After Obsession by Carrie Jones, Steven E. Wedel Read Free Book Online Page A

showers.”
    Once we’re in the locker room, people who hadn’t talked to me before are now congratulating me and talking about how fast I am. I know I’m a pretty good athlete, but all this praise makes me kind of uncomfortable. It’s not like I’m Adrian Peterson or Barry Sanders. I’m standing there by the middle bench that is stuck between two long lines of maroon lockers, listening and trying to take it all in. I bend over and start unlacing my shoe, staring at the cold concrete floor, hiding a smile.
    “It’s because he’s an Indian. He’s used to stealing those scalps and running before he gets caught.”
    The boys’ locker room is deathly quiet except for the static sound of one shower running behind the lockers. The air turns icy cold and then hot, as if hate itself is running through it. Somebody’s towel drops to the floor with a wicked splat. The few boys in front of me part. A short, scrawny kid stands near Blake. I don’t know the kid’s name, but it’s obvious he’s the one who said it. He stares back at me. He can’t be more than five foot six, a hundred thirty pounds. I’ve got seven inches and forty pounds on him.
    “What’d you say?” I ask. It’s a bad thing to do, but I take a step toward him. It’s a really bad thing. I take another step. Guys move farther away from me. The kid looks toward Blake, but Blake ignores him. Another step. “You say something about scalps?”
    “Hey, man, I was just playing around,” he offers, lifting a hand in supplication. He backs toward an open locker. Someone’s jock dangles from a hook.
    “Playing around? You say I steal scalps, then run like a coward, and that’s playing around?”
    “Yeah, man. You know, like in the movies. Native Americans are always scalping people … you know …”
    “Yeah. I know ,” I say. I’m standing right in front of him now, and his face is level with my chest. He has to look up at me while I talk down to him. He’s not a threat. Maybe he thought Blake would back him up. “I know all about the old movie Indians. Now I’m gonna tell you something. I don’t know how you boys in Maine do things, but in Oklahoma, when someone insults someone else, we don’t stand around and talk about it. We just start kicking ass.”
    “Hey, man, really, I was just playing around.” He steps back, but I stay with him.
    “Alan, man, Matt’s a douche. Just ignore him,” someone behind me says.
    “He’s always saying crap he can’t back up,” someone else says.
    Matt’s eyes show fear. That’s good enough. This time. “Listen to me, little paleface. I’ll only warn you once. You make another ‘Indian’ joke and I just might take the hair off your head after I kick your ass. Got it?”
    “Yeah, man. We’re cool?” He offers a hand.
    I look slowly from the hand to his eyes. His eyes are pleading. You can tell a lot by a person’s eyes. Matt’s weak. He thinks he’s funny. I nod, but don’t shake his hand.
    “We’re cool.”
    The tension breaks and guys go back to changing clothes. Mom would have killed me if I’d gotten into a fight my second day at a new school. I shower and dress as fast as I can without seeming obvious, then head for the late bus.

• 5 •
    AIMEE
     
    The entire way home from practice, Blake is a total jerk, which is so unlike him. I’m gross and sweaty and he’s complaining. “You’re dripping on the car, Aim.”
    “And you aren’t?” I shift in the seat, leaning toward the door.
    “It’s different.”
    “Why’s it different?”
    He pauses. “Because I’m a guy.”
    “No,” I say in what I hope is a peppy, upbeat way. “What you are is a Cranky McCrankerson.”
    Chris Paquette is in the backseat, sitting with Eric. “Truce, children. Let’s admit that Blake is sexist and cranky and move on from there.”
    “What I am is pissed,” Blake admits. He turns down the music so nobody has to yell over the hard slow beats of it. He twists his head to glare at me instead