Page 59 of Hateful
The head of The Brotherhood tries to get me by myself no less than five times before lunch. I dodge him when I can, but he’s crafty, and he knows my smoking spot. I eventually have to rely on Rafael to stick with me everywhere I go.
“Alex,” he calls after me impatiently when I, yet again, duck into a separate hallway just to avoid him several days later.
I try to push myself into the crowd, but he grabs ahold of my backpack and tugs me toward him. I stumble backward into his chest.
“Let mego, Jasper,” I growl.
“I want to warn you,” he says in a low voice, his breath on my neck. I shiver despite myself. I may be trying to avoid him but he’s still hot.
Too hot. He makes me grow weak in the knees … and even weaker in my resolution to stay away from him.
“Jasper.” I glance up at him, truly meeting his eyes for the first time in weeks. He looks startled, and I feel his grip loosen on my backpack.
But notthatweak.
I wrench myself away. “Leave mealone,” I snap, turning to disappear into the crowd. I hear him yell after me, but his voice is lost in the hubbub. I don’t need his help, or his warnings, whatever they are.
Why is everyone acting so weird? The only person who’s doing exactly what I expect of them is Beck.
When I walk into my next class, he nonchalantly trips me, then yells at me for being too clumsy and “jeopardizing our chances at winning the relay race”. Later, at the dining hall, he slaps my food out of my hands and sends it sprawling in messy chunks on the floor.
“Beck,” Heath says with an edge in his voice, narrowly dodging the spoon from my mashed potatoes. “Chill.”
Beck glowers at him and moves away from me. Practice is sure going to be fun tonight.
At least there’sonesure thing I can count on.
Chapter Twenty
Heath makesme and Beck practice our baton pass over and over again. I’ve learned the correct angle to hold my arm, how much speed to put on right before I get to him, what to look for in his gait that indicates he’s ready to grab it. Beck, for his part, begrudgingly works with me until it looks almost second nature for him to snatch it out of my hands.
“One more time,” Heath yells over the field. “You were point two seconds slower.”
“Because I’m tired!” I shout back. “We should call it here.”
Beck doesn’t say anything, which means he agrees with me—for once. He scowls down at the baton in his hands.
I never thought I’d see The Brotherhood take something so seriously. Least of all, arelay race.
I guess it’s all about saving face.
Jasper stands nearby. “Yeah, Heath,” he shouts to him. “They’ve been doing it perfectly every time.”
“One more run-through, then,” Heath insists. “All of us. The race is tomorrow. Idon’twant to lose to the girls.”
He jogs over for a second, his chest heaving with breath. He’s taking this more serious than the rest of us—and that’s saying a lot.
Jasper, Beck, and I all share an exasperated glance, and for once, we all seem to be on the same wavelength. For one small second, we’re united. It’s over quickly. All three of us break apart to stand at our starting points, the moment immediately forgotten.
I get into position. Heath grabs the baton from Beck, then hands it to Jasper, who takes his place at the beginning of the track.
“GO!” Heath yells.
I wait, counting under my breath. I know it takes almost fourteen seconds for Jasper to reach Heath. I watch them do the handoff perfectly, then wait for the right moment to start running myself. Heath runs up beside me and slips the baton into my right hand.
I launch myself away, sprinting as well as my tired legs can allow around the curve of the track. Ahead of me, Beck begins to run and I hold out my arm, angle it just right, and slap it into his left hand, making sure I’m in the correct boundary for being able to pass the baton.
Beck shoots off like a bullet to our makeshift finish line. The whole thing takes a little under a minute. I suck in deep breaths to try and steady my heart rate as I walk my way back to Heath, as the others are doing.
