Bad Taste in Boys (8 page)

“Sorry I’m late,” I said. “I couldn’t function any longer without a caffeine run.”

She grinned and tilted her coffee cup in my direction.

“I’ll let it slide this time,” she said. “But don’t do it again or else.”

I grinned. We both knew the threat was a big joke. But I stopped smiling when I realized the rest of the team was already paired up and going over their question packets. Everyone except Mike Luzier.

I had no idea why he’d joined Quiz Bowl in the first place, but I had the sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with panting after Mindi Skibinski, who sat one table over. They spent most of our practice sessions making googly eyes at each other. As if he wasn’t annoying enough already.

“We drew partners already. You’re with Mike,” Swannie told me. “We’re reviewing the questions from State last year.”

“Uh … okay.”

The last thing I wanted was to sit down next to the lip chomper, but I couldn’t come up with a good excuse not to.

He didn’t move when I took the unopened question packet off the table next to him and opened it. He was too busy staring at the ceiling fan. It was his typical rude behavior and strangely reassuring.

“All right,” I said. “Here’s your first question: ‘This disease can be transmitted from cattle to human or from human to human. Common symptoms include memory loss, gait problems, and tremors. It’s one of the few infectious diseases not caused by a virus or bacteria. What is the name of the disease caused by the prion protein?’ ”

The answer was obvious: mad cow disease, otherwise known as Creutzfeldt-Jakob, but Mike didn’t bite. No pun intended.

“Mike?” I prompted.

Still no response. The fan was much more interesting than I was, or maybe he was sleeping with his eyes open. I’d have said he
was dead, but I wasn’t going to make that mistake again. He was just being a tool, and it was ticking me off.

I stood up. “Swannie? Can I go get a drink?”

“You have three cans of Coke on your desk,” she said. “If that’s not enough, you have a serious problem.”

“I dropped them on the floor,” I lied. “Can’t open them now.”

“Ah.” She shrugged. “Make it quick. We trade packets in ten.”

“Okay.”

I went up the stairs and down the hallway into the music wing, because they didn’t have water fountains in Siberia. I didn’t usually drink water because it interfered with my caffeine habit, but I decided I’d make an exception today. I wasn’t lying about being thirsty. Besides, I figured the more time I spent avoiding Mike, the better.

As I was bending over to get a drink at the fountain, someone grabbed my braid and yanked. Hard. But I was used to this kind of thing. I was the class brain, after all, and I knew from experience that the worst thing to do was overreact. So I turned around slowly and said, “Is that the best you can do?”

Mike loomed over me. He held his hands over my head in what was probably meant to be a menacing fashion and said, “Gaaaaaaah!” It wasn’t scary; it was ridiculous. I started giggling and couldn’t stop.

Then he grabbed me. Suddenly, not laughing became a lot easier. He started dragging me across the floor toward a darkened
classroom, until I realized I ought to be resisting. My shoes squeaked on the linoleum. At least his breath wasn’t as bad as last time. He probably hadn’t puked on any cars lately.

I fully planned on screaming once my voice decided to cooperate. Not like anyone would have heard me anyway; the music wing was deserted at this time of day. I clawed at his hands, trying to pull his fingers open so I could make a run for it.

His middle finger broke off in my palm like a dry twig.

My voice abruptly started working again. I shrieked at the top of my lungs and dropped the finger on the floor. It made a little
piff
ing sound and bounced onto my shoe; I jumped up and down like it was attacking me. Finally, my wild flailing sent it skittling across the linoleum, and it rolled to a stop next to a row of dusty lockers.

I looked up at Mike, fully expecting to see a lot of gushing blood and yuck, but there was nothing. Just a cloud of dust particles hanging in the air over his four-fingered hand and a look of complete confusion on his face.

It didn’t last long. He bared his teeth, revealing blue gums. I was still gaping when he grabbed me again.

“Hey!” yelled a deep voice from down the hall.

I turned, half expecting to see Aaron. But it wasn’t him. It was my brother.

“Leave my sister alone!” He stalked down the hallway toward us, clenching his scrawny fists.

Mike froze, his nine fingers digging into my shoulders. He looked as surprised as I felt. Jonah was the kind of guy who strained to open a jar of pickles. He wasn’t someone you expected random heroics from.

“Huh?” Mike said, his forehead wrinkling.

“Leave her alone!” Jonah was red-faced with anger. “Or I’ll beat the crap out of you!”

Mike laughed, low and rumbly. He released my shoulders, which was nice, and took a step toward Jonah, which wasn’t. I couldn’t let my brother get clobbered. He had no idea what he was dealing with. I didn’t either, but standing there in the hallway with a severed finger at my feet, I couldn’t help but think that the virus was creating … zombies. There. I’d thought it. And going into zombie territory was stupid.

I stepped between them. Mike’s eyes snapped to my face, and I barely managed not to shrink away from him. But he didn’t try to drag me off again. He smelled me instead. His nostrils flared as he sniffed the air between us and licked his lips.

At that point I was more than willing to turn tail and run, but not Jonah. He might have been half Mike’s size, but he was ready for a fight.

I grabbed him by the arm. “We’re leaving.”

“I’m not letting him get away with this,” Jonah said. “I’m sick of bullies like him.”

I couldn’t tell him about the finger. If I said it out loud, that
would make it real. I’d fall apart, right here in the hallway, and Mike would probably eat me midhysteria. I had to do something to stop Jonah, though.

