Chapter 10

Iwas a few minutes late to gym the next day because the girls in my class took their sweet time occupying every stall in the bathroom. By the time I shuffled in, everyone was lined up for attendance. I tried to slide in unnoticed, but Mr. Downs had other ideas. "Nice of you to join us, Alice."

I saw Hunter perk up from the corner of my eye, but when I peeked in his direction, his gaze snapped away.

We played another full-court basketball game because Mr. Downs wasn't the creative type. I stood around "guarding" the basket and pretending I wasn't staring at Hunter for a full forty-two minutes.

The athletic team crushed us like usual, and when the ball found its way into Hunter's hands, he tossed it aside before retreating to the folded bleachers so he could do nothing in peace. He took out his phone, and as the game wore on, he alternated between typing and reading. It was none of my business who Hunter chose to talk to, but my stomach still dipped at his emerging smirk. I clenched my teeth together, wishing they were my words filling his head and not a certain someone's with bright pink hair.

I dragged my gaze from him and watched Scott dribble the ball with lazy arrogance. He twisted around two of my useless teammates, causing them to almost crash into each other, before passing the ball to Josh. Josh slammed the ball into the net, and they whooped and hollered as they jogged their way to the opposite end of the court. Despite their cheering, Hunter didn't even bother to glance up.

By the end of the period, it was fifty-something to nothing. Scott stopped under the basket, and instead of taking his clear shot, he clutched the ball with both hands. For one idiotic moment, I thought he was showing us mercy. But instead of passing the ball to a teammate, he pivoted in Hunter's direction. Hunter was six feet away, hyperfocused on his phone, unaware Scott had turned toward him. But his instincts were good, and as he started to look up, Scott brought both hands over his head and threw the ball as hard as he could at Hunter's face.

It hit Hunter square in the nose, and his head slammed into the bleachers behind him. He lurched forward, hissing in pain as he held his nose with both hands, phone discarded at his feet.

Everything stopped. The entire gymnasium grew silent as we watched Hunter, unsure how he might react. He was bent forward, swearing breathlessly, and I stood frozen in place. Blood pooled in his hands, and there was a very real possibility his nose had broken completely.

The basketball was the only sound in the gymnasium as it bounced to Scott's feet. He stooped to pick it up. "My bad, bro, you were open."

Hunter straightened up, and I hissed on an inhale. Blood poured from his nose like a faucet. There were a few snickers, but no one said anything. Hunter pulled his shirt to his face and wiped his nose. Though there should have been tears, all I saw was blood and fury.

I was tempted to help him, but the murderous look on his face paralyzed me. Mr. Downs barreled over, but he halted, taking notice of Hunter's lethal expression. He took a hesitant step back. "What are you doing standing around, not even paying attention?"

Hunter stared at Mr. Downs, not breaking eye contact as he wiped his nose with his shirt again in a slow, deliberate motion. He was beginning to look like a character from a horror movie with blood dripping down his chin and a glare so black we all should have been running.

Scott spun the basketball on one finger. He glanced between Hunter and Mr. Downs. "Can he, like, go to the nurse already? He's going to give us all AIDS."

Josh laughed, the sound of it filling the entire gymnasium. "You have to find someone to have sex with to get AIDS."

There were a few more breaths of laughter, and Scott's eyes glittered, his brightness darting to me. "Right, that's a good point. Maybe he's still a virgin. I figured he finally cracked and paid to get it over with."

Hunter stared at him, eerily calm.

"That's enough," Mr. Downs said with a huff. He redirected his gaze to Hunter. "Go to the nurse, will you?"

Hunter started forward, and Mr. Downs and Scott both shifted, taking small uncertain steps back. Instead of charging forward, Hunter stooped to pick up his phone and walked out of the gymnasium, his arms at his sides even though his nose was still gushing blood. No one said a thing, and when the doors slammed shut behind him, the game resumed as though nothing at all had happened.

We had to read this awful book in ninth grade. I tried to stop reading halfway through because it made my stomach hurt, but I started failing the pop quizzes, so I kept reading, wincing the whole way through just to get a decent grade. You'd know it. I still see freshmen clutching it in the hallways. It's the one where a bunch of boys get stuck on an island, and they are so normal at first, but things get dark and weird, and the boys grow bloodthirsty and horrible. It's the type of book you slam shut, assuring yourself you would never stoop to such disturbing behavior, but maybe you would. People do.

