Only Everything Page 6

  “Thank you, Katrina, Josh, and Casey, for taking your teachers seriously when they told you this was a mandatory assignment,” Ms. Day said, walking back to the front of the room with our papers. “As for the rest of you, congratulations. You now have until Monday the sixteenth to read one of the books on the list and write a five-page book report.”

  A groan went up around the room. Turtle boy snored.

  “If you need a copy of the list, see me after class, or you can check the school’s website or visit the Lake Carmody library, as you could have done throughout the summer. As for the three of you who did the assignment, congratulations are due to you as well. You will have no homework from me for the first two weeks of school.”

  “Yes!” Josh Harper cheered, pumping his meaty fists.

  I bit back a grin.

  “Goody-goody,” Raine muttered mockingly. Then she shot me a smile.

  “These will be your textbooks for the year,” Ms. Day announced, circulating the room with a pile of books. “They contain the knowledge you’ll need to ace the English portion of your SAT.”

  More groans. But as the book slid onto my desk, I felt a sizzle of excitement and anticipation. I cracked the book’s spine and inhaled the plasticky, new-book scent. Ms. Day caught me smiling and winked, which made Raine roll her eyes, but I didn’t even care. I’d handed in the paper and hadn’t died of humiliation. Maybe this year really would be better than last.

  CHAPTER SIX

  True

  The honors English teacher looked like a Hun and had the personality to match. You’d think she’d be happier, considering she was sporting a gold wedding band and had a picture of herself and her handsome husband framed on her desk. People around here obviously took true love for granted. I would have liked to have seen how she would behave if she’d had that big hunk of masculinity ripped away from her for the gods knew how long. Maybe it would soften her a touch.

  I blew out a sigh. I really missed Orion.

  But we’d been sitting in class for thirty minutes already, and the teacher had done nothing but quiz us on the authors and themes of the titles they’d read last year. So far, I’d learned exactly nothing. Other than the fact that the chairs these humans forced their young people to sit in day after day were excruciatingly hard.

  “Does anyone recall who wrote Of Mice and Men?” the teacher asked.

  A girl in the front row raised her hand like a shot. She had, in fact, raised her hand to answer every question the teacher had posed. Her strawberry-blond hair was pulled back tightly from her head and tied into a French braid like Harmonia liked to weave into my hair when she was bored, adding a daisy or a sprig of lavender here and there. She had a smattering of freckles across her cute, upturned nose, and very pretty pink lips. And from what I could tell, she was the smartest girl in the room, not to mention the most eager.

  “Would anyone other than Miss Halliburn care to answer?” the teacher asked, looking over the class with an imperious raise of her chin. Her shoulders were almost perfectly square, and she had pointy sideburns that did not flatter her round face.

  Miss Halliburn was practically falling out of her chair in an attempt to raise her arm even higher. I knew the answer but didn’t care to share it. My head still hurt, and I didn’t exactly feel challenged. Plus, ever since lunch the skin on my face had felt tight and hot and stung whenever I touched it. I closed my eyes and carefully pressed my fingertips to my temple. My skull warmed and the pounding ceased.

  I stopped breathing and my eyes flew open. Could it be? Was my power back?

  But then, with a slam of pain, the throbbing returned full force, so bad I had to concentrate to keep from mewling like a tortured kitten. Wishful thinking.

  “Anyone?” the teacher repeated.

  Next to me, Charlie carefully raised his hand.

  “Yes, Mr. Cox?” the teacher said.

  “John Steinbeck?” he asked.

  Miss Halliburn turned around in her seat. “You’re right!” she said, as if surprised.

  “It happens occasionally,” Charlie replied.

  Everyone laughed. Charlie’s ears turned pink and Miss Halliburn smiled. Then she turned around in her seat, awaiting the next question with an excited air about her. I looked at Charlie. He was smiling to himself. I glanced at Miss Halliburn. Leaning up against the legs of her chair was a long black box with a handle. A flute case. Charlie’s drumsticks lay across the pile of books under his desk.

  They were both musicians. Check.

