Flying by Carrie Jones Read Free Book Online Page B

curving red line. The moment we’re all done yelling and applauding for the boys and their collective glory, we head to the locker rooms to change. Seppie jerks me aside, bringing me over by the rows of sinks, and gets all demanding. She yanks her braids out of the elastic that was holding them all into one thick ponytail and grunts at me. “What is going on?”
    I shrug. I do not want to get into it with Seppie, because Seppie is the sort of person who never believed in Santa, not even when she was two. She’s the sort of person who doesn’t believe in true love. She believes in endorphin rushes and hormonal surges. She is not the type of person who is going to believe in disappearing men, or boys with acid-tongue spitting abilities.
    So I answer her the only way I can. “Nothing.”
    â€œOkay, right.” She starts anger-bopping her head at me. Her nails scratch lightly into my upper arm. “You don’t have a big gash in your leg. You and Lyle weren’t hanging out alone together in the locker room. And Mrs. Bray did not pass out.”
    â€œRandom stuff.” I pull my arm away and check out my reflection in the mirror. I’m pale, way too pale, and there are ugly splotches under my eyes.
    â€œDon’t you ignore me, Mana.” She shoves her face right above mine. Her jaw rests on the top of my head, and when she talks, it moves against my hair. “You were off in the cheers, like, a beat behind, and so was Lyle.”
    â€œThat has to be one of the seven deadly sins, right there. Pure evidence of brain trauma,” I quip.
    â€œShut up. For a cheerleader it is. You’re never off.”
    â€œLyle thinks I have a concussion,” I admit, because sometimes it’s better to give a nugget of truth instead of just denying everything.
    â€œDo you?”
    It would be better to pretend I did, better than trying to explain, so I sigh and say, “Okay, maybe.”
    She steers me to the bench and sits me down.
    â€œDo not change your clothes,” she orders. “I’m getting Lyle and we’re getting out of here.”
    My hand touches my too-fast heart. “Out of here sounds good.”
    She thumbs-ups at me, all in-charge doctor’s daughter. She scoots past the fund-raising food table, where the leftover moms of freshmen who don’t have cars are tidying up and waiting for their kids. Our chocolate-covered pretzels are still there; most of them sold, of course. Who can resist a chocolate-covered pretzel? Not my mom. Usually she eats any that don’t sell. There are a few pretzels slanted and leaning against the rim of the container. They seem abandoned, unwanted, and yummy.
    â€œHey!” I yell after Seppie. “Did you see my mom anywhere?”
    She thinks for a second and says, “No. Weird.”
    If she only knew the things I could tell her about weird.
    *   *   *
    People are always trying to protect me. I think it’s because I am the flyer. I get thrown around, flipped in twisting tosses, held up in the air, grasped and cradled when I dismount. Seppie and Lyle are my bases, my foundation; they catch me, refuse to let me crash to the mat. They keep me safe when we stunt, and they sometimes get carried away and do it with our lives, which is usually annoying, but tonight … tonight I just let it happen.
    Seppie feeds me Advil in the car. Lyle checks my leg gash and my pupils. He takes my pulse.
    â€œIt’s a bit high, but I think she’s good to go.” He makes this funny motion with his hand. “Of course, I’m a cheerleader, Jim. Not a doctor.”
    â€œ Star Trek references now … nice,” I mutter. “Next, you’ll just have a little plaque on your forehead with a constantly running red digital readout that says GEEK ALERT .”
    â€œHey. I wouldn’t talk,” Lyle says, eyes flashing with happiness. “You got the reference.”
    I