Something True (6 page)

CHAPTER NINE

Orion

“I don’t understand why you have to sit with her,” Darla said, crossing her arms over her chest in this pouty, sexy way. She pushed out her bottom lip as she glared across the courtyard. “I mean, look at her. What a total freak.”

True was alone at a picnic table, laid out on the bench with her eyes closed. Her long hair spilled to the ground, where it had caught a couple dozen fallen leaves. The sky was covered in gray clouds, but two tiny shafts of sunlight had broken through and were trained right on her face. Usually she was with Charlie and Katrina or Wallace and/or Heath, which would have made the convincing so much easier. But for some reason, today it was just her.

“Don’t you care what people think?” Darla asked.

I blinked. “Um, no. Not really.”

“Excuse me, you two.” The white-haired guy in charge of security came up behind us and cleared his throat. “Would you mind moving this a bit farther inside? We want to keep all entries and exits clear.”

Darla and I moved closer to the wall, away from the door to the lobby. The guy continued into the cafeteria, his head swiveling left and right methodically. He looked like a robot.

“It’s so weird, having them here,” Darla said, rubbing her arms like she’d gotten a chill. “I feel like I’m living in a TV movie.”

“I know, but if it keeps everyone safe . . .” I looked over at True again.

I hadn’t told anyone what I knew about those people being after True and why, or that I was there for the big attack. I just didn’t feel like talking about it 24-7, which was what would happen if I spilled. But the gangsters, or whatever they were called, had shown True’s picture to enough people yesterday that everyone knew she was somehow involved.

Darla followed my gaze, then gave me an irritated look. “What’s Veronica gonna say if you go out there?”

I sighed. This was pretty much the only thing I didn’t like about Darla. Veronica’s opinion meant everything to her. I’d watched her wait to order food until Veronica ordered hers, then copy Veronica’s order. I’d seen them wear almost the same outfit to school half a dozen times. If Veronica hated a movie, Darla hated that movie. If Veronica liked a song, Darla liked the same song. It was borderline scary.

“I don’t care about Veronica,” I told her, rubbing the sides of her arms. “I care about you.”

“Well,
I
think you should sit with me.” She shook her chestnut-brown hair behind her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Homecoming is in less than two weeks. Perception matters. You can’t be hanging out with some gangbanger.”

“She’s not a gangbanger.” I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “It’s one lunch!” I wrapped my arms around Darla’s waist and pulled her to me, so close that she had to put her hands on my shoulders. “Besides, don’t the seniors usually win these things?”

“You’d think so, but there was this one year that a junior won. Her name was Ruma Sen. But she was Miss Teen New Jersey
and
she was going out with the senior captain of the basketball team, so . . .” Darla shook her head, like she was clearing away an unpleasant smell. “Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is you’re
my
boyfriend. A fact
she
seems to keep forgetting.”

I chuckled. “True and I are just friends.”

“Please. That girl has ‘I want to be Orion’s girlfriend’ stamped on her forehead,” Darla said.

I glanced at True. Really? Did she actually
like me
like me?

“Orion?”

Right. So not what I was supposed to be thinking about.

“That would be one big forehead,” I joked, and Darla laughed. “Look, it’s one lunch,” I said again. “And I promise that tonight I will come over with Chinese food and watch as many episodes of
Say Yes to the Dress
as you want.”

“Really?”

“I’ll even pretend I understand the difference between princess and . . . what’s the other one that you like?”

“A-line.”

“Right. A-line.”

Darla leaned in and pressed her lips to mine. My heart did the crazy swelling thing it did every time we kissed, like it practically couldn’t take it. She tasted like cherries and sugar, and her body was soft and hard at the same time. I would never understand how this girl was single when I moved here. Did the guys in Lake Carmody not have eyes?

“You have a deal, Mr. Floros,” she said, looking at me through her thick lashes.

“Can’t wait,” I replied truthfully.

Darla turned and sauntered off slowly, knowing exactly how awesome her ass looked in her jeans, and tossed me a smile over one shoulder. As I walked away, one of the youngish security dudes who was stationed near the door shot me this look like
Nice
.

I grinned back.
I know, right?

I grabbed some cafeteria grub from the food line and headed outside for True’s table.

“Comfortable?” I asked.

She opened one eye, then sat up, her hair bringing the leaves with her. “I was, yes, thanks for asking.” She reached for my tray and snagged a couple of fries, shoving them into her mouth.

“Sure. You can have some. Feel free,” I joked.