  At lunch, Charlie had told me he loved to read, which this Miss Halliburn person clearly did as well. Check.

  But he had also told me that his favorite subject was math. I slid down in my seat for a better look at Miss Halliburn’s books. A fat trigonometry text anchored the pile. Check.

  Charlie had also told me that he came from a football family, whatever that meant, but that he didn’t play himself. I couldn’t imagine that Miss Halliburn was a football fan or a player, with her tiny wrists and ankles and the copious amounts of pink she was wearing. Check.

  I smiled to myself, staring down at my fingertips, which I could have sworn were still tingling. Could it be? Did I have my first match?

  As soon as the bell rang I zipped right over to Miss Halliburn’s desk. A gold plate around her neck told me in dainty script that her first name was Stacey. Charlie Cox and Stacey Halliburn. It had a ring.

  “Hi, Stacey,” I said brightly, gritting my teeth against my headache.

  She stood up and looked around, like she was worried I was about to pounce. “Uh . . . hi?” she said like a question.

  “My name’s True,” I told her with the friendliest smile I had in me. “And I have a proposition for you.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Charlie

  The band room was worth waiting for. I’d never seen anything like it. Six risers for the musicians, a state-of-the-art recording system, a sheet music collection like no other. But it was the drums that really got me. They couldn’t have been more than five years old, and they gleamed like they had been polished that morning. Three schools ago the snare drums had been drawn on with permanent marker, and when I’d asked if they had kettles, they’d laughed. In my face.

  I was in heaven. And when Mr. Roon, the band director, handed me the mallet for the bass drum, then the sheet music to the Harry Potter score, I almost cried. I didn’t even care that the other guys in the drum corps were shooting me annoyed looks throughout class. The orchestra was awesome. And I kept the beat perfectly the whole time, if I do say so myself.

  Maybe living here wouldn’t suck so bad. It seemed like only five minutes had passed when the bell rang.

  “Thank you, everyone!” Mr. Roon called out as chairs scraped and music sheets fluttered. “Remember, if you haven’t signed up for marching band yet, and you’re interested, see me in my office!”

  I couldn’t stop grinning. Then I bent to grab my backpack off the floor, and someone bumped into me from behind. My forehead hit the cinder-block wall and then my knees hit the floor.

  “What the hell?” I said.

  The beefy guy in the Phineas and Ferb T-shirt who had been on the snare barely glanced at me. “Sorry. Didn’t see you.”

  Yeah, right.

  I shoved myself up but didn’t have time to think up a comeback. Mr. Roon was suddenly right in front of me. He had shaggy reddish-brown hair that stuck out at a million angles like a scarecrow, tiny glasses, and a wispy goatee.

  “Charlie, if you don’t mind, would you play something for me on the drum set?” He raised his arm out elegantly toward the smokin’ black kit in the far corner. “I like to know what I’m working with.”

  “Sure,” I said eagerly.

  I’d been eyeing that drum set ever since the first bell of the period. It was beautiful—nothing like the crappy old kit in my garage. Not that I didn’t love my drums. My mother had saved up and then scoured the garage sales for me last spring when we were still in Austin. Asi
de from practicing on them whenever I could, I had pounded on them after every argument I’d ever had with my father. Very helpful in that way. My drum kit was my favorite thing in the world. But it was still crappy and old.

  I shoved my music into my backpack and shouldered it. As I crossed the bustling room, I noticed Phineas and Ferb and two of his friends had slowed to a crawl. I drew my sticks out of my pocket, adjusted the stool, and started to play the jazz solo I’d been working on for the past few weeks. A few musicians who had been chatting and straggling stopped to watch. Self-consciousness seeped in and I closed my eyes, blocking them out. This was the one part about playing that I didn’t love—the audience. I’d never loved being the center of attention. With two superheroic older brothers, it had never been my natural state of being. But as long as I closed my eyes and felt the music, it didn’t matter. And now, I was in the zone. When I was done, I reached out to steady the cymbal and sighed. That felt good.