I had been trying to figure out what happened at the party, how it could have happened. But now, it was as clear as the silent gymnasium.

I'd have liked to think it was basic human decency to stand up for someone being hurt. That, sure, maybe we'd stand around as someone was being taunted, but after the first punch, we'd start to glance around. And after the fifth or sixth, maybe we'd say, Hey, wait a second, this isn't right. But that isn't what happens.

The cruelty of the crowd is contagious, and the adrenaline is heightening, and then, suddenly, your fist is cracking into his skull too. And as he's lying there bruised and broken with black Vans and matching hair, all of it matted with blood and dirt, you realize that maybe there are some things far stronger than human decency.

And I knew I was no different. Because at the end of the day, even though I might not have been the one committing the violence, I'd still stood there, silent, with a sharpened stick.

* * *

"How was school?"Chris asked, pulling away from the curb as I buckled my seatbelt.

"It sucked." I pressed my forehead to the cool window and thought of the sound of the basketball hitting Hunter's face, the never-ending dark blood, and my own uselessness as I stood there and watched.

I hadn't seen him for the rest of the day, and I knew he'd left. If I had to guess, I'd bet he didn't even go to the nurse's office. There was no way he'd sit through another round of questioning. He probably gathered his things and pushed open the side door, only pausing to fit a cigarette between his blood-coated lips as he walked away.

Chris's gaze shot to me, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. We always followed our car ride routine religiously. Every day, Chris asked me how school was, and every day, I told him it was fine.

He alternated quick glances between me and the windshield. "Did something happen?"

I peeled my forehead from the window. "Can I ask you something?"

He peered sideways at me.

"Did you like high school?"

"Not particularly. I mean, it was fine. Uneventful." When I didn't answer, his look lingered. "Why do you ask?"

I shrugged, the back of my head pressing into the headrest behind me. "Just wondering."

"It gets better," he said, and I nodded. "Or at least, it probably won't get worse. Probably. I don't know ... I guess it might get worse ... I really have no way of knowing."

"Gee, thanks," I muttered, and his laughter was soft before he grew serious.

"It gets better," he promised, and when I looked at him in hopefulness, I knew he meant it.

"Where are we going anyway?"

Chris had taken two wrong turns, and instead of heading toward home, we drove along the main street in town. There were droves of kids from school walking along the sidewalk, big groups of them pushing and laughing. A group of freshmen-looking boys threw snowballs at one another, except the snow was too wet, so it turned into raining slush as soon as it hit the air. They screeched with laughter as they dodged and ran.

Chris's smile was bright. "You'll see."

We passed the diner that everyone crowded after school. Scott's orange Range Rover was parked in a parallel spot right out front. The diner had a jukebox and red booths, and all the athletes received discounts because the washed-up owner had played wide receiver at our high school thirty years ago.

The perks weren't just for the brainless athletes either. I went to the diner in ninth grade before a football game, and as Margo, Casey, and I paid for our milkshakes at the front counter, I was awarded fifteen percent off. The owner leered at my chest and told me I was pretty, and though he was disgusting and middle-aged, I couldn't help my arrogant smirk when he charged Margo and Casey full price.

Chris kept driving, past the town center and past the houses squished together just beyond it, their paint chipping and their front porches crumbling. We reached the exit for the thruway, and the only two things that greeted you as you came and went was a Wendy's on the right and a dingy gas station with half the pumps functional on the left.

Chris pulled into the Wendy's drive-through, and I smiled at him as he ordered two large Frostys. He passed them to me, and I fit them into the cup holders. They were huge and overflowing, and as I stabbed the straws through the lids, chocolate ice cream erupted out like a freezing-cold volcano.

He pulled into a parking spot facing the road, and we sat there, both of us silent as we sucked down the Frostys with effort. The milkshakes were better at the diner, and the view was better anywhere else, but this was where we went.

