151 Days (18 page)

“I hate you,” I said, looking up at the sky.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” She smiled back. “Talk to him,” she said, standing up. “Kyle is a smart guy. He can be reasoned with.”

As she began to walk away, I called out, “You should try dating him for a week, then. You’ll have a different opinion.”

“And apparently a sore ass,” she yelled back.

“I hate her,” I mumbled to myself as I closed my eyes.

A
T
LUNCH
there was no way I was going to bring anything negative up to Kyle.

He had three books open on the music hall steps, and he was scribbling notes down on index cards in what I hoped was some kind of code because if not, Kyle had suffered a stroke and could no longer write actual English. He had barely said three words to anyone and finished the Pepsi I had brought him in one gulp before going back to his books. The only response I heard was a small burp.

“Why is he crazy?” Sammy asked me after a few minutes of this.

“He’s worried about the SAT tomorrow,” I explained, trying not to sigh as I said it.

Both Jennifer and Sammy seemed to ponder my words for a second. “You haven’t taken the SAT yet?” Jennifer asked Kyle.

“He’s taken it three times,” I answered for him, since he was still hip-deep in the rabbit hole that was his brain. “This will make number four.”

Sammy looked shocked. “He failed the SAT three times?”

Again I struggled at trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “No, he has scored a 2100 three times and thinks he can do better.”

“It was 2184,” Kyle said, not looking up. “I want a 2200 at least.”

Both girls looked at me and asked me silently if he was kidding. I shook my head, indicating Kyle was so far from kidding that he was bordering on crazy.

“What’s a perfect score?” Jennifer asked.

“A 2400,” Kyle answered as he scribbled something else down.

“Well, now my 1720 feels real stupid,” she said, taking a bite of her sandwich.

“You got a 1720?” Sammy asked. “I liked you better when I just thought you were a pretty, mean girl.”

Jennifer gave her a wide smile and looked at me. “What did you score?”

“A solid 1490,” I said, not ashamed at all. “More than enough for a sports scholarship.”

Sammy finished her Coke. “Okay, now I don’t feel
that
dumb.”

I flipped her off, and we both laughed.

“Kyle,” Jennifer asked, drawing nearer to him. “You do know your score is great, right?”

He stopped and looked over at her. “Great isn’t enough. I need perfect. I need outstanding. I need to have the best SAT score in the school if I even have a chance of my colleges looking at me. Minus starting up the alliance, I have zero extracurricular activities, and I would need Hillary Clinton to write me a recommendation to make a difference, and I don’t know Hillary Clinton. Do you?” She shook her head. “Then I need a better score.”

And he went back to his studying.

Jennifer raised both eyebrows and backed away from him. I could see in her face she now understood part of my problem. We got up to throw our trash away, and she pulled me closer. “Okay, forget everything I said before. Don’t say a word to him. In fact, new plan. Just put out and enjoy it until the SATs are over, because that boy is one bad day away from snapping.”

I tossed our trash. “Tell me about it. I mean, his score is insane. I can’t figure out why he is in such a panic.”

Jennifer looked over at him and sighed. “Brad, Foster has been a life sentence to him
so far. Those SATs are his only chance at parole. Let him be a little crazy. He’s earned
it.”

I nodded, as I knew she was right. “I just wish I could get it across to him that he doesn’t need to worry.”

Jennifer paused. “He does have to worry, Brad.” I gave her a confused look. “Most letters of recommendation come from the school faculty. One bad letter from Mr. Raymond, and he’s sunk. It wouldn’t matter if he was Stephen Hawking—no school would touch him.”

I had no idea who she was talking about, but I understood everything else she said. “Raymond wouldn’t do that would he?” Jennifer gave me a look, and I sighed. “Yeah, he would.”

The bell rang. “You’re going to be late,” I called out.

Kyle began scrambling to pick up his papers in one huge rush.

“I’m gonna go help him,” I said, jogging over to him.

She may have thought I was talking about his books, but I meant more. Way more.

T
HE
NEXT
day when I came to pick him up, he looked like he hadn’t slept a wink.