  A few people applauded. Mostly girls, I couldn’t help noticing. Instantly I thought of Katrina, and those offhanded comments the girls had made at lunch. I couldn’t believe she’d lost her dad. It had sounded, in fact, like she’d lost a lot more than that. I wished I’d said something to her in the hallway before, but what?

  Oh, hey. You don’t know me, but sorry your dad died? Not likely.

  “Fantastic, Charlie. Absolutely fantastic,” Mr. Roon said.

  “Thank you, sir,” I replied, trying to focus.

  The guys from the corps snorted, like they’d never heard anyone use the word “sir” before. Mr. Roon glanced at them. “Looks like you gents have lucked into a talented new member.”

  “Great.” Phineas and Ferb sneered at me. The other two said nothing.

  I got my stuff together and headed for the door. The three corps members stood close enough together that I couldn’t get through. I stared each of them in the eye.

  “Excuse me,” I said.

  “Excuse us, sir,” the short one said pointedly, backing off with his hands in the air.

  I shook my head as I blew by them. So much for making friends in orchestra. At least they were good. That was something. Not that I’d ever tell them that if this was the way they were going to be.

  “Hey, sir! Wait up, sir!”

  They were following me. The little hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

  “Hey you, new guy. We’re talking to you, sir!”

  I gritted my teeth and kept walking.

  “Is there a problem?” I said quietly.

  “Our problem is we’ve been playing together for three years. We’re finally seniors. And we don’t need some punk-ass hick coming in here and screwing up our corps,” Phineas and Ferb said, getting in front of me.

  I backed up into the wall. This kid had, like, a hundred pounds on me and I could see up his nostrils. He was pissed.

  “I just want to play drums,” I said, hoping to appeal to him on common ground. “I don’t care which ones or on what songs. I just want to play.”

  “Well, we don’t want you here, sir,” he said, shoving my chest so hard my head knocked back against the wall. “So tomorrow you’re gonna go in there and tell Mr. Roon you want to switch to the glockenspiel or the harp or something. Whatever you want. But you’re not gonna be a part of our corps.”

  He shoved me again, and this time my head cracked so hard I saw stars. I was trying to figure a way out of this when a hand came down on Phineas’s shoulder.

  “Lay off him, Fred.”

  Fred. So his name was Fred. Well, Fred paled at the sound of Josh’s voice. Then he paled some more when he saw Brian and Trevor were with him.

  “I wasn’t doing anything,” Fred said, raising his meaty palms.

  The other two drummers were already halfway down the hall. Looked like they weren’t the type who had their friend’s back.

  “It’s fine,” I said to Josh. “Really.”

  Josh didn’t look convinced. He gave Fred a menacing stare. “Why are you still here? Go!”

  Fred flinched and took off after his buddies. I cleared my throat, standing up straight. The back of my head radiated crackles of pain. “Thanks, man.”

  “No problem. That kid’s been a bully since we were in kindergarten and he was the big bad first grader,” he said. “Luckily, I’m bigger than him now,” he added with a grin.

  I laughed and rubbed at the bump forming on my head.

  “I woulda pounded on him some for ya, but his band’s playing my party next Friday, so I don’t wanna, like, create bad blood or whatever,” Josh added.

  “Or break his arms,” Brian put in.

  They both laughed. “Or break his arms,” Josh agreed.

  “He’s in a band?” I asked, jealous against my will.

  “They’re called Universal Truth,” Trevor said with an eye roll. “But they’re good.”

  “Annoyingly. They’re so good I actually have to pay them for the gig,” Josh put in. “Anyway, I gotta get to football practice, but Brian’s on his way to help Coach Ziegler with cross-country tryouts. You in?”

  “Come on, man,” Brian said, raising his palms. “You only gotta run a three-mile course. It’s no big.”

  I had that put-on-the-spot feeling that I didn’t love. “I don’t know, you guys. . . .”

  “You make it, you get a varsity jacket,” Trevor told me, opening the lapel of his own like he was modeling it. “The ladies love the varsity jacket.”

  I laughed.

  “And hey! You get to come to Moskowitz’s party next weekend,” Brian said, slapping my chest with the back of my hand. “It’s varsity athletes only. Well, and girls. Lots of girls.”