“What’s that? Over there?” I pointed vaguely. And it worked. Mike turned slowly around to look.

“Jonah,” I whispered, tearing up. I wasn’t the crying type, but right now I wasn’t sure whether I was more afraid
of
Mike or afraid
for
him. “Let’s go.”

Jonah clenched his jaw and nodded.
I didn’t resist when he took my arm and led me away, but I couldn’t keep from glancing over my shoulder. Mike hadn’t even noticed us leave. He was too busy looking around on the floor. I saw his finger, half underneath a locker in a sea of dust bunnies, but I decided not to point it out to him.

Once we turned the corner into the main hallway, I felt a little better. I pulled away from Jonah, because let’s face it, neither of us needed to be seen skipping through the halls arm in arm with our sibling.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, thanks.” Now that we were safe, I sounded remarkably calm. I began to think I should take up acting.

“I sure showed him.” He nodded. “He won’t be bothering you anymore.”

As his older sister, I should have laughed at that. But he had just saved me from being groped by the nine-fingered wonder, so I didn’t. Instead, I said, “Yeah. Um … I should get back to Quiz Bowl.”

“I’ll walk you back.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked as we headed for the stairs.

He shrugged. “Some guys kinda duct-taped me to the toilet. I just got loose.”

I sighed. “Oh, Jonah. Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Fine. They didn’t tape any skin, which I thought was nice. Of course, I’m still hacking into their computers tonight.”

I held out my palm. He smacked it.

Jonah dropped me off and headed for the cafeteria before they stopped serving lunch. I looked through the window into the Quiz Bowl practice room. Thankfully, Mike’s seat was empty. For the moment, I was safe.

I leaned against the door to the supply closet across the hall until I stopped shaking. It took a long time, probably because I couldn’t stop scanning the hallway for Mike.

Finally, I squared my shoulders and stood up. Time to go back to Quiz Bowl, even though my mind wasn’t on those questions. I clearly needed to get to the bottom of this mystery illness—preferably before anyone else lost any more fingers.

had a late lunch period, so I only needed to endure AP History and Calculus II before I was free to put my plan into action. The wait was still torturous; I practically sprinted for my locker after the final bell.

Aaron was leaning against it. For a minute, I thought I must have gone down the wrong hallway again, because I wasn’t so good with directions. But then I realized he was probably there on purpose and I had to keep from squealing. He was wearing my favorite T‑shirt, the green one, and a lock of hair hung in his eyes. It was ridiculously endearing. As I got closer, I noticed his backpack tossed carelessly at his feet. I could see the cover of a familiar book inside—the same anatomy and physiology text I’d been reading.

I was in love.

“Hey, Kate. Have you seen Mike?” he asked, a worried furrow between his brows.

I knew I should tell Aaron about the finger, but what if he didn’t believe me? I couldn’t believe it, and I’d seen it myself. He’d probably think I was on drugs. Wouldn’t blame him, either.

I cleared my throat. “Not … uh … not for a while.”

“Damn.” He ran a hand through his hair. “This is bad. Really bad.”

“Really?”

My voice came out all squeaky, but he didn’t seem to notice. He pushed off the locker and leaned close, his face inches from mine. I swallowed audibly, overcome by a heady mixture of adoration, lust, and complete and utter terror. Would he kiss me? Did I want him to?

He looked deep into my eyes and said, “All of them.”

I blinked. “Huh?”

“Coach injected the defensive linemen. Even the third-string guys who almost never make the field. He told them it was B twelve.”

“Aaron,” I said, barely resisting the urge to brush the hair out of his eyes, “I don’t know whether this whole thing is linked to the injections or not. I found out about some other cases with the same symptoms, so it sounds like we’re looking at an infectious disease. I don’t know if it’s spreading via those vials, or—”

“Logan Smith puked up the black stuff last night. Just like
Mike. And he got the shot too.” He let his head fall back against my locker. The bang made me jump. “What are we going to do?”

“Are you sure? Are you positive?”

“I had to drag it out of him, but yeah. Logan told me. If you saw him for yourself, you wouldn’t doubt it for a minute. He doesn’t look good. I think he went home after third period.”

“Is anyone else sick?”

I didn’t have many classes with the other football players, so the only time I really saw them was at practice. I passed them in the halls, of course, but my schedule was so packed that I barely had time to pee, let alone conduct surreptitious surveillance.

“Wisniewski, Clements, Wade, LaBianca, and Johnson all stayed home today. I’ve spoken with a few other guys, none of whom were injected with anything. Coach just gave them some lame advice and sent them packing like he did with me.”

He held out his hand, and I took it. There was a moment of heart-stopping panic during which I wondered if I had misread yet another social situation, before his fingers folded over mine. He probably just needed some friendly reassurance. Or maybe I’d been magically transported into a musical, and we were about to break into a song-and-dance number. I’d believe that before I’d believe he was interested in me.

I cleared my throat and lifted my eyes from our intertwined fingers. They looked good together. “Um … I could help. If you want.”

“Thanks, Kate. You’re the best.”

I shuffled uncomfortably. I didn’t know how to interpret this. Instead of AP Latin, I should have taken Talking to Boys Without Stammering.

“All right,” I said, getting back to business. “We need to get our hands on one of those vials. I think they might really be steroids, but maybe they’re tainted with a virus or something. If I figure out what it is, we could notify the health department. Dr. Ho could probably get us in touch with the right people.”