“Please tell me you closed your eyes,” I said as he got into the car.

He tossed his backpack in the backseat. “I passed out around four, I think. That was the last time I saw.” He sounded like a robot as he buckled himself in.

“What time is the test?” I asked him.

“Third period,” he answered. He looked forward like he was in a daze.

“Then let’s go by Nancy’s, eat some, and get about a gallon of coffee in you. Because if you pass out during the test, I’m pretty sure that won’t improve your grade.”

He looked like he wanted to complain, but once I brought up that his grade wouldn’t improve, he couldn’t argue. A sure sign he was tired, because if he was awake, he could have found a dozen ways around that excuse. “Fine, sounds good” was all he said.

His agreeing saved me the trouble of kidnapping him and making him eat something.

We got a table and ordered a ton of food. I looked around for Gayle, but she wasn’t working—that was a first for me. When I looked back, Kyle had slipped his index cards out of his hoodie. I reached over and took them from his hands.

“Hey, I need—” he began to protest.

“You need to turn your brain off and relax for five minutes,” I said, putting the cards in my pocket. “You ever see
Bring it On
?” He shook his head. “Well, neither did I, but I heard there was a scene where they got to finals, and they were hearing some girls out on the lawn practicing. One of the girls opened the window and screamed out at them, ‘If you don’t have it yet, you don’t have it!’”

He looked at me blankly.

“Kyle, there is nothing you are going to learn in the next hour that you don’t already know. Just relax and enjoy breakfast, okay?”

He nodded and took a sip of his coffee and then looked up at me. “If you didn’t see the movie, how do you know what they said?”

I looked over to see if our food was ready. “Drink your coffee,” I told him.

I
WALKED
him to the student union for the test.

“Okay, you got this,” I told him, rubbing his shoulders. They felt like they were carved out of rock, he was so tense. “Relax,” I said to him quietly. “You are Kyle Stilleno. You own this test. I have complete faith in your superheroic brain.”

He turned around and smiled. “You do?”

“Hey, only one of us can look this good,” I said, gesturing around my face.

“Ah,” he said, grinning back. “The moneymaker, if I remember. And how much money has it made you now?”

I leaned over and kissed the tip of his nose. “It scored me a superhero boyfriend, so I’m ahead in the game.”

He blushed and kissed me back. “You’ll be here when I get out?”

I cocked my head. “I got a game today, remember?” From the look on his face, he didn’t. “I won’t be back until tonight.”

“I am a horrible boyfriend,” he said, sounding upset. “All I’ve been stressing over is my test, and you have a winning streak—”

“And you have a test,” I said, putting a finger over his lips. “Go kick its ass, and I’ll call you when I get home.”

He nodded as the guy announced last call for the SAT.

Kyle dashed into the room, turning once he was inside and giving me a small wave.

I do not think it was possible to love him more than I did at that moment.

W
E
WERE
on the bus to Archer City when Josh came and sat next to me.

“You seem out of it,” he said once I pulled my earbuds out.

“I am,” I admitted. “Kyle is taking his SATs, and I’m nervous for him.”

“You’re worried for him?” he asked me with a grin. “Dude, I’d be worried for everyone else at the school that has to put their score up against his. Talk about score envy.”

I shrugged. “He has to be the best at what he tries to do, or he loses his mind.”

Josh pulled out a can of chew and offered me a pinch. I tried not to make a face as I declined. “Yeah, I can see that in both of you,” he said, spitting into an empty Coke can.

That brought me up short. “Both of us?”

He nodded as he watched the countryside pass by our window. “You guys aren’t like superachievers in everything, but what you guys set out to do, you all have to be the best at.” He looked me in the eyes. “It’s admirable.”

I was kind of stunned. No one had ever said anything I did was admirable before. “Thanks, dude” was all I could respond with.

He nodded and went back to looking out the window.

I checked the time on my phone; the test was still going on, and they automatically failed anyone who had their phone out. I sighed and opened up my binder, going over for the hundredth time the cheat sheet we had for Archer’s players. Baseball was the only thing that could take my mind off Kyle, and even then just barely.