My mom had pulled into this Wendy's the day after our dad left. It was the first time I had ever tasted a Frosty, and I was in heaven, slurping it down in the back seat as I watched all the cars drive by. But I remembered Chris up front, silent sobs racking his entire body and my mom reaching over to touch his shoulder. And I remembered wondering if his Frosty even still tasted good, the chocolate deliciousness mixing with snot and tears. I had unbuckled my seat belt to wrap my arms around his neck. His shoulders shook so violently it was hard to hold on to him, but I did the best I could, and when I looked at my mom, she was crying too.

We had sat in the same spot when I broke my wrist in sixth grade and when Chris accidentally killed his hermit crab. We had even come to this Wendy's when a lady down the street died while watching TV. We hadn't known her well, but I was inconsolable when Chris let slip that no one noticed for five whole days. Up until that point in my life, it was the saddest and most awful thing I'd ever heard.

I wiggled my straw to loosen the thickness of the Frosty. "Did you ever get bullied in school?"

I could feel him looking at me, but I stared straight ahead.

"I got called a homo a handful of times." He tapped his finger against his chin, his eyes squinting into the distance. "Other than that, not really, I guess. Why? Are you being bullied?"

My nose wrinkled. "People are such assholes."

For some reason, he laughed. "They are."

I'm not sure if it was the Wendy's parking lot or the Frosty or the combining comforting nostalgia, but I felt tempted to tell Chris everything. I wanted him to wrap his arms around me, soft and understanding, but I was too afraid. I was terrified that once I started talking, I might not stop. "There's a boy at school who's always bullied. I think he got his nose broken today. This other kid threw a basketball so hard at his face you could practically hear the bones snap."

Chris stiffened, staring at me again. "Is he a friend of yours?"

I shrugged. "No one is his friend."

Chris's gaze was thoughtful as he put his Frosty in the cup holder and turned his whole body to me. "Sounds like he's the sort of person who could use one."

I shook my head and replayed Hunter shoving Josh with so much force he would have sprawled to the floor if the wall hadn't caught him. "Not him. He doesn't need anyone."

When he spoke, Chris's words were hesitant. "Everyone needs someone, Alice."

We were both quiet for a while. I was afraid if I opened my mouth, we'd drown in my tears and all the words I should have been saying.

"Do you remember that girl from the playground—Heather?" he asked.

Of course I did. Heather had lived a few blocks from us for a while when we were younger. Her hair was so blond it was white, and she had the sort of wheelchair she could zoom around in. She had cerebral palsy, and I remembered the way her hands curled at the wrists. I used to hold her hand, and her fingers were tight and sweaty, trapping my hand so firmly that sometimes I had to peel her fingers from me when it was time to go home.

"You were the only kid who ever hung out with her."

I snorted. "Not being an asshole to people with disabilities doesn't make me a good person."

He laughed as if I had a point. "Well, it doesn't make you a bad one. What I'm trying to say is ... you've always had a penchant for people who need a friend."

I clenched my teeth together. Chris's opinion of me was as high as mine was of him, but while he'd earned his, I was undeserving. Chris and Hunter were made of the same things. They were the small percentage who weren't afraid to speak up, and without people like them, the rest of us would be hopeless.

"You're not getting it. Today in gym class, I watched a guy get his nose broken—on purpose, by the way—and I just stood there. I stood there with everyone else, and no one said anything. It's not about being his friend; it's about being somewhat decent."

Chris's eyebrows drew together. "No, you're not getting it. So you didn't say anything ... fine, that was shitty, but you can still help. Heather didn't like you because you stood in front of her and shielded her from every single thing that was evil in the world. She liked you because you stood next to her, and you held her hand when no one else did."

I bit my lip, trying to suppress the tears, but once the first one fell, they spilled out of me.

Chris shifted in his seat, and I thought he might reach a hand over, but he didn't. "The Frostys wouldn't be the same if no one cried."

My laugh was strangled with a sob, and he did reach over then to offer me a stack of napkins.

"So you must really like this guy, huh?" He smirked, eyebrows raised with amusement despite my tears.

My gaze jerked to meet his as I paused from dragging the rough napkin across my cheeks. "I don't like anyone."

Chris laughed. He laughed so hard he started to choke on his Frosty, and when he surfaced, he was grinning as though we shared the biggest secret in the world. "Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that. Let me know how it works out for you."