  “And Universal Truth.” Trevor rolled his eyes again.

  A party? I hadn’t been invited to a party since the fourth grade. And this was a real party. A popular crowd party. With a live band. For a second I stood there, trying to wrap my head around this. All day I’d been waiting for these guys to suddenly pants me in the cafeteria, or lure me into a bathroom for a swirly, or worse. But now the day was over and they were still not torturing me. It was getting harder to believe that they didn’t actually want to be friends.

  But did I want to be friends with them? I mean, they weren’t exactly my type of guys with their thick necks, school spirit, and sports-obsessive attitudes. They were more the Quarterback Twins’ type of guys. But then, wouldn’t rejecting their friendship on superficial criteria be as bad as the kids at the other schools rejecting me for what I looked like? For the things I was into?

  My brain was starting to hurt. And Brian, Josh, and Trevor were waiting. The adrenaline from the near miss with Fred was still coursing through my veins. Maybe I could work it out with a run. Just this once. It wasn’t like I was going to actually make the team.

  “What the hell,” I said with a shrug. “I’m in.”

  “Yes!” Brian cheered, throwing his arm around my shoulders. “You will not regret this.”

  “Aw, yeah,” Josh said, slapping hands with Trevor behind my head. “I knew we’d get him!”

  I tugged out my cell phone as we loped toward the locker rooms. For kicks, I texted my dad.

  HOME LATE. TRYING OUT FOR XCOUNTRY.

  He was probably running drills on the football field over at St. Joe’s right now. I imagined the whistle falling out of his mouth as he stared at the phone in shock. That simple image would make a three-mile run totally worth it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  True

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this. Why am I doing this? I’m not even supposed to date. My mother would freak out if she knew I was here. I mean, she would freak. Out.”

  Stacey rubbed her knees together as we waited near the back door of the gym, her ribbed stockings making a shush, shush, shushing sound. There were a few other packs of kids hanging around, some in blue-and-white soccer uniforms, others in football pads, others in plain clothes. Half of them were texting instead of talking to their friends. Ugh.

&
nbsp; At least I’d lost the awful red boots. When I’d taken them off in the locker room for last-period gym, the gym teacher had spotted the open sores on my feet and sent me right to the nurse. Now I sported several bandages, a clean pair of white socks, and a pair of blue-and-white cheerleading sneakers someone had fished out of a supply closet. They were heavenly. I was going to wear them every day for the rest of my exile.

  “Do you really think he’ll like me?” Stacey asked. “What if he doesn’t like me?”

  I looked her up and down through the silver-framed sunglasses I’d taken from an open locker, thereby fixing the glaring sun problem, and smiled in an encouraging way. My heart went out to her. Somehow, even with her big brown eyes, her appealing smile, and her obvious intelligence, the girl had serious self-esteem issues. Being with a good, stable, sweet guy like Charlie would work wonders on her. That was one of the many incredible things about love, its power to change a person’s life.

  “Why wouldn’t he?” I said.

  Stacey’s eyebrows shot up, and she smiled. “You’re so sweet!” She looped her arm through mine and clutched me to her side. “I’m so glad you moved here. I think we’re going to be best friends.”

  I smiled, moved and relieved by the contact. No one aside from the nurse had touched me today. Not once. At least I now knew that people did still want to connect around here. Perhaps all was not lost.

  “There he is!” she breathed, rising up onto her toes.

  Charlie had just crested the hill with one of the VT—Brian, he of the dark skin and ridiculously winning smile. Charlie’s face was ruddy, and his hair was wet around the ears. His gray T-shirt was stained with sweat, and he was grinning from ear to ear. He looked strong. Vibrant. Manly. He was oozing testosterone. I could see the attraction written across Stacey’s face, and why not? Men gave off abundant amounts of pheromones when filled with the adrenaline of battle.

  “Charlie!” I shouted, waving.

  He said his good-byes to his VT friend and jogged over. This was it. Their first impression of each other. I felt a flutter of nervousness inside my chest.