Chapter 9 — Static （Nora） #2
“You good? I didn't squash you or break anything important?” Cole asked, quieter this time, eyes flicking over me once, quick and real. I nodded fast and bumped his knee again so he'd drop it. He dropped it, but his grin stayed gentler after.
“Whole and unsquashed. Go back to snoring, you hazard,” I said. “Seriously, get some rest. You've got a game to play. I've got studying to panic about.” Cole saluted with the ruined sheet. The rain thinned to mist on the windows.
“You look wiped, Quinn. Talk to me. What's rattling around in there?” Cole asked, soft under the engine drone. “Is it the midterm? The rain? My world-class snoring?”
“All three. Mostly the midterm. Mostly everything,” I said. “If I bomb it I lose hours I can't afford to lose. So no pressure or anything.”
“Hey. You won't bomb it. You're the smartest person on this bus and it's not close,” Cole said. “And if your brain fries, I'll lend you mine. Barely used. Great condition.”
“Tempting. Does it come with a receipt? Can I return it?” I said, and Cole laughed so loud Deon shushed him.
“Rude. So rude. I'm telling Deon you hurt my feelings,” Cole said. “Deon, tell her I'm smart. Lie if you have to. Lie big.”
“Both of you hush. Some of us are resting our eyes back here,” Deon said. “Quinn, you study your brains out every week. Trust the work. Trust yourself.”
“Trust the work. Got it. Writing that on my hand later,” I said, throat tight, because I wanted to believe him so bad it ached.
The rest stop rose out of the gray with its buzzing sign and puddled lot, and the bus exhaled to a stop that rocked us all forward. Cold air knifed in when the door folded open. Everybody stood at once, knees popping, phones already out and glowing.
I filed down the steps and cold lot air slapped me awake. Puddles threw back gray sky. Beck came down two bodies back, close enough that his sleeve grazed my wrist by the bus door.
We froze half a heartbeat, breath white between us, his gray-green eyes on mine. Then we kept walking. My wrist burned. I tucked my hands in my sleeves.
Somebody's speaker crackled too loud on purpose. Heads turned. Guys whooped. Deon's head came up. My stomach dropped.
“Turn that up? No — no. Turn it off, man.” Deon cut a hand through the air, jaw tight for the first time all morning. I flinched at the edge in his voice. The guy with the phone grinned and turned it up instead. Laughter rippled. Cole shifted in front of me, half-shielding, still deciding.
“What's up, Kennel? It's your boy Kip and we've got a spicy one today,” Kip Farley's voice said through the speaker, bright with gossip, fast and gleeful. Phones glowed in half the hands around me. I went still down to my shoes. Cold air burned my lungs.
“We've heard things. You guys aren't — aren't ready.” Kip laughed his hyena laugh into the mic. I dug my nails into my palms. Somebody near the curb echoed him. Deon's shoulders went square. My fingers tightened on my phone till the case creaked.
“The QB room's a mess, folks, and that's putting it kind. Film fixes not sticking at all,” Kip said. “Somebody's install sheets look like modern art. You can't make this stuff up, people.” Another laugh went up, thinner this time. Heat stung across my face.
Cole's head dropped, the crushed sheet hidden in his fist behind his back. That paper wasn't funny. That paper was somebody trying. I wanted to snatch the phone and spike it into a puddle. My hands shook. I locked my elbows against my sides.
“We've got DMs, people. We've got screenshots of things you wouldn't believe,” Kip said, rolling on, bright and careless. “My inbox is full. overflowing. Keep them coming, Kennel. Daddy loves gossip.” I stared at the puddles and couldn't swallow.
“Plus the tutor situation — somebody's getting extra credit, if you catch my drift,” Kip said, and the aside slid light as a knife between my ribs. I stopped breathing. My name stayed unsaid and everybody heard it anyway. Eyes found me and slid off. Heat flooded my face and froze there.
“Sources say the backup quarterback has been talking.” Kip let the line land flat and bright in the cold air, and every hair on my arms stood up. The laughter around me died too fast, choked off mid-note. My breath stopped. I couldn't feel my fingers.
“That's me. Oh God. That's about me.” My voice shook out of me before I could lock it down, and I hated how small it sounded. Cole turned fast, his grin gone. Deon stepped sideways, blocking somebody's sight line with his shoulder.
“Are you kidding me with this garbage? Somebody turn that trash off,” Cole said, loud and raw, glaring at the guy holding the phone. I jumped at the crack in his voice. The guy smirked and held the speaker higher. Deon stepped between them with both palms out.
“Kip's a clown with a mic and everybody knows it. Don't wear this, Quinn,” Cole said. “It's just noise. It's just some idiot chasing clicks. Don't let it stick.” He planted himself at my shoulder, jaw set, ears still red. My eyes stung.
“Easy for you to say. Nobody's talking about your seat on this bus,” I said, hugging my elbows till my knuckles ached. The words came out sharper than I meant. Cole took them without flinching. That undid me more than the clip had.
“Nobody's taking your seat either. Not on my bus, not today,” Deon said. “I mean it. Everybody put the phones away and breathe. This is nothing.” He held his ground between us and the phones, broad and still. A speaker died. Another followed.
“Turn it off. Now. I'm not asking twice, man,” Beck said across the lot, low and flat, and two more screens went dark. He didn't look at me. He didn't have to. I felt the words land like a hand at my back. The third phone kept playing.
Kip rolled on, naming names without naming sources, bright and cruel. My phone buzzed and I couldn't look. I stared at the puddles.
The locker wrongness rose sharp behind my eyes, pages riffling wrong, edges off. Paired with Kip it felt less innocent than at dawn. Trust held, but something watchful woke.
I carried it quiet while the clip jumped phone to phone. Beck's eyes found mine across the asphalt, wrecked and steady. I shook my head. He nodded.
“Don't listen. Hey — hey. Don't play it again.” Cole slapped his hand over the nearest speaker, voice cracking on the last word. I jumped. The guy shoved back. Deon caught Cole's shoulder before it went further.
Then Kip's voice went bright over three phones at once: “Sources say Hale's playbook is already out there — and we've got the pages to prove it.”