T
HE
GAME
passed in my mind as a blur.

It felt like one minute I was getting off the bus to stretch and the next the guys were rushing out of the dugout to celebrate another win. My mind began to unfocus like it did every time we finished a game. My body let out a huge breath I didn’t even know I was holding, and I laughed as we ended up falling on our asses as more guys ran and tried to hug each other. It took almost five minutes for everyone to untangle from each other and try to regain some composure. At first, the crowd didn’t seem too taken with our win, but I couldn’t blame them. If someone came to our school and kicked our butt this bad and then spent five minutes cheering on our field about it, I would be pissed too.

But they could get over it.

Even as we were celebrating, I noticed there was more cheering from the crowd than normal. It seemed that people liked winners, even if they weren’t their own team. It was pretty classy, since I’m not sure if the same thing happened on our field, we would have been so accommodating. I saw Coach Gunn walking onto the field and knew our celebration was about to be over.

“You all want a penalty for showboating?” he asked in an angry tone. “Because if you idiots don’t get off the field, that’s what you’re going to get.”

I wasn’t sure what kind of penalty we could get once the game was over, but I didn’t want to know.

“Okay, come on, guys,” I said, getting the team’s attention. “We can finish this on the bus.” There was another roar from my guys before they hustled toward the locker room. Gunn was standing there looking at me, and I felt like I had been caught coming in after curfew. “Sorry about that, Coach. We’re just happy.”

“I don’t care about that,” he said absently. “Come with me.”

As with every other time I have heard those words, my stomach felt like I was about to puke, and all I wanted to do was run. Instead, I just nodded and pulled my cap down lower so the fear in my eyes wouldn’t show. The crowd was mostly gone now; the only people left were talking to the other team’s players and shooting me dirty looks as I followed Coach Gunn toward the stands.

I wanted to ask him what this was all about, but to be honest I was just too afraid of the answer, so instead I just walked.

There was an older man sitting near the third baseline. He had a blue windbreaker on over a dark-red polo shirt. He had an iPad in his hand and looked like he was typing something on the screen when we walked up.

“Frank,” Gunn said to the man, trying to get his attention. The man held up one finger and pushed the screen a few times intently. I had never seen anyone in the world tell Coach Gunn to wait with just a gesture, but for this guy he didn’t seem to mind.

I could hear cheering coming from the device—it sounded like part of the game. He pushed the screen, and the noise stopped. “Got it,” he said, looking up at us. “Sorry, but I barely know how to work this thing as it is. Sometimes I feel like I’m fifteen, sitting in my dad’s car, just knowing it’s too much machine for me.” He looked at me, and I felt like he was looking right through me for a moment. “And you’re Brad, right?” I nodded.

Coach Gunn looked over to me. “Take off your damn cap,” he growled. “Show some respect.”

I yanked the offending article off my head so fast I might have taken some hair with me. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

Frank smiled. “It’s okay, I know how it is. Sometimes you forget you’re even wearing it.” That made me smile, since I had walked into class wearing a cap so many times that most teachers didn’t even bother to tell me to take it off anymore. “So, good game?”

He was asking it as a question, but I had the feeling he already knew how the game went and wanted my opinion. I looked at Gunn, and he nodded but said nothing. I took that as my go-ahead. “We got lucky in the fifth inning—their shortstop was sleeping and didn’t set up the double play. If he did, we would have been tied until the eighth, which might have changed the game completely.”

The man cocked his head with a bemused smile, and I felt like he found my answer funny.

“How would you have it changed it?” he asked.

“By the eighth inning they had already given up because of our lead. If it was tied, they would have fought harder and might have gotten lucky.”

“Lucky? So you don’t think they had the skill to beat you guys?” Again I felt like he found all this hilarious.

“No, they aren’t as good. Their pitcher is the only guy out there who had game, and he killed his arm trying to move us off the plate. By the sixth he was done. I would have taken him out then. Their right fielder shouldn’t even be out there with that throw, and I think this was the third base guy’s first game, because he didn’t understand the signs the coach was giving him.” It wasn’t the nice thing to say about another team, but it was the truth.