True rolled her eyes. “What is it with people and food? This place has tons of it on offer. It’s not like we’re in the middle of the Greco-Persian Wars or something. Back then you’d trade your mother for a crust of bread, but now—”

I sat down across from her. “The Greco-Persian Wars?”

True blushed and plucked a leaf from her hair, tossing it up into the breeze. “I’m kind of a history buff.”

“Right.” I shoved my straw into my soda and smiled at her as I took a sip. True stole another few fries. This was a person who didn’t give a crap what people thought of her.

“That’s an interesting lunch,” she said, eyeing my tray. “Are you going into hibernation soon?”

I looked down at my plate, which was piled high with two burgers, an extra-large order of fries, a helping of macaroni and cheese, and a chocolate chip cookie. She had a muffin, a yogurt, and a banana on her side.

“You’re the one who keeps bogarting my fries,” I joked. “And I bet I finish this before you get through that yogurt, and when I do, I’m taking your muffin.”

“My muffin is your muffin,” she said, which, for some reason, made me blush. Then she reached into her backpack and pulled out a bunch of laminated paper. “Now let’s talk place mats. These are the ones from the last five years.”

“They save the place mats?” I asked, shoving a forkful of macaroni into my mouth as I looked them over. The worst was a totally amateur drawing of a football with a hand-lettered school logo. The best was a wide-angle picture of the whole football team in uniforms, cheering, with football helmets shoved in the air.

“I like that one,” I said.

“You would.” True laughed.

I arched my eyebrows. “What?”

“Anything to get your face out there,” she teased me.

I blinked. Was I that bad?

True tapped her chin with her index finger. “I like the idea of a photograph instead of a painting or a drawing, though.”

“Okay. But if not the football team, then what?” I asked, lifting my chin at Josh and Veronica as they walked by on their way to our usual table. Josh nodded back, but Veronica gave me this look like I was a pile of puke. Like I gave a crap. I didn’t like the way she treated Darla, and I couldn’t care less what she thought of me. “The cheerleaders?” I suggested, grinning.

True took a spoonful of yogurt. “A sexy place mat?”

“Who said anything about sexy?” I asked, raising my palms. “You just assumed, which is very sexist of you, by the way.”

“Uh-huh.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Darla stride by us, pointedly looking away. I wished she didn’t feel hurt by the fact that I was having lunch with someone else. I wished things were less complex for her. But I’d make it up to her later with two hours of mind-numbingly shallow TV. Who else offered to sit through
Say Yes to the Dress
? I was the best boyfriend ever.

“Okay, we could take a picture of the front of the school,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Or of the logo on the basketball court . . .”

“The football field!” True exclaimed, dripping some yogurt onto her chin. “It’s really pretty out there in the afternoons when the sun starts to go down. I bet that would look amazing.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said, handing her a napkin. “Maybe I could get my friend Greg to take the picture. He’s one of the yearbook photographers.”

“That would be perfect.” She quickly and unself-consciously wiped her face and fingers, then crossed her arms on the table. “So, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” I said.

“Why football?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Her shoulders rose. “Why play football? What made you pick that?”

I took another bite of mac and cheese. “I dunno. I’ve been playing since I was six years old. It’s just something I’ve always done.”

True looked at me strangely, like I’d said something she didn’t understand. Then she shook her head and sighed. “Okay, but why do you still play it now? What do you like about it?”

“Um . . . I don’t know. I like the team vibe thing,” I said. “The competition . . . I think it’s cool, like, lining up right across from these guys. You get to look ’em in the eye and sort of try to psych them out. And then, once the ball is snapped, it’s about survival. Who’s stronger, who’s faster, who’s smarter. It’s very . . . primal, I guess.”

True laughed, and the sound sent a warm flood over my stomach.

“What?” I asked, blushing.

“Nothing. Nothing. It’s nice.” True looked down at her food. She shoved her spoon into her yogurt and swirled it, like a tornado. “I mean it’s good. It’s good to have something in your life you really . . .”

I swallowed, waiting for her to finish her sentence. True looked up at me, those clear blue eyes full of pain. And not just regular pain, but a lot of it. A lifetime of it, if I had to guess. I tried to look away, knowing Darla was probably watching us, knowing that staring into another girl’s eyes was in no way gonna fly. But I couldn’t. I literally could not look away.

“Something you really what?” I said.

“Something you love,” True said quietly.

My heart banged against my rib cage. True picked up the plate with the muffin on it and passed it to me. “Here,” she said, her eyes never leaving mine. “I’m not going to eat it anyway.”

