I shrugged and turned my attention back to the instruction manual.
“Today should be pretty easy.” The instructor went on as if nothing had happened. “You all get to change a tire—or four.”
It was four.
I showed up to track with tire grunge all up my arms and a pain across my shoulders that I’d never before felt in my entire life.
Feeling like I had something to prove, I’d changed all four of the stupid tires without asking for help, forcing Chris to swallow every nasty thing he wanted to say about women and cars.
He’d had more trouble with his tires than I did—not because he didn’t know what he was doing, but because he was so mad he ended up stripping the nuts he was supposed to be loosening. That, at least, felt like a bit of a win and maybe like I’d won the rights to a territory they all thought I didn’t belong on.
I was glad track was at the end of the day. No Julianne, no Seymores, just me and the wind in my face and the ground beneath my feet.
At least that was what I was hoping for—a hope that died as soon as I jogged from the locker room to the track, where a bunch of students were already stretching out. Rudy was one of them.
I’m not going to get any peace this year, I thought with an internal groan. At least not on A days. Starline High worked on a rotating block schedule. If I got lucky—very, very lucky—I’d have at least one period on alternating days when I wouldn’t have to deal with any of them. I wasn’t getting my hopes up again, though.
I stayed as far away from Rudy as I could, focusing solely on my stretches.
It’s fine that he’s in this class, I told myself.
As long as I don’t look at him or talk to him or engage with him at all, I could still get what I need out of track—active freedom.
Isolation.
The peaceful simplicity of movement.
“Kennedy!”
Damn it all.
I turned at the sound of Julianne’s voice and plastered a practiced smile across my face. Both Julianne and Macy were walking arm-in-arm, matching tennis outfits slick across their skin. Moving across the field beside the track, they came up to the blacktop.
Julianne wrinkled her nose, her brows furrowing as she scanned me from head to toe. “Ugh, why?”
“I like to run,” I said with a shrug.
She giggled, more out of disgust than humor. “I mean, I guess if that’s what you like to do. I really see you as more of a dancer or something, running is such a—common sport.”
“Common, or criminal?” Macy asked, batting her eyes innocently. “I spy a Seymore. He must be practicing his getaway from the cops.”
“Or mall security,” Julianne said, laughing.
My face was blazing and I glanced over at Rudy.
The girls hadn’t bothered to keep their voices down at all. In fact, it seemed as though they might have pitched their words just a few octaves higher when they got to the insults.
Rudy was staring straight ahead, his face a stoic mask, but the tips of his ears burned red.
“I really don’t think that’s why he’s taking track,” I mumbled.
“No, you’re right, Kennedy. He doesn’t need the practice, right? He gets plenty in his day-to-day. It’s a foster kid thing, you know. They’re all feral.” Julianne grinned menacingly in Rudy’s direction.
I followed her eyes all the way to him. His cheeks were paler, now, but he still stared straight ahead.
“It’s what predisposes them to bigger crimes,” Macy agreed sagely. “Like kidnapping and murder.”
The two of them giggled like bitchy little school girls and hurried away to the tennis court while I was still struggling to find something to say.
I’d wanted to defend Rudy, but I knew exactly how that would go.
Challenging Julianne in public put her on the offensive—she never got defensive, not that I’d ever heard. She would have just used whatever I said to make her point, the same way she’d twisted my innocuous comment to mean something worse.
I stretched deeply so I wouldn’t have to look at Rudy, but I couldn’t avoid hearing the whispers from the rest of the class.
I ground my teeth when I heard “Ouija board” for the hundredth time.
I didn’t want to snap.
Didn’t want to say anything until I’d had a chance to think out my words carefully. But if we didn’t get to run soon I was going to lose my temper.
“Three laps, on my mark!”
Thank God.
The sun in my face, the wind in my hair, and the steady drum of sand under my running shoes pushed everything else out of my head for a while.
I didn’t stop after three laps.
I didn’t stop until the gym teacher’s whistle had blown three times.
By then I was too out of breath to say anything even if Rudy did decide to confront me.
“You don’t follow instructions, Kennedy?” The gym teacher snapped.
Ms. Roach was a short, fit woman with skin so tanned it was a bruised version of red and tightly-controlled brown hair, streaked with the tiniest bits of silver.
“Long day,” I gasped.
She narrowed her eyes at me, then nodded sharply. “Running is a great stress reliever. I have your times for your first three laps. Our focus for this quarter is speed—next quarter is endurance. Stick to sprinting for now. Run on your own time, it’s good training.”
I nodded breathlessly and propped my elbows on my knees, taking great gulping breaths.
When I looked up, I caught Rudy watching me. I couldn’t read his face, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he wasn’t thinking anything nice about me.
I looked away from him, ashamed. He hadn’t deserved that dig about foster kids.
I knew better than anybody that you couldn’t control your own parents, no matter how much you wanted or needed to.
I stayed in the shower longer than I needed to, waiting until the locker room was quiet before getting out and getting dressed, giving the Seymores plenty of time to leave before I made my own exit.
The last thing I needed was another confrontation.
Chapter Nine
“It’s not just because the Seymore boy was dating her,” Julianne said that evening as she swiped a spoonful of cookie dough out of the bowl. “It’s that her body was found in the reservoir right by their house. Like, their house literally backs up against the freakin’ reservoir.”
“I’ve never seen their house,” I admitted. “Which reservoir?”
Julianne grinned and flicked her hair over her shoulder. “You know what,” she started, prompting me to regret saying anything at all. A flash of mischief crossed her eyes as she covered my hand with hers. “I don’t think I want to make cookies right now. Let’s go for a drive.”
I gave her an annoyed look. She was the one who’d insisted on coming over and baking cookies in the first place. I hadn’t argued with her hanging out because she’d just sort of showed up—and, to be fair, I had ruined the matchy aesthetic this morning. I hadn’t argued against the cookies because it kept her out of my closet for a little longer, which gave me more time to come up with an excuse for why all the things she’d picked out for me were missing.