out at me and flicks the ball in the air with the inside of her shoe. The ball bounces on her left knee, and then her right. With some height, she jumps in the air and kicks the ball to our usual backyard goal.
Jamie runs across the grass with her arms up in cheer. “Goal!”
I give her a slow clap as I jog toward the wayward ball.
Her gaze is already back on the ball, and I use my peripherals to keep her in check.
She’s not getting the ball from me again.
When she gains on me, I slide to the left and then spin back to the right.
She stumbles, trying to correct herself.
I pull back my leg, ready to put some force behind the ball, when Jamie flies into my side.
“Oh, crap!” I grunt, grasping my newly bandaged arm.
Jamie gasps. “Again?”
I step backward, bringing some space between us. “Are you a magnet for my stitches or something?”
She winces. “I didn’t mean to.”
I shake it off. “It’s cool. But maybe we should call it a day. I don’t want Mom catching on.”
She nods hurriedly. “Absolutely.”
With the suggestion of Shadow Quest, Jamie and I dash upstairs and boot up the console to play the next mission. I leave for my bedroom to carefully change out of this monkey suit. Phew. No blood oozed out of the bandage. Man, that girl really whacks me.
I circle back to the living room, and Jamie cues up a two-player mission. Guess our characters won’t be duking it out this time. Probably a good thing.
A few minutes into the mission, while Jamie angrily smashes the controller buttons to kill a nasty ogre, my phone buzzes in my pocket. My fingers hover over my controller buttons. There’s only one person it could be. I picture her soft, bouncy curls and hear that adorable giggle.
No, stop it. Game. Play the game.
But the images and sound don’t leave my head. They derail my focus from the game. That never happens.
“I gotta go,” I say, ditching my controller and rounding the couch.
Jamie retches. “Excuse me? What the heck?”
“Bathroom,” I mutter. “Keep playing without me.”
I move into the bathroom to read her text.
"Hi. I just wanted to say hi."
It takes me aback. I need to read it three more times, and then reply with "Okay?"
She texts back with, "What I was trying to say in the hall after English is, we can chat via text, but it feels so awkward in person."
With a sigh, I sit on the closed toilet seat as I text. "You have to admit, we’re not exactly friends."
"I know. I know. But I’ve liked texting with you."
This is it. Do or die. Admit I liked it too, or shut her down.
Shut her down, Kai. What are you waiting for?
"What do you want me to do?" I text. "I can’t start hanging out with you."
I’m not usually a fence-sitter. I either believe something, or I wholeheartedly don’t. But this…
With Tabitha, I can’t make a decision either way.
But I am texting her.
Don’t tell me I’ve made my decision.
"Yeah, I know. And my friends would HATE it," Tabitha texts. "But we can study together. I mean, we need to work on our hypotenuse, right?"
I tilt my head, looking at that word that sounds so wrong. "You mean hypothesis?"
"Lol, whatever."
"Isn’t your word something to do with triangles?"
"Kai, get over the triangles. Do you want to study with me after school tomorrow?"
I clear my throat and ring a finger around my somehow constricting T-shirt collar. I’m pretty sure Jamie has to work tomorrow. But if she doesn’t, I can’t hang out with Tabitha. I mean, I want to hang out with Jamie more. I always do. That’s a given. Why am I trying to convince myself? It’s true.
I wander out of the bathroom and find Jamie’s head poking over the back of the couch. “James, do you want to hang out tomorrow?”
She groans, throwing her head back against the couch. “Yes, but I have to work.”
“Ah, that sucks,” I say aloud. I type behind her back: "Yes, okay."
“Are you gonna come back and play?” Jamie asks, waving a controller in the air. “You’ve been in the bathroom for ages.”
“What? Do you wanna know all the details?” I ask, rounding the couch.
She hurls the controller at me. “Eww, no.”
I catch the controller and wince.
Jamie squeaks. “Crap. Did you hurt your stitches again?”
I bite through the pain and sit on the couch beside her. “Don’t you mean, did you hurt my stitches again?”
She grunts and waves me off. “Look, are you gonna play or what? I wouldn’t have picked a two-player mission if I'd known you’d be dead weight.”
“I thought you had everything under control.”
“Dude, look at the screen. I’m being attacked by ogres over here.”
“Good lord, James, I left you alone for two seconds.”
My text chime goes off, and Jamie takes her eyes off the TV and lands on my phone. “Have you been texting while I’m dying here?”
“No.”
The text chime goes off again. Dang Tabitha and her double messages.
“Who are you texting? Who could be more important than backing me up on this mission?”
I definitely shouldn’t answer that. “Can you focus on the game? How are we gonna kill these ogres if you’re worried about a stupid text?”
Jamie shakes her shoulders and leans forward with the controller. “Okay, you’re right. Game-faces on.”
Man, I feel crappy. I shouldn’t keep this from her. But what good will it serve her to know?
It’s just until the assignment is done. Then I’ll have no reason to speak to Tabitha Jones ever again.
I think.
I hope so.
Maybe.
I swing my blade through an ogre’s beefy neck, and the satisfaction puts my thoughts on ice. I slink down on the couch and mellow out to the sounds of swords swishing through the air, guttural screams of dying ogres, and the disgusting blood splatters coating every surface.