As though he’s right there with me on that night, his shoulders tense. I should look away. Pretend I’m more interested in how Coach is going to ream me after class. Anything besides staring into the furious fire only he can create. Instead, I wait. I brace myself for his storm.
His head turns slightly and his icy blue eyes dart to mine, flaring with his unhidden emotions. Anger is his lie. Betrayal is the truth he protects behind it. I ruined us. Ruined sixteen years of friendship. We were neighbors who grew up like brothers. Our bond was unbreakable…until I broke it.
Normally, his pinning glare only lasts the briefest of moments. Enough time to shoot vile, unspoken words my way—words transmitted silently by a flicker in his eyes and a curled snarl of his upper lip—before shunning me like I don’t exist. That one moment where I have his undivided attention is my sad addiction. My moment of truth. I’m bared to him for seconds while he flays me to the bone with a memory shared only between us. But like any drug or vice, I’m left feeling empty as soon as it’s gone from my system. I twitch for more. The ache consumes me to the point I can barely think straight. God, how it hurts.
You’re gay. I’m not. You disgust me.
That’s the big elephant in the room no one else can see but us.
The elephant is black and angry and has teeth.
To everyone else, Copeland is another dark, deviant kid and I’m the happy jock. Two guys from different social pools. Poor Copeland Justice is unloved and rebellious and depressed. Penn McAlister is revered and adored and is going places. The lies clinging to us like a second skin are itchy. I want to claw them from me and make them see. To show them I’m broken and sick. That my heart is shredded and I don’t know how to stop the bleeding.
Mostly, I want to rip away Cope’s lies.
I want to stand him in front of the mirror and show him who he is.
Not some misfit freak.
Spoiled. Copeland Justice is spoiled. A spoiled liar who plays games with the people around him. Spins tales he wants them to see. Paints not-so-pretty pictures of himself and calls it art.
He wasn’t always this way.
Once, he was like me.
We were two boys who were different than our rich parents. The two of us had values—a code we lived by. A brotherhood. Blood didn’t matter because our bond ran through our veins.
I cut us and we bled.
Now he’s a fraud, and my soul is dead.
“McAlister,” Coach barks.
I jerk from my inner turmoil and frown as I grab my backpack. Tossing it over my shoulder, I make my way to the front to take my verbal lashings. Several kids shoot me sympathetic looks.
“What’s going on with you?” he asks, his voice still hard but losing its edge.
“Nothing.” I can’t meet his eyes. The word is truth and he can read it plain as day. But Coach misinterprets. Nothing is wrong. The void in my heart is wrong. The emptiness is wrong.
“I don’t know that I exactly believe that,” he grumbles. “Regardless, this F is a problem.”
I give him a clipped nod and clench my jaw, ready to take my punishment. I’ll be benched. One of the biggest games of the season and I won’t be playing. I’m angry with myself for blowing off the essay that was such a huge part of my grade, but anger isn’t going to get me out of this mess. Time is the only thing I have on my side. Eventually, with time, this will be a distant memory.
Coach lets out a heavy sigh. “We need you at tonight’s game.”
“I’m sorry,” I mutter.
He leans forward on his desk and threads his fingers together. The classroom has long since emptied, leaving me to my newest torture now that Copeland is no longer here doling his out. Coach’s lectures are about as painful as Dad’s. Almost. Difference is, Coach’s don’t end with a kick to the ribs.
“You’re going to redo this. I’ll make sure you get a pass for the rest of the day. Head to the library and turn this F into a C. I want it back on my desk after the final bell rings.”
I snap my eyes to meet his. “What? You’re letting me rewrite it?”
“Edison has a strong chance this year. Without you, we’re practically gifting the championship to them.” His lips purse together. “We can’t lose you over ‘nothing.’ Whatever is going on with you, fix it. If some girl has you twisted up, find a way to straighten yourself out. These games are critical not just for us, but for you. Your playing determines your future. Riding the bench over an F is not going to help you get into the college you want. Your dad may be rich as hell, but even money and a good family name won’t buy your way into playing college ball.”