“Um . . . okay.”

I glanced down, and all of a sudden I was somewhere else. The plate was a different plate—ceramic with blue flowers—and the table under it was made of raw wood, not plastic. I saw True’s hand as she passed it to me, but it wasn’t her hand as it was now. It was softer, paler, whiter. And her nails were perfectly shaped and pink. But it was her hand. I knew it somehow. Then she looked up at me and smiled. Her hair was loose over her shoulders, and behind her, a fire crackled inside a stone fireplace.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Suddenly I slammed back into the now. It was like being sucked down a long straw and splatting up against a glass window at the end of it. At least, it was what I imagined that might feel like. My whole face radiated with pain, and my skin felt tight over every inch of my body.

“Orion? Hey! Are you okay?” True snapped her fingers in front of my face. She’d already put the plate back down. The pain moved from my cheekbones into my skull and took root at the back of my brain, pulsating angrily.

“Yeah. Yes. I’m fine.” Both my hands gripped the edge of the table, but I didn’t remember putting them there.

“Good.” She looked concerned. “I thought I lost you for a second there.”

“No. I’m okay.” My fingers shook as I released my hold. “I think I just had déjà vu or something.” I cleared my throat and reached for my soda. After a few quick gulps, the pain subsided. Not totally, but enough that I could focus. “That ever happen to you?”

The look she gave me was both understanding and confused—somehow sad and somehow hopeful. She released a sigh and smiled.

“It happens all the time.”

CHAPTER TEN

Darla

I didn’t even look at True Olympia as I strode into the auxiliary gym for the Boosters meeting on Tuesday after school. The room stank of stale sweat and dusty, forgotten equipment, but since it had been pouring buckets outside since sixth period, they couldn’t meet outside. Everyone was sitting in groups on the floor, making signs for the game that coming weekend. From the corner of my eye, I saw True glance at me, but I ignored her. She was not worthy of my notice. At least, that was the image I was trying to project to the world.

I walked past a couple of girls who were whispering about “the attack” on Monday, which was what everyone was now calling it, and casting suspicious glances at True. I wondered if it was possible, what people were saying—that True was somehow involved. Not that I would be surprised to find one more layer of weirdness about her. When I saw Wallace sitting on the bottom bleacher, I hesitated. I actually felt nervous, not that I would admit that to anyone, ever. But what if he hated me?

Then Wallace looked up from his iPod and smiled. Which, okay, was a good sign, but . . . what was wrong with him? You didn’t smile at the person who completely ditched you as a best friend four years ago. You just didn’t.

“What’s up, Ding Dong?” he asked in full voice, clearing off the area next to him. “I heard you were joining our ranks, but I didn’t dare believe it until right now.”

A few girls nearby snickered.

“Don’t call me that,
Wall-E
.” I sat down in a huff.

“Someone’s in a mood,” he said, shaking his dark hair off his brows. He had these very dark-brown eyes that were soft like a puppy’s. Why he hid them with his hair I had no idea. “Shouldn’t you be psyched?” he asked. “Your beautiful face is plastered on every wall of the school.”

I blushed slightly and flicked a speck off my sweater. “Whatever. No one’s going to vote for me if people think my boyfriend would rather hang out with True Olympia,” I said, shooting her a dirty look. Ugh. So much for ignoring her. I turned toward Wallace, putting my shoulder between me and True. “Did you
see
them at lunch today? Why does he want to slum it with the losers?”

Wallace blinked. “Isn’t that kind of what you’re doing right now?”

I froze. Awkward! “You are not a loser,” I said, with as much certainty as I could force into my voice.

Wallace laughed and tapped at his iPad. “Yeah, right. That’s why you haven’t talked to me since seventh grade. Because I’m the coolest of the cool.”

“Come on. Don’t say that,” I muttered.

“Say what?” He lifted his shoulders. “The truth?”

“Whatever.” I really didn’t want to talk about this. Not here. Not now. Okay, if we’re being honest? Not ever.

“Yeah, whatever. And by the way, True’s not a loser. She’s a friend,” Wallace said, sliding his iPad aside on the next bleacher up. “So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t trash her in front of me.”

Yeah. This was going well. “Well, I’m here. So what are we working on?”

“We have the pancake breakfast this weekend,” Wallace said, handing me a list. “At the end of the meeting today, we’ll ask people to sign up to take care of each of these things with their football player. Why don’t you look it over and see if you can think of anything I missed?”

