Page 14 of The Fall of Iris Henley
“Bryce has had to stop and vomit twice already,” Sophie says, snickering.
I watch them in silence. Now I recognize Bryce, his weirdlyskinny legs and his overdeveloped chest, his shaggy wheat-colored hair. He staggers the last few steps of the track and comes to a halt, leaning over at the waist like he’s exhausted. His dad gestures at the watch.
“Oops, too slow,” Sophie says gleefully. “That’s four more laps, asshole.”
Bryce’s dad was a big football hero when he went to Varda, twenty-plus years ago. I remember last year when Bryce was Rocky’s alternate on the team, Mr. Sanders kept showing up at random practices to try to talk the coach into giving Bryce more playing time. Rocky said it was really embarrassing. “Man, just accept that your kid sucks and stop showing up to rub it in his face,” he’d said. It wasn’t the most tactful way to put it, obviously, but Rocky legitimately seemed to feel bad for Bryce.
Well, now Bryce has Rocky’s QB spot; you’d think that’d make his dad a little happier. I can just make out Mr. Sanders’s voice. “I don’t care how hungover you are. I can do this all day.”
“Almost enough to make me feel bad for him,” I say, sitting next to Hayden. “But not quite.”
“Yeah, well, you’d better keep your distance,” Hayden says. “I hear it on good authority that he wants to ask you out to homecoming.”
I make a face. The dance is this Friday and I have been firmly planning to go stag. I still can’t get my brain around the idea of dating anyone.
Well, I think, remembering Jonah’s photo, how cozy he looked next to his dog. Almost anyone.
“You guys want to go to Sunnyside?” I ask, kicking my feet against the sun-warmed stone wall. “My treat.”
Usually we hit the town’s diner, the Sunnyside Up, after a Saturday practice. But today Hayden gives an apologetic little wince.
“I can’t,” she says. “Carter’s sulking today. I don’t knowwhat his problem is but I need to do some kind of damage control.”
“Damage control? What is he, a child?” Sophie asks with a sneer. “He’s just mad you had to drive us home before he had a chance to get laid last night.”
“It’s not like that,” Hayden says, but she doesn’t sound very convincing.
“Anyway, I have to pass on pancakes today,” Sophie grumbles. “I am somehow already behind on civics. I can’t get all carb-drowsy.”
“Maybe if you laid off the weed it’d help,” Hayden says, eager to have something to jab at Sophie about. Sophie just punches her in the arm.
“Okay,Mom,” she says.
Before the argument can escalate, someone leans on a car horn. We look up to see Carter in his F-250, idling a few feet away. He’s wearing shades. Beneath that his mouth and cheeks sag heavily. All the affable, doltish intoxication of last night is gone. Now he just looks mean.
“Shit,” Hayden mutters. She jumps up and waves. “Babe!”
He doesn’t answer. He just sits motionless as she bounces over to the car. But he’s not watching her.
He’s watching me.
A tremor works its way up through my body. I force myself not to look away, not to flinch. Hayden says something to him. When he doesn’t respond, she shoots me a nervous glance.
“Um. See you later, guys,” she says.
She waits for a moment, but when we don’t respond she disappears around to the other side of the truck to climb in. Carter’s still staring at me, his face unmoving. Then, before Hayden even gets her seat belt on, he peels out from the curb.
“What a jackass,” Sophie mutters.
But I get the message.
Carter believes the post.
Carter thinks I’m a murderer.
My phone is in my hand. I don’t even remember fishing it out of my bag; it’s such a habit by this point. I open Sekrit and scroll through the comments that have shown up just in the last few hours while I’ve been at practice.
sugarspice:she should be arrested
