The Inside of Out (18 page)

Hell-beast that she was, Zelda the Cat could be pretty damn cute when she thought nobody was looking. Sometimes I'd catch her snoozing in a sunny spot by the window with a peaceful smile on her whiskered face. The instant a cloud passed by and the sun-triangle disappeared, her body would coil tight. But when the light came back, there was that smile again, a stretch, a grateful purr.

That's what it felt like when Hannah walked up to my lab table after bio.

She did nothing but smile patiently until Steven skulked past her with his giant backpack, but it was enough to bask in as I rose from my chair. Then she said, as if teasing, “You do realize that when I said I needed a break, I didn't mean from you.”

“Of course!” I lied, shrugging into my bag.

Her eyes clouded. “Or I guess I did, sort of. At the time. But . . . I didn't like it. I miss you. Is that stupid? It was like a day. You think I'm crazy.”

“Me? Not at all! I thought—” In my scrambling, I stumbled backward into Han's lab partner and turned to apologize. By the time my eyes returned to Hannah's, she'd rearranged her face into a casual smile. I missed her weird face.

“Wanna do dinner tonight?” she asked. “Catch up a little?
We could do the Moonlight or get my mom to grab takeout—”

“
Yes,
” I said, before remembering. “No. Ugh. I have to watch football.”

“You
have
to?” Hannah raised her eyebrows, her mouth quirking as she held the classroom door open for me.

“It's part of our PR push.”

She fell into step beside me. “The Alliance ‘we.'”

“Yeah, we've got this hotshot from DC working for us and . . .” My voice trailed off as I watched her glance away, fading even further into politeness. “Anyway. I can't do dinner. But let's definitely catch up.”

“Cool,” she said. “Call me when you're home.”

She nudged me with her elbow and continued down the hall to her next class, her stride relaxing the farther she got from me.

The line for tickets looked like the world's worst-dressed movie premiere. Two-thirds of the crowd was in Pirates red and black, countering the opposing team's green-garbed fans, who'd shown up in surprising droves. You'd think this was your average, good old American, Friday night football game. But all around, flashes were popping, a barrage from the army of photographers piled up just outside the school property line. The sight of them was so surreal that I shuffled numbly into the firing line like everybody else, a sheep to my flock.

“Daisy!”

“Is that her?”

“Over here!”

“One picture, Daisy, can we get a smile?”

I turned. And smiled. And winced from the flashes, squirming in my brand-new Pirates T-shirt, size XXL. Along with advising we turn up without our parents to show what mature young adults we were, Cal had suggested we all wear Pirates gear, broadcasting school pride in the face of adversity. But when I'd scrambled to the school store after the last bell, the only size left was “tent with arm holes.”

“Daisy!”

I turned with a dazzling smile, but it was only Raina.

“Have a pin,” she said.

“Thanks,” I muttered, grabbing a rainbow-striped pin from her outstretched palm. As she started away, I clung to her, my camera-smile shellacked onto my face. “Don't leave me.”

She glared down at my tent-shirt. “I still have to give Kyle and Sophie their rainbows.”

“Daisy, look here!”

“Daisy, can we get a quick interview before the game!”

Sensing my panic, Raina thawed enough to say “See you in there” before dashing off to find the others.

The line moved fast. The second I passed the ticket booth, I exhaled, releasing the shaking grin from my face, and made my way up the stands to where the Alliance was waiting.

“This is sort of bizarre, isn't it?” Sophie whispered, linking arms with me as I slid down next to her. “All these reporters? And have you ever seen this many people at a Palmetto game?”

I tried to answer, but a roar rose from the oversized crowd, drowning me out. The Pirates and their archrivals, the Northville Spartans, were running onto the field. QB scanned the crowd like usual, but this time, when I stood to wave, he
jumped in celebration. A bunch of people turned around in the stands to take camera phone pictures of me, sending me cringing back into the fold.

“Yes,” I finally replied. “This could not be more bizarre.”

Hey, guess what, I was wrong.

I'm not sure the Northville Spartans even knew they were our rivals. The Pirates were like a gnat they needed to swat away from their faces twice a year. It was no wonder the opposing team swaggered onto the field—
our
field—waving to the local sports photographers as if they were on home turf.

The Spartans continued to look cocky for the first four minutes of the game. And then QB scored a touchdown.

The Pirates fans in the stands didn't know what to do. We'd stood as one as he approached the end zone, but we were so used to sitting while the ball got picked off that that's what we started to do. It took us a few seconds to even realize what had happened. Poor QB stood stunned beside the goal post, cradling the ball, listening to the sound of a few hundred people holding their breath. And then, in a rush, we let loose.

Awwww, that was nice,
I thought, clapping.
Good for them for getting points on the board for once. They can go home happy.

Two minutes later, the Pirates intercepted a Spartans pass, scoring again.

I don't know if it was the extra people in the crowd who'd bused themselves in to support a cause only peripherally related to football, or the thrumming excitement of having reporters surrounding the field, but QB and his compatriots were doing the opposite of choking. They were swallowing the other team whole.

At halftime, the fans in green had faces to match their jerseys and I was starting to understand why people liked coming to football games. In theory, anyway.

A reporter from the
Post
and Courier
climbed the emptying stands to ask for a photo of the Alliance, and when we said yes, a few other photographers joined him. We threw our arms around each other, laughing first at the awkwardness of our pose, then laughing because we were laughing, then laughing even louder thinking about how stupid this photo must look. It was contagious. The photographers started laughing too.