I glanced down the page. Only one item had already been claimed. Next to “Place mats” he’d typed in “True & Orion.” Just seeing their names together like that made me taste bile.

“Why does she get first pick?” I asked.

“Apparently, that was the job your boyfriend wanted,” Wallace said, looking down at his iPad. “Don’t you want him to be happy?”

What I wanted was for a huge lightning bolt to pierce the gym roof and fry True Olympia where she sat. Was that really too much to ask? Mercifully, my phone beeped. I dug it out of my bag and was relieved to see a text from Veronica. Someone from my normal life! At least, I was psyched until I read it.

AT THE MALL! WHAT ABOUT THIS DRESS 4U?

I had avoided dress shopping yesterday afternoon by claiming I had a Skype call scheduled with my mom, and I’d kind of hoped that Veronica would just forget about it and move on to something else. Apparently, I was not that lucky. The picture popped up, and I almost gagged. A headless mannequin was sporting a pink dress that looked like something out of a nightmare movie from the eighties. I typed back,

YOU’RE KIDDING, RIGHT?

But I hesitated before sending it. Because what if she wasn’t kidding? Then I’d be insulting her taste. I sighed and my posture slumped. What was the right thing to text back? How to be diplomatic about this and not set her off? Sometimes text etiquette could be very complex. Especially when it came to Veronica.

“What’s wrong?” Wallace asked.

“Nothing.”

He angled for a look at my phone and snorted. “Halloween costume?”

“Apparently, it’s the dress Veronica wants me to wear to homecoming,” I said.

“What dress do
you
want to wear to homecoming?” he asked.

I scrolled to the pic of me in the blue dress and held it up so he could see.

“You look awesome in that,” he said boldly. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing. I mean . . . you don’t think it makes my hips look fat?” I asked, tilting my head.

Wallace snorted. “Did Veronica tell you that?”

“No. Well, yes,” I admitted, my shoulders slumping. “But she was right.”

Another text from Veronica popped up.

HELLO???

I shoved the phone deep inside my bag. I was just going to pretend I didn’t get her text yet. How was that for diplomacy?

Wallace let out this snarky laugh and shook his head. “The girl’s good.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, leaning my elbow on the upper bleacher and my cheek in my hand. I was mildly distracted by a group of freshman girls who were kneeling around a half-done banner, trying to figure out how to best outline the letters with gold glitter.

“She’s trying to sabotage you,” he said.

My jaw dropped. “You’re crazy.”

“Do I look crazy?” he asked.

I let my eyes travel slowly over his outfit. Black Vans sneakers, brown-and-black-plaid cargo pants, a black T-shirt with R2-D2 on it, and a leather bracelet wrapped five times around his wrist. Plus, there was black ink pretty much covering his left arm. An equation of some kind, it looked like. Of course, aside from the arm ink, the look worked for him, but he’d given me such an opening.

“Do you really want me to answer that question?” I joked.

Wallace turned sideways on the bench, pulling one knee up under his chin so he could better face me. “Let me ask you this. How did she react when she found out you were nominated? Did she squeal and scream and shower you with air kisses?”

“Um . . . not exactly,” I said cagily.

“Right! Because she was hoping someone else would be nominated. Someone who wasn’t a threat. Someone totally beatable. You’ve got Veronica Vine spooked, Ding Dong,” he said, lowering his voice so the snickering girls wouldn’t hear, at least. “And now she wants you to look like a pink cotton candy disaster to kill your chances.”

He couldn’t be right, could he? I mean, Veronica Vine could never feel threatened by Darbot the Geek.

“You’re not Darbot the Geek anymore,” Wallace said, like he was reading my mind. Which kind of got under my skin. We weren’t friends anymore. He had no right to think he knew what I was thinking. Even if he did.

“Okay, first of all, Veronica is my best friend, and while she may be a tad self-centered, she would never sabotage me.”

Wallace laughed and started to interrupt, but I lifted a hand to stop him. On the floor, one of the freshmen was about to dump a whole canister of glitter on a skinny, uneven line of glue.

“I’m sorry, can we pause this conversation?” I said.

Without waiting for an answer, I got up and crouched next to the girls and their sign.

“No, no, no, ladies. First, you should use a paintbrush to even out the glue and make a thicker line,” I said, grabbing a clean, flat brush to demonstrate. “Then you carefully scatter the glitter.”

I demonstrated, shaking the glitter out like it was salt, then blew away the excess. Voilà! A perfect outline. “See?”

“Wow. Thanks,” one of the girls said, looking at me as if in awe.

“Just let me know if you need any more help. I’ll be right over there,” I said, pointing at Wallace. I got up and perched myself next to him again. He smirked at me.

“What?” I snapped.

“Nothing. Unpause,” he replied.

I sighed. “Okay, secondly, I have
zero
chance of winning. The only junior ever to win homecoming queen at Lake Carmody High was Ruma Sen, and she was like a goddess among girls. And even if a junior
could
win, it would definitely be Veronica, not me.” I paused and toyed with the zipper on my messenger bag. “It’s an honor just to be nominated.”

“Can I talk now?” Wallace asked.

“Sure,” I replied tartly. “Knock yourself out.”

“Okay, first of all, everyone hates Veronica Vine.”

I pressed my lips together. If anyone in the world had a total right to hate Veronica, it was Wallace. I averted my eyes, trying to figure out what to say.

The girls on the floor continued their glitter line and high-fived, which made me smile. See? I was totally good at projects. I should have joined Boosters ages ago. If only Orion could see me now, he’d totally ask for me to take over and boot True to the curb.

Just thinking her name made me look at her, and she quickly looked away. Why was she staring at me? Freak.

I took a deep breath. “Okay, I get it. But ‘everyone’? Really?”

“Look, people
pretend
to love Veronica because they think they have to,” Wallace said with that
I know everything
look on his face that annoyed me even back when we were friends. “She’s mean, Darla. She’s mean to everyone. Even her boyfriend. Even you.”

“She’s not mean. Not . . . not anymore, anyway. She’s just opinionated. Men are intimidated by women who know what they want, so they label them as bossy or mean or bitchy, but she’s not. She’s confident.”

“No, no. She’s bitchy.” Wallace reached for his iPad and brought some kind of list up on the screen. “Have you ever asked yourself why Ruma Sen won homecoming queen as a junior?”

“She was a super-popular gorgeous beauty queen with a hot boyfriend,” I replied, flicking my hair over my shoulder, glad to be off the touchy subject of Veronica. “Duh.”

“Wrong again,” Wallace sang, which made me want to slap him. “It’s all about the numbers, Ding Dong.”

“Don’t call me that,” I said again, but this time through my teeth.

“Here’s how it works,” he said, tapping his iPad screen.

Nice. Just ignore me. Why was I ever friends with this person?

“Each class generally votes for the kids nominated from their own class, except for a handful of the freshmen and sophomores who vote for juniors and seniors because they think they should,” he explained, the rectangular glow of the screen lighting up his face.

“And you know this how?” I asked, studying my nails as if I was
so
uninterested. Although my interest was officially piqued.

“I’m on the homecoming committee. I helped count the votes the last two years.”

“
You’re
on homecoming?” I didn’t mean to sound snotty, but I did.

“Gotta round out my college apps somehow,” he said. “And you know how I love to crunch the numbers. Anyway, back when Ruma Sen was a junior at Lake Carmody, the junior class was bigger than any other class at the school. Thus, she won most of the vote. I went into the records and double-checked.”

“So?” I said.

Wallace turned his iPad screen toward me, holding it straight up against his thigh. His case was covered in planets and comets and shooting stars.

“So, right now the junior class is bigger than the senior class by seventy-two kids, and bigger than the sophomores by sixty-three,” he told me, pointing to the official school census. “That means a junior could win this thing.
You
could win this thing.”

I pulled the iPad closer to me, making sure that what I was seeing was correct. Wallace was right. The junior class was huge compared to the others. And if those were the people who nominated me, then maybe they would also vote for me. And if they did . . .

My mouth went dry. I imagined myself standing in the center of the tricked-out gymnasium, a sparkly crystal crown atop my head. Suddenly I could practically feel the hard plastic band against my skull.

But then my phone beeped again and the sensation died.

“You mean Veronica could win this thing,” I said, pushing the iPad back toward him.

Wallace rolled his eyes and slapped the cover closed over the screen. “Okay. You just keep telling yourself that.”

I smiled slightly. His mom used to say that to us when we were feeling down on ourselves about a project gone wrong. He must have picked it up from her. Suddenly it felt as if no time had passed. As if nothing had changed.

“You really think I could win?” I asked, glancing over at the freshmen as they held up their completed and totally perfect sign, then brought it over to the corner to dry.

Wallace followed my eyes and smiled. “Yeah. I really think you could.”