“Thanks guys,” the local guy said. “And good luck—we're rooting for you.”

Kyle jumped up. “I need a hot dog. Anybody want anything?”

Jack poked his head around Raina. “I'll have a Coke.”

“Do they have chicken fingers?” I asked hopefully. “Or cheese fries?”

Kyle furrowed his brow. “Um.”

“That's too much for him to carry!” Sophie laughed, whapping me.

He started away. “No, it's cool! I'll see.”

Whatever halftime pep talk the Spartans' coach had given them in the locker room did not appear to have worked. We scored again. And again. They got a field goal, woo-hoo. Before we knew it, the game was over—and inexplicably, we had just defeated the five-time state champions for our first win in years. I was cheering, practically teary eyed along with everybody else, when a realization hit me.

I'd promised QB I'd celebrate a win with him. And his entire team.

I have to get out of here.

“Where's Kyle?” Sean asked behind me as I said some hasty good-byes and scrambled down the stands.

“Did he not come back?” I heard Sophie reply.

“Yeah,” Jack muttered. “I never got my Coke.”

Huh,
I thought, hurrying past the stands, through the crowd of dizzy Pirates fans, and into the athletic wing.
Maybe Kyle met up with his parents and forgot about our orders.

But when I walked into the quiet hallway, something started gnawing at my gut and only grew stronger the farther I got from the noise of the celebrating crowds.
It's the reporters,
I told myself.
They've got me nervous.
To avoid them, I exited the school through a random side door and started making my way to the Moonlight Coffee Shop, where I knew Mom was waiting to pick me up, hopefully with takeout.

As I approached the border of dead hedges, a sound stopped me cold—a low, burbling sigh, and then, so quietly I almost missed it, my name.

“D-Daisy?”

Kyle.
He was crouched behind one of the hedges, poking his head around a dead branch to call me over. I almost laughed when I spotted him, he looked so ridiculous—like an inept spy who'd chosen the world's worst hiding spot to gather intel. But then he stood. Or tried to. His knees shook and gave, and the parking lot lights hit his face. I let out a shout as I ran over to him.

He lifted a shaking finger to his split lips, quieting me. I
brushed his bangs back from his forehead, revealing an eye swollen shut, a gash below it on his cheek.

“Who did this to you?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“Yes, it does. I'm going to go find them and kick their asses.”

Kyle almost managed a chuckle at that idea.

I propped him with my arm so he could sit more comfortably. “We need to call 911.”

“No,” he said, trying to stand.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from crying at the sight of him. Tears weren't helpful right now. “You need medical help.”

He slumped again, holding his side. “Yeah, okay, just don't tell my parents, Daisy. I don't want them to worry about me.”

“
Kyle
.” I motioned to him, shaking my head. “They're gonna notice.”

Before he could change his mind, I grabbed my phone from my pocket and dialed 911. “Hi, I'm on the northwest corner of Palmetto High School—my friend needs an ambulance? Yes, he got . . . beat up, I guess?”

“Don't tell them what they said,” Kyle was muttering. “Why they did it.”

“Stay on the line until the police arrive,”
said the dispatch lady.

“What they said?” I whispered, covering the phone.

Kyle held his head. “That they called me a fag.”

I took a breath. It nearly choked me.

We heard the beep-beep of a police radio before we
spotted two officers making their way across the street. They must have been here already, handling the protesters. A middle-aged man in a Pirates jacket was with them. It wasn't until they got within a few yards of us that I spotted the graying red hair under his faded Atlanta Braves ball cap and realized it was Natalie's dad.

This is happening too fast,
I thought, suddenly longing to keep everyone the hell away from Kyle. If only I'd had that instinct an hour ago.

“You kids run into some trouble?” Chief Beck crouched beside Kyle, then glanced up at his officers. “Watch out for that ambulance.”

“Some guys from the other school,” Kyle said, forcing his voice steady. “They pulled me from the hot dog line and took me outside. I tried to get away, but there were too many of them. I didn't know what to do.” He started to shake. I clasped his hand, the one part of him that wasn't injured. “So I just did what you're supposed to do with bears when you go camping? I balled myself up and pretended to be dead and they went away?” He looked up at me, as if asking forgiveness and my eyes burned, tears coming fast now. “I've never been in a fight before.”

“Me neither,” I said, the hedges around us blurring, running.

How did they know he was gay? It could just as easily have been me that they attacked. It should have been me. I was the one who put our faces on the Internet, who'd stood on a chair and made us targets. I should have been the one they'd kicked until I stopped moving.

My hand trembled in Kyle's.

“Do you know what made them go after you?” Chief Beck asked gently.

“Not really,” Kyle said. “I think they were mad that their team was losing, and they figured they could take me because I'm not that tall, or whatever.”

Oh, Kyle.
He was a terrible liar. He'd blinked his one good eye rapidly through that whole speech. Classic tell.

Chief Beck was equally dubious. “You sure that's all there is to that story?”

“Yeah, I mean . . .” Kyle sighed shakily. “Yeah.”

Chief Beck glanced at me for confirmation.

I swiped my cheek dry with my shoulder. “I wasn't here. I found him a couple minutes ago.”

He turned back to Kyle, lowering his voice. “Just so you know, hate crimes carry a stiffer sentence.”

“It wasn't—”

Chief Beck waved one of the officers over, interrupting Kyle's lie. “He's gonna ask you some questions about what these guys looked like, and then we'll make sure you get these injuries taken care of, okay, son?”

“Okay.” Kyle relaxed. “